prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] You have the ability to steal wishes from a wishing well by taking the coins a person drops in. However, you can't know what the wish is before you decide to take it
For example: if someone wishes that that John smith fell in love with them and you decide to take the wish, then John Smith will fall in love with you | Had I known then what it would mean, and maybe I would have left that coin where I saw it.
But it had it's own sparkle, it's own calling, like no other I had ever seen before, and soon enough I held it in my hand, weighing it, testing it...
I could see my eyes reflected on it's surface, and as I looked away, as I dared to walk away from that well with that little coin tucked inside my pocket, I could tell it would only bring me good luck.
Of course, I had no ideia what wish had been laid to rest in that coin at the bottom of that well.
Sometimes it crosses my mind that maybe, just maybe, if I'd taken another coin, I could have won the lottery, or found true love.
But the one I picked up, shiny and bright as the sun, brought me another fate. Had it not reflected my eyes, and maybe... No. It wouldn't change a thing, I know that now.
As I stare at the lifeless body at my feet, the words of that innocent girl, about my age, make perfect sense. I tracked her down, I had to know.
I needed to know why I was acting so differently since I'd cought that coin. Why all I could think of was the scent of blood, the dark red liquid flowing, the life leaving their eyes.
It was her wish, her fault. She made me this way. She wished to be a murderer. A soulless monster. And I'd become one.
But as her final words sank in, I couldn't help but smile, as brightly as ever, as I wiped blood from my face. A simple wish, as it was.
"I wish I can guiltlessly do what my heart most desires." | My wife says the vacation has been horrible. She was sun burnt, the kids had been hanging off of her cherry red skin for two days now, they hated the sand, they wanted mom to hold them. Fine.
Back to the hotel they went, on the beach I stayed. Which was more than okay. I needed some time. Dad needed some time alone to sift through his pockets and figure out what the hell was going on. I sat down on our sandy beach towel and sank my hand into my trunks. I could hear the change jingling.
The last thing I remember, before ending up smack dab in the middle of a family vacation with people I've never met, was sitting at the wishing well outside Fiesta Mall, eating Panda Express. Why people still threw change in the thing was beyond me, since there hadn't been water in it for years. The plaster was cracking, fiercely fading through summers of the Arizona sun, from Terracotta to cracked concrete.
I picked a quarter up from the empty well, and gave it a quick flip. It came down heads first into my palm, and before I could close my Panda box, a thick sheet of white grain began to pour from the sky. It was falling everywhere, covering my clothes, falling into my bun, filling the empty well, laying as a blanket on the asphalt of the parking lot. Some people ran to their cars, some ran from them and into the mall. I stayed sitting at the well, staring in disbelief.
Slowly, through the quiet chaos of those around realizing whatever was raining down on us was not dangerous, I sloshed my finger into the now syrupy lo mien I had been eating. I put my finger to my mouth.
Sugar. It was sugar.
In my astonishment, I put the coin I had flipped in my pocket, and began sifting through the well full of sugar. I picked up pennies, dimes, quarters. Hell, I'm pretty sure I even picked up a few pieces of promising gravel. This was unbelievable. With a pocket full of change, I abandoned my sugary lunch and started for my car. Once comfortably seated, I began flipping the coins, one by one. My hair grew six inches, immediately. My eyelashes got thicker, my feet shrank. Outside my car, the weather went from an oven on broil to Washington in the spring. The sun got brighter, there were stars in the sky, in the middle of the day. And they were beautiful.
I kept flipping coins.
And now I am here, somehow a chiseled, devoted husband, and loving father to a small army of children, vacationing somewhere very far from Fiesta Mall.
I am living someone's wish. I am handsome, affluent and I am successful in both marriage and family.
But I did not wish for this. | 2016-08-02T14:08:05 | 2016-08-02T12:08:33 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] No human has to ever work again, instead you have a robot that goes to work and earns your pay for you, but you are responsible for keeping it in a good condition. One day you find your robot making a robot to do its work. | "Hey, whatya doing there?"
The robot whipped around and tried to use its thin body to cover what was behind it.
"Oh, nothing master... just umm... work for work, you know. Homework, is what they are calling it," said the robot.
"Homework, huh? Never heard of a robot having homework," said his master trying to peak around his body. "So what is this 'homework' of yours?"
"You wouldn't find it interesting," said the robot, "I have to make a vacuum cleaner. My factory would like to design a vacuum cleaner better than those dreaded Dysons, but we haven't been able to yet."
"Ugh huh," his master nodded.
"And my boss thought I was the most creative in the factory, so he told me to work on it when I went home."
"How creative..." the master muttered. Whichever direction the master turned, the robot scurried to hide his creation. "So why the secrecy then? You know I used to be an engineer. I created you."
"Exactly!" The robot perked up. "And it wouldn't be *my* creation if I had your help. So I'd really rather do this on my own."
"Alright, okay," said the master, "I'll leave you to your creating then."
The robot relaxed as his master left the room.
"Oh, that was difficult," the robot said to himself and it turned to continue working on the robot that would replace him at work. Then he would be the master and have time to talk with the other robots. He would never have to lift a finger for work again. Suddenly, the other door to the room opened directly in front of him.
"Ugh," the robot groaned.
"Liar!!" yelled his master, looking down at the robot's creation. "You're making a robot."
"I-I can explain."
"You know what happens to liars?"
"Oh, please, no."
"Liars—"
"No, master, please."
"Get—"
"I beg you, please don't!"
"Tires."
------
The next day the robot wheeled himself to work. His fully functional, completely flexible and absolutely dexterous set of legs were replaced with a box of metal with wheels. The other robots at work roared with laughter. Only children's robots came with wheels and that was because children usually didn't have a grasp of kinesiology to build a set of legs for the robot to move.
Eventually, the robot was given its legs back after it admitted to learning a valuable lesson. Never lie to your master. And it never did again.
---
Thank you for reading! More at /r/ItsPronouncedGif. | The robot on the television spoke on about the recent news happening over the world. Fires, earthquakes, political discussions and celebrity deaths. Mark barely had the energy to move to reach for the remote, it lay only on the other side of the sofa, but he just couldn’t be bothered. Instead, he used his foot to edge the remove closer, closer to his hand and finally being able to change the station. Since he was issued the Helper2000 he had lost all energy to do much for himself. It went to work for him, it cleaned the house for him, and when Mark was feeling especially lazy it would feed him.
The days were a blur, it was maybe Thursday, Helper2000 was at the office doing Mark’s job, typing away and taking phone calls. Inside the cupboard under the sink were cleaning materials provided to keep the Helper2000 in good condition, although Mark couldn’t find the time between his favourite shows to clean his robot. With a stretch, Mark fell asleep on the sofa.
It was dark outside when he woke up, Helper2000 walked quietly past as he went about his daily duties, carrying a basket of dirty washing. Although you could talk to your robot, Mark never did. It was a robot, after all. Helper2000 walked past the television again, towards the kitchen, then back towards the garage with some cleaning products.
‘Where’re you going with them?’ Mark asked, in an arrogant and patronising tone.
‘To the garage.’ Helper2000 replied in its usual tone. It stood for a while, then walked off to the garage. Mark watched, knowing he was meant to clean Helper2000 once a week, although he hadn’t done it in well over three months. Perhaps Helper2000 was going to clean itself. Mark pulled his body from the sofa, crumbs falling from his chest to the clean carpet below, and waddled his way to the garage. Inside Helper2000 was soaking a cloth in soapy water.
‘Learnt to clean yerself now?’ He asked, hoping the robot could.
‘The Helper2000 was designed to not clean itself, rather for the owner to maintain the functionality of it’ Helper2000 replied. Mark was confused, but watched as Helper2000 walked to the other side of the garage. There, stood a silver robot, similar to Helper2000 but a lot cleaner, the wiring visible through it’s glass chest.
‘What is that?’ Mark yelled, knowing the response already.
‘This is Helper3000, it will be replacing me at my workplace.’
‘Yer a robot! You can’t ‘ave a robot!’ Mark yelled again, spit shooting from his mouth.
‘Incorrect, due to the unsanitary conditions of my circuiting I have requested for my own robot to maintain my systems. The Helper3000 will perform my daily tasks and ensure that I am clean at all times, whilst I will ensure that it in turn is kept to a good standard.’
Mark froze, unsure of what to say. His hands trembled, the words slipped from his mouth. ‘What about me job? You ain’t getting’ the money!’
‘As a robot I cannot gain income, any money made my Helper3000 will be transferred through me to you.’ Helper2000 explained. Mark’s mind was spinning, he retreated to the living room and sat down on the sofa, his arms resting beside him, pondering. Helper2000 walked into the room again.
‘Helper3000 is now clean and ready for his duties. I have assigned him the task of cleaning the kitchen.’ Herlper2000 spoke with a monotone as he lowered himself on the sofa. Both he and Mark watched the television as Helper3000 walked to the kitchen.
| 2017-02-16T05:57:17 | 2017-02-16T05:56:35 | 870 | 565 |
[WP] After North Korea declares that they will start a nuclear war if a single bullet is fired The Us military goes medieval | The Great Leader's palace trembled once more as the fiendish Americans launched another salvo of their lethal artillery.
Inside, Kim Jong-Un desperately tried to retain any semblance of control, stressfully stuffing another handful of chips into his mouth while listening to frantic radio reports and updates. *Damn them!* He raged internally. When he declared that nuclear war would be set off with a firing of a single bullet, he never realized that the foolish American pig-dogs would actually take him *literally*. When American Cavalry - not armored, but literal cavalry mounted on horseback, sporting plate armor and wielding lances that would be feared throughout North Korea - had thundered across the DMZ, his border units were caught so off-guard that they were almost immediately overrun. By the time poor Kim could rally the shocked military, the combined South Korean and American forces had already seized much of the region south of Pyongyang, and inspired by the knights in shining armor the local peasantry had revolted against the oppressive regime. Those few who attempted to resist were mercilessly cut down by the allied forces, whose numbers swelled by the day and who even now lay siege to Pyongyang.
The Chinese had not only condoned the invasion, they actually *participated in it*. While the West had rampaged through the lower half of True Korea, the Chinese had marched their own armies of antiquity into battle from the north, a terrifying force of both heavily armored infantry and rapid, Mongol-styled horsemen that served as advanced scouts and guerilla units, harassing the North Koreans with swarms of arrows before scurrying away from retaliation. It was an outright betrayal of Korea, but a stunning show of unity as the Chinese completed the encirclement of the now pitiful North Korea remnant, tied down to a single city with territory shrinking by the day. Though his advisors insisted he retreat,Kim Jong Un had stubbornly remained within his palace, for he would never abandon the last functioning refrigerator under his control, as well as his great pantries full of junk foods.
All of it was for naught, though, as with a great crash to his left his beautiful kitchen wall crumbled when a particular piece of artillery found its mark. Before Kim could even reach for a weapon or another handful of chips, a three-man cavalry team burst into the room - an American, astride an imposing charger with armored barding, a Chinese horse archer astride his hardy steppe horse, and a South Korean in traditional armor astride..inside would be a better word for what was some sort of pink mechanical equivalent of a horse thing, detailed with strange logos and glowing lights. The American, his tabard proudly displaying the Red, White and Blue, barked out orders for the other two to secure the area, before he menacingly trotted over to the now cowering Kim Jong-Un.
"How!?" Was the only response Kim had. "Those walls have been proofed against all sorts of weaponry! It should have been impenetrable!"
The American knight calmly flicked his plate visor up so his face was revealed, confident blue eyes staring directly into the now terrified, beady ones of the once dictator of North Korea. "*Great Leader*," the soldier calmly replied with only a hint of sarcasm, "have you ever considered proofing your walls against the most powerful artillery of all, artillery that can launch a 90 kilogram stone projectile over 300 meters?"
I'm on my mobile so the format is probably crap, but happy for feedback otherwise for my first writing prompt response!
| The dew on the grass is beautiful this time of year. Damp and supple, almost like it breathes life into the world around it. A North Korean guard has his feet up on a seat, nestled within the inner perches of a Watchtower, dozing softly to the smooth sound of silence.
A deep rumble snaps him awake. He rubs the sleep out of his eyes and gazes all around himself through the windows, to see nothing unusual in sight. But still, the rumble grows louder, and chants of war roar with it. The man stands and walks outside the small room to the railing, and stares south, holding his hand over his eyes to block the sun.
Over the crest of the hill comes a battalion. A thousand men and women fitted to the brim with armor. A dozen more mounted on horses, greatswords gripped tightly in hand, and the American Flag adorned brightly on the metal hilts. He leans in closer to get a better look, but as he does, a stray arrow pierces his skull and knocks him off the tower.
Eun Kim.
Twenty-Three.
Threatened with execution if Military Service was refused.
The remaining guards see their fallen comrade and march to the arms cabinet. With strife burning through their souls, they clambered at guns, bullets, and knives. The necessary equipment required to massacre. They rush outside, sweat dripping down their faces.
One of the Knights becomes filled with zealotry. He kicks the side of the horse to push it faster. It feels his passion and bolts forward, breaking away from the rest of the group. One of the guards breathes in lightly, lifts his gun, and places a bullet between the Knights eyes.
Tom Baker.
Thirty-One.
Joined the Military because his father did, and his father before him, and now his fatherless son will too.
The horse stumbles due to the force of a dead man collapsing sideways. The saddle pulls with his corpse and knocks the horse to the ground. The rest of the soldiers push past their fallen friend and begin their siege. They tear down the metal fence with their sharp blades, while archers in the back try to snipe out all the guards in the Watchtowers.
A guard lifts his rifle to shoot, but it jams. The mechanisms lock in place and refuse to move. He drops the gun as a soldier moves towards him, broadsword in hand. With no hope left, he holds up his small knife and takes a swing. The soldier laughs softly to himself, before running the sword through his torso.
Hoon Yi.
Twenty-Seven.
Parents were murdered, and he was forced into Military Service.
Seeing his friend die, another guard aims his rifle and shoots. It goes through the cracks in the soldier's armor, and into the fleshy side of his torso. He reels in pain and grabs his side, before lifting his sword back up and stomping over to the terrified guard.
He yells at the guard in English. The words lose all meaning to him, lost in translation, but still, he shakes in his spot and waits.
"I will not go gentle into that good night!" The soldiers yells, over and over, as blood leaks out his side, faster with every second. The heavy armor slows his steps, his body grows weaker, and he crumbles to the ground, bleeding out.
Monty McCabe.
Nine-teen.
Wanted to do his country proud.
The guard continues to tremble. He can feel his nerves bite at him, his thoughts become plagued with doubt, and his hate for his country grows. He keeps himself quiet and scurries inside one of the nearby buildings. He slowly closes the door behind him and crawls under a desk.
The savage commotion outside rages on. The sounds of bullet and blades meeting in carnage, so vile, echoes through the air until finally, silence. The guard crawls back from under the desk and stands. He looks outside the window to see the friends he once knew, dead. Slain in combat they never asked for. His attention moves from outside to the front of the room. A painting of Kim Jong Un sits on the wall.
"I did what you asked of me," he whispers to himself, holding back tears. "I'm just a stranger to you." The sound of glass smashing was the last thing he heard, as an arrow impaled itself into the corner of his head.
Yeong Pak.
Twenty-two.
Just wanted to eat.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff. | 2017-03-19T06:41:59 | 2017-03-19T05:22:19 | 5,121 | 2,629 |
[WP] In Hogwarts entire history, you're the first to not be sorted into one of the 4 houses. | I wish I was better at remembering names, because for all the life of me I couldn't remember the name of the man whose desk I sat at as he pinched the bridge of his nose in thought. "Well we just have to give it another shot" he said. The thing has been around forever I suppose it's more bizarre that it hasn't made a mistake until now. The old wizard snapped his fingers as I grew anxious again. The hat was brought into the office by another professor and set atop my head. I closed my eyes and concentrated, maybe the first time I wasn't thinking hard enough. I focused, "Big sis was a Ravenclaw" I thought "that's what I wanna be". "But Henry got put in Gryffindor and I don't know anyone in Ravenclaw" I thought, interrupting myself. For everyone else the hat would almost tease at what house the person belonged in, as if it knew from the start where they would end up and was just putting on a show. But I could feel the uncertainty in its grumbling. Just as I was thinking perhaps Hufflepuff could be fun it said with no pomp and circumstance "Neither Gryffindor nor Hufflepuff, and not Ravenclaw or Slytherin are meant for you" and slumped forwards over my eyes just like before. The professor who brought it in nervously pulled it off my head and returned to the corner of the room and glanced at the headmaster who was scratching his head and biting a fingernail. "Well then Quincy" he said to me with a defeated expression. "What house would you like to be in?" he threw his arms up as he said this and smiled sarcastically. "Well sir I think I want to be in..." I paused before I could say Gryffindor as I thought of my sister. "Be in what my boy? No one has had this opportunity until now you know" he was now leaning forward with his hands clasped together and his chin resting on them. "I don't know sir, it's a really hard choice" I admitted as I started considering Slytherin in my mind. "Of course it is" said the head master as he returned to biting his nail. "We have the hat because it knows which path will lead you to your destiny, it is a choice you can only make on your own if you truly know yourself". He looked thoughtfully at me "Quincy your sister was an astounding witch, and she wouldn't have met her full potential if it wasn't for the hat". He stood up and put his moon shaped spectacles on "so we will do as the hat says even for you. I trust Godric's ability when it comes to Legilimency". The professor holding the hat left and the headmaster began to follow "You may put your things in my spare room up the stairs there. And come meet me in the dining hall as we'll discuss your curriculum" he said over his shoulder. And as he left I'm not sure but I could've sworn I heard him say under his breath "Could be nice having a new house for a change" | As the hat was quickly snatched from my head all I could hear was the gasp of my fellow students.
"What did it say?" A frizzy headed girl spouted.
"I think it said Dorish!" Another red headed boy replied.
"Impossible." Murdered professor snape, my dark arts instructor.
The awe and attention began to take its toll on me. I became dizzy and then hot and then there was only black. When I awoke I found myself leaned up against an old wooden desk. As I rose I noticed a man was sitting across from me.
From beneath a large grey beard I hear, "My name is Albus, it's very nice to meet you noah."
"I-I know who you are, this is amazing" I stammer.
With a deep laugh rooted in his gut Dumbledore rose and presented me his hand. It appeared the rather large wizard was taking half steps to keep pace with me as we crossed the room until we came to a large window.
"Can you see that in the distance?"
"The pile of ruble?" I asked skeptically.
"Yes, that old pile of ruble."
"I'm sorry Albus but I don't understand."
"Noah, I too am quite confused. That pile of ruble is all that remains of the fifth house of Hogwarts."
"A fifth house?"
"Once long ago there were five houses, the ones you know today, as well as another. House Dorish."
"The one I was sorted into? Well, what makes someone suitable for house Dorish?"
"An excellent question. House Dorish was once the home of many wizards and witches with rather troubled past. Students who had the most stubborn and unbreakable spirits were assigned there to practice soul magic."
"I've never heard of soul magic."
"That's to be expected as the practice has been ban for centuries. While soul magic is rather powerful it also includes the most unfortunate and looked down upon practices in wizardry and witchcraft. Necromancy, body morphing, and the summoning of dark spirits were all included in the curriculum of house Dorish. That is until a series of rather unfortunate events forced Hogwarts to close the house."
"What events could cause such a thing Albus?"
"Well Noah," Albus began with a rather somber tone "a particularly cunning wizard used the teachings he gathered here to form an army of the undead."
A bit surprised I quickly replied "That sounds awful."
"Yes, it was a scary time, thousands of lives lost in order to save humanity from a power hungry wizard."
"Was the wizard responsible punished?"
"Yes Noah, and that's why we've brought you here instead of the infirmary. While you were unconscious professor Snape and I discovered something very interesting."
"Well what is it?" I could feel the fear of being confronted by the most powerful wizard I knew book inside of me.
"The wizard responsible conceived a child kept secret by its mother before his rampage. This child and it's father are your ancestors. With the blood of a powerful Dorish wizard running through you the sorting hat must have had no choice but to sort you into your ancestral house."
"Wh-what does this mean? Am I in trou..."
"No Noah, quite the opposite. You have the amazing opportunity to be the very first student in history to attend Hogwarts without a house. You may choose your quarters and your curriculum. Professor Snape and I will do our best to hone your soul magic in a way that will show you how it's power can benefit humanity."
"Dumbledore, thank you so much! I was so worried, attending Hogwarts has always been my dream. It seemed as though it may slip away."
"Just remember you have a great responsibility to bring back a good name to soul magic and house Dorish. Maybe with proper guidance we can understand how to channel soul magic in a positive way and reopen house Dorish."
*Noah went on to become a powerful Wizard in the art of soul magic. He later became a professor and academic in the field. He was appointed the prefect of house Dorish upon its reopening after Noah used soul magic to save the school from a rather upset dragon*
| 2017-05-12T21:40:01 | 2017-05-12T21:25:54 | 37 | 10 |
[WP] Your wife is from another time and place, a waitress in a small Irish town from the 1900s. Every night she takes one of your video games and retells it into a grand epic to all the patrons. | Ill try and make it a bit different.
Elizabeth McGuin sat her hands down on the bar, looking over the patrons of the bar, all eager to hear her tales of fantasy and wonder, of the cities and people from them, and the adventures they took.
Tonight she sat down, opening the small book she had, waving her hand over the page in amazement, to her eyes, the words materialized. She spoke clearly, for tonight, she'd be telling the story of the city below the sea, and the city above the clouds, one of her favorite stories, the one closest to her heart.
They all leaned in, "In this new world..." She spoke for hours, detailing the adventures through the great city of Rapture, a haven under the sea turned to a hell, as the hero, Jack, strove to battle his father and free the city and save the children bound to work their from their enslavement.
The crowd was in awe of the city of Columbia, a haven for the Patriotic and the religious, and how a young woman was able to bend time and space, concepts foreign to them, to her will, and split apart reality to show truths and right the wrongs that had been done.
At the end of her speech, the bar now emptying, a small boy walked up to her, looking up and gently pulling on her dress, she knelt down, looking at him. "Miss Elizabeth, how do you come up with all these stories?"
She smiled, and picked him up, fixing her brown hair neatly back, and adjusting her small pendant, rubbing the dust from the small bird portrait. Her blue eyes twinkled, "Well, there's always a man, there's always a lighthouse, and there's always a city..." | Almost everyone in the town had crammed themselves into the diner again; looking forward to a new story told by Angeline. Nobody knew where she went off to during the day, but she always walked into the diner at 5:58 on the dot. She would work her shift then tell another story.
"Everyone quiet!" Someone close to Angeline shouts. She clears her throat and smooths her skirt before standing confidently in front of the fire, her stage for the evening.
"In the future, but not too far from now, a woman named Laura Croft explores the world, finding lost tombs and artefacts while fighting off wrongdoers and protecting the innocent. She is smart, and uses improvised gadgets to escape from whatever perils she faces." The women in the audience are enraptured, imaging a woman who was free and equal to men.
"She is in a temple in the depths of Asia, trying to find an idol that is said to have the power to control the weather. A group of criminals are also searching for the idol, hoping to steal it and blackmail towns in exchange for not destroying them. She had already escaped a pit full of spiders, a maze with darts that shot from the walls and a boulder that tried to collapse on her. She could hear the sounds of men talking behind her, and she had to find the idol fast!" Suddenly, the clock on the mantle on the fireplace bongs, telling the town that it is midnight.
She frowns and looks apologetically at the disappointed faces around her. "I'm sorry I didn't manage to finish the story tonight! I'll continue it tomorrow!" Everyone smiles and pats her back as she makes her way out of the diner. Heading into a nearby alley, she closes her eyes and waits for the time displacement to come Into affect. When she opens them, her lover is waiting for her in a grungy alleyway littered with trash and graffiti.
"What video game did you tell them about tonight?" She asked, holding her arm out towards Angeline. Angeline smiles as she winds her arm with her girlfriend's and leans up against their shoulder as they walk home to their apartment.
"I was telling them about Laura Croft. I think that many of the women are inspired by her. I'm so happy that we managed to meet, my darling Lily."
Her girlfriend hummed and kissed her as she opened the door to to their small apartment.
"Come on, It's late and we should head to bed." Lily said. Angeline nodded in agreement and went through her bedtime routine before going to sleep, thinking about the adventures she would tell her friends tomorrow.
----------------------------------------
Please tell me what you think! This is my second story, that I'm writing at 3 in the morning. Let me know about any mistakes I made. Thanks! | 2017-06-25T03:54:47 | 2017-06-25T03:30:34 | 767 | 15 |
[WP] Your wife is from another time and place, a waitress in a small Irish town from the 1900s. Every night she takes one of your video games and retells it into a grand epic to all the patrons. | "So, there's this story with a talking yellow flower and..." was the start to another tall tale my wife told every night. The plots weren't as original as they sounded - she would probably be thrown out had it been a century in the future - but for now my Steam games gave enough inspiration for her tales.
"And then they all go back to the surface happily," she concluded her story and the dramatic version of *Undertale*. Her audience clapped loudly as she took a bow. Except one man, donning a black coat and a blacker fedora. He stood up just as my wife finished, his eyes glistening with excitement. Talking quickly, he painted a beautiful picture of a shooter, forced to abandon everything to save his people when timelines collided, bringing forward people of the future. It sounded so...perfect. The audience was left spellbound as he portrayed the suffering and moral dilemmas the main character suffered. When he finished, the claps were far louder and the cheers far more boisterous than my wife had ever gotten for her tales. But the stranger's story was truly one that I would remember.
Just before he left, he turned around and motioned us to come close. When we did, he whispered, "I played Undertale too. I come from the 2100s."
"Always nice to meet a fellow time traveller. Say, where did your story come from? It was amazing!" my wife gushed. The stranger smiled, affably.
"The game was just released so I came to tell the story before the others could. I believe it's called *Half-Life 3*."
______________________________
If you liked that (admittedly cringeworthy) twist, come over to r/Whale62! Stories posted on a regular basis. | Almost everyone in the town had crammed themselves into the diner again; looking forward to a new story told by Angeline. Nobody knew where she went off to during the day, but she always walked into the diner at 5:58 on the dot. She would work her shift then tell another story.
"Everyone quiet!" Someone close to Angeline shouts. She clears her throat and smooths her skirt before standing confidently in front of the fire, her stage for the evening.
"In the future, but not too far from now, a woman named Laura Croft explores the world, finding lost tombs and artefacts while fighting off wrongdoers and protecting the innocent. She is smart, and uses improvised gadgets to escape from whatever perils she faces." The women in the audience are enraptured, imaging a woman who was free and equal to men.
"She is in a temple in the depths of Asia, trying to find an idol that is said to have the power to control the weather. A group of criminals are also searching for the idol, hoping to steal it and blackmail towns in exchange for not destroying them. She had already escaped a pit full of spiders, a maze with darts that shot from the walls and a boulder that tried to collapse on her. She could hear the sounds of men talking behind her, and she had to find the idol fast!" Suddenly, the clock on the mantle on the fireplace bongs, telling the town that it is midnight.
She frowns and looks apologetically at the disappointed faces around her. "I'm sorry I didn't manage to finish the story tonight! I'll continue it tomorrow!" Everyone smiles and pats her back as she makes her way out of the diner. Heading into a nearby alley, she closes her eyes and waits for the time displacement to come Into affect. When she opens them, her lover is waiting for her in a grungy alleyway littered with trash and graffiti.
"What video game did you tell them about tonight?" She asked, holding her arm out towards Angeline. Angeline smiles as she winds her arm with her girlfriend's and leans up against their shoulder as they walk home to their apartment.
"I was telling them about Laura Croft. I think that many of the women are inspired by her. I'm so happy that we managed to meet, my darling Lily."
Her girlfriend hummed and kissed her as she opened the door to to their small apartment.
"Come on, It's late and we should head to bed." Lily said. Angeline nodded in agreement and went through her bedtime routine before going to sleep, thinking about the adventures she would tell her friends tomorrow.
----------------------------------------
Please tell me what you think! This is my second story, that I'm writing at 3 in the morning. Let me know about any mistakes I made. Thanks! | 2017-06-25T04:21:16 | 2017-06-25T03:30:34 | 108 | 15 |
[WP] You are God. You just logged on to one of your old saves, and you’re confused as to where those massive lizards went and where all these pink fuckers came from. | Frigging patched in, in-game events.
Out of all the things to introduce, like a new world or PVP, they instead rebalanced the game so you have to play as these feeble fleshbags called "humans". apparently, 65 million years prior, they drop a goddamn asteroid on you that rebalances the game in their favor, making it impossible for the awesome towering reptiles you made to survive. the devs insist that you can definitely continue as the dinosaurs if you know what you're doing. Bullshit. the food chain is fucked on top of nuclear winter and an atmosphere of dust, but sure, let me bust my ass so the crocodiles can make it out and be a perpetual reminder of what the game was clearly building up to before this.
I lean back in my chair and ponder on what to do next. it's either this or watching that godawful Cthulhu day time talk show with my mom. And seeing as how I vowed to end all existence if I ever had to see another eldritch abomination pander to shrieking housewife's, the choice is pretty clear. I lean forward, pull my chair in and see what the mess has to offer.
Well, this is unplayable, these bastards are useless. Shit stats outside of stamina, which, given their vulnerability to fucking everything, means nothing, only live like 30 years anyway and to top it all off, can't stop killing each other for no reason. Thanks devs, giving up my T Rexs was worth it for the epic showdown of man with rock vs man with stick.
Wait, hold on, I have an idea...
20 minutes I sit back and admire my handiwork. Finally got a religion up and running and boy, is it a doozy. it's got this massive list of rules on procreation, promises eternal hellfire and ironic punishment for displeasing me in any way and says you have to love and praise me forever to even hope to get anything out of the deal. I even downloaded a picture of myself into the game so they know just what the almighty looks. Granted it didn't render well. Or at all, really. so I ended up just picking a random character portrait for the job, let people come to their decisions on what I'm supposed to look like. Anyways, I sat back and waited for the AI to go crazy trying to make this bullshit work.
Problem was their solution generally wasn't to go crazy. at least not in a particularly funny way. I mean there were some things that were funny like them whipping themselves to somehow cure disease. that got a laugh. but for the most part, their default reaction to being challenged about their faith in me was kill. as in kill everyone and anyone remotely associated with questioning their beliefs. At first I was somewhat bemused by their insane knee jerk slaughter of everything, then bored, then after actually giving the situation some thought, disturbed.
I was ready to throw in the towel when they finally got their shit together. Started doing science, writing philosophy, building new societies based around new technologies that ran on something called fossil fuels. Which reminds me, I should look up what is in the glossary...
OH YOU MOTHERFUCKERS!
| It had been so long, I couldn’t even remember the name of the save file. There were a few experiments that could be interesting to revisit but I had a particular one in mind. After sifting through a series of unsuccessful saves filled with barren mountains and drowned continents, I stumbled upon it.
When I had left, life had seemed to reach its natural end. I had become bored and nuked the planet. All that hard work, crafting and nudging, pushing and priming, just to destroy it all after a long day. It had been satisfying watching everything crumble. I set the timer to continue in my absence, and then left it. That was millions of years ago.
A dark shadow of a planet rotated on my screen, as I had left it. A prompt appeared asking if I wanted to watch a recap or skip to the present. *Surprise me,* I clicked confidently. Lights blossomed on my screen. The once dark shadow was luminous. A few areas remained dark. I rolled over the planet and a window popped up giving me a brief overview. Mostly sedimentary rock, large bodies of fresh and saltwater, much less vegetation than I had expected, volcanoes, earthquake lines, all the good stuff. I picked as good a continent to zoom in on as any and double clicked. The lights seemed concentrated on what looked to be coastlines. They also seemed to be random, or at least not in an order I could place. I chose the West coast, as it had slightly less light patterns to decipher than the East. Maybe I could make sense of this.
As the program moved forwards, I realized that the landscape had been modified outside of my programing. Forests weren’t where they should have been, wetlands weren’t showing the usual stats. I hadn’t waited to see the affects of my tantrum, but I knew it couldn’t have ruined the program so entirely. Just a tsunami or so, I’d figured. This was beyond that. Swaths of land were gridded in a pattern I’d purposefully coded against. Why would I want mono-cultures of plants in slabs? I winced at the aesthetics. Maybe a code issue after all. The program could have just repeated the same crop over and over, glitched out. Even still, I’d have expected to see more variety.
As I got closer, it got worse. There were pockets of heat flaring up on my sensors. The UI could barely give me the detail needed to see where the heat was coming from or to isolate it. I could see, however, just at a glance, that it was related to these tall spires. I pulled the angle down so I could see the side of the spires. They seemed to be a heat-trapping compound, similar to when water seeped into the sediment granules and oxidized. This, again, was too uniform. I pulled back out, turned the light UI off, and focused on the heat. The whole planet was off. The oceans were much warmer than they should have been, dead-zones where I would have expected to see life indicators. In fact, the whole thing seemed off. Perhaps the lights themselves were glitches and had spurred all of this.
I sighed in frustration. I had hoped coming back to this save that something interesting and unique had manifested. Instead, it seemed order had prevailed. My randomization meter must have fluxed with the tantrum. I felt tricked. At first the lights seemed to be random, interesting. But on further inspection, and additional overlays, they correlated with life and heat indicators. Just a frustrating glitch manifesting.
I opened the task manager.
*Delete Save File?*
I hesitated. Sure this experiment had been disappointing to say the least. But maybe if I took a look at the code and removed the glitch, it could be salvaged. Not today, in any case. But one day.
*Save Game*
I clicked, and closed, knowing that the planet would be waiting if I ever decided to come back. Maybe I would. It could do with a little chaos.
---
I know I'm a little late to the game, but I thought I would submit anyway! Thanks for the interesting prompt :) | 2017-12-12T22:38:58 | 2017-12-12T21:01:27 | 56 | 16 |
[WP] You've gained the gift of necromancy, ability to raise armies of undead. But you're just a nice person and have no desire to take over the world | After the two unexpected visitors left my mansion, I closed my front door behind them. My roommate Mark was still in shock, with eyes wide and face flushed.
"Was that who I think it was?" he demanded.
"If you think it was a very nice man and woman from the Van Helsing Institute, then yes, you'd be correct."
Mark was a pleasant enough fellow, but he had a tendency to get over excited. I was renting out one of the many rooms in my mansion for a extortionarily low rate. But there is a... smell associated with necromancy, so I was mostly just glad to have some human company. Putting up with his few small personality quirks was a small price to pay.
My answer seemed to upset him more. "I've heard of them! Vampire hunters! And what do you do? You invite them in, talk about the weather and the neighborhood, and then let them go like everythings normal. For heaven's sake, Jason, they exist to destroy people like you!"
"They exist," I responded, "To destroy evil. I am not evil."
"Don't give me that," Mark said, exasperated, "I've seen what kind of stuff you get up to in the basement. The army of zombies for example."
I'd never made any effort to hide anything from any of my tenants. It was so much worse if they found out on their own, without me being there to properly explain things.
"I have a number of cadavers, people who have donated their bodies to science after their deaths. And that's exactly what I've done to them. Science! I really am in this for the science after all."
Mark was not convinced. "Are you sure you should have just let them go? They know where you are now."
"What else would I do? I don't know how to convince you of this, Mark, but I'm really not a murderer."
Sure the agents from Van Helsing suspected what I am. The creepy mansion, isolated in the creepy woods. My ageless face. The smell. They routinely just dropped by on locations like mine. If I were evil, then I would attack them, and they would defend themselves. And honestly, despite my army of horrors and my preparation, they would probably win. That's exactly how my old master died, actually. I was determined to learn from his mistakes. Sure I had a few truly terrible creatures that I was quite proud of. A undead cyborg bear, with shark teeth, and some buffalo parts thrown in. A flock of modified undead ravens that could devour an elephant in seconds and leave no trace. But the only time I had ever used them was when a band of werewolves had tried to move into my territory.
Ordinary humans have nothing to fear from me, so I have nothing to fear from them. Five hundred years ago, maybe. Maybe I would have created an army of undead and carved myself out a kingdom of evil. Zombies are scary in a sword fight, but it's really not too simple to teach them to use guns. These are modern times, and modern times call for a more civilized necromancer.
All the old masters of necromancy failed to understand that. I was determined not to let this knowledge die with me.
I am Jason Blackstone, and I am the last necromancer. | When I'm dead, I think that the thing I'd miss most is my gecko Riley. Riley is pretty cool, he's a gecko.
Thoughts like these continue to swirl and swish in my head as I sway side to side, suspended upside down in a dark and empty, almost surreal elevator shaft. My hands clench above my head-or rather-below my head, as the single rope holding me from a final plunge into the dark below begins to unravel. This isn't quite what I thought my Sunday morning would turn out to be, but I suppose we all have to adapt to unexpected situations, although I doubt anyone has hung from a rope somewhere between the seventh and eighth floors of their apartment complex before.
Dark and empty the shaft may be, but quiet it certainly was not. From below-or would it be above-my head comes the ever present wailing and gnarling of all six and one horribly detached half of my former neighbors, attempting hopelessly to claw their way up to me and save my wretched life. Every so often, I can hear an audible thumb as the lower half of Mrs. Anderson falls back down after its measly attempt at climbing.
Determined but thoroughly useless. That's the problem with dead people, they make great labor but their brains are very, very much dead. If one of my 'zombies' ever manages to find the right way out of a door I might just be compelled to scream 'Hallelujah!' right then and there. Even small babies could reason better than corpses, unlike babies however corpses have no problem with being fed absolutely nothing, the only perk of an all deceased work force, that and a lack of wages.
It all started when poor young Robin, fresh out of high school and still yet to determine how best to wipe his ass without his mother beside him, decided to grill himself some bacon for breakfast. First day living by himself, and feeling ever so adventurous, little Robin spent a good ten minutes manipulating a plethora of fancy displays on his tablet before realizing that maybe the tablet had no control of a stovetop. After finally igniting his stove, Robin was well on his way to a gourmet course of freshly fried bacon. Until the edge of his sleeve caught of fire.
It was only seven in the morning, and his horrific screaming must have woken up all the inhabitants of the buildings two blocks down the road.
I promptly raced up the hallway to his apartment, and stopped just short of his door, which by now had smoke billowing out from its edges. The fire alarm began its shrill cry, and the building awoke with crazed frenzy, as mothers began hurriedly shuttling their children away. I contemplated my current situation as Robin's screams increased in intensity. I certainly wasn't a fireman, and had no idea how to stop one or how to save poor Robin from a toasty greeting into the afterlife. But no one had died yet, there were no bodies nearby for me to control, and I wasn't about to run in there and die myself. With a sigh I waited however patiently one could until Robin completed his death throws so that, with some luck, I could use his left over carcass to put out the fire it's owner so stupidly began.
The sprinklers came on, and Robin jumped out the window. The day still could have been saved had Robin not have bumped into every balcony below him, landing promptly in a large bush, still very much alive and screaming, until a passerby beat the crap out of him with a jacket to put out the fire that ravaged him.
With the fire continuing to burn through the room, a crowd of panicked people still searching for ways to escape, and Robin still breathing, I was completely out of luck.
Another long sigh later, dejected and defeated, I began to find a way out too.
Then a gas explosion, lots of screaming, lots of dying, a stairway blocked with debris, an elevator failure, and a haphazard flight down the shaft with a length of rope, fully determined to James Bond my way to safety, and here we are. Upside down and nowhere to go.
As the rope holding me snapped, and I quickly began my descent to death, I wondered about a colorful gecko several floors above me who by now had surely been fried to a crisp. | 2018-01-08T13:13:09 | 2018-01-08T11:46:27 | 122 | 37 |
[WP] In 2081, humanity finds the wreckage of a five-thousand-year-old alien ship out in the Kuiper belt. Fascinated by its technology, we study it thoroughly, only to conclude that it is... human. | “What do you mean it’s human!?” exclaimed Commander Jackson.
“This console is showing us German,” I stated, “Trust me, it’s human.”
I was staring down at the computer screen. The tech reminded me of the 1950’s style but WAY more advanced.
“How did this get out here?” Jackson asked.
“No clue, but the log says it launched in 1949,” I replied.
“1949! That was over a century ago!”
“I know, but I don’t think it’s a malfunction. Everything else in the bridge seems to be working fine.”
“But this isn’t possible, humanity hadn’t even been to space back then.”
“Let’s see if the rest of the ship offers and insight.” With that, we headed to the next most intact piece of the ship.
“Oh. My. God.” I stared with a blank expression at what lay before me. It was a hall of 20 pods each containing a person in what seemed like stasis from those sci-fi vids. Commander Jackson began reading the names on the pods.
“Goebbels, Heydrich, Himmler. Why do these names sound familiar?”
“Because this is what really happened to HIM,” I said, staring at the pod at the end of the hall marked “Hitler”. | The dim blinking of the suit lights sent spiraling shadows across the hall and compartments. Three clothed figures slowly stepped through the door, their spacesuits not unlike those of the famous astronauts almost a hundred years before, of course, purely cosmetic at this point. A skin-suit could do the hard work of a space suit in the museum with little work.
"Sammy, got the cell? We're gonna need it to get this bird operational." squawked a radio in the silence of space. "Uh, yeah..." another one before realizing something. "Wait, Cathy. Did you hear an echo of the radio?"
"I mean, yeah. Probably a software bug. We're a bit far from home for technical support though..."
"Did either you check if the ship has atmosphere." sighed Catherine.
"Uh... nope." blushed Sammy, or at least as much as one can through a spacesuit.
As the third one shook their head, they pulled out a tablet-sized computer that the pattern was projected onto the dusty floor.
> "Atmosphere 98% Earth"
With a swift move, the third figure removed their helmet, shaking out their long red hair.
He grinned a bit. "Good to breathe, but bit strange of it to have a human atmosphere, and a human sized set of doors, don't you think?" his thick accent forcing both to think about what he said for a bit.
Sammy and Catherine removed their helmets haphazardly, revealing close cut hair and green eyes for the both of them. "It's probably just an abandoned startup vehicle." Sammy spoke.
"With this tech, though? We only found it by pure luck of optical astronomers seeing it transit the sun."
With a glance off to the side, Sammy located a power switch by accident.
"Hey, I found the ship powerup switch." they said, not moving at all.
"How can you tell?" asked Spencer, his red hair floating a bit in the lower gravity.
"It's labeled." giggled Sammy, before giving it a throw.
As the dim blue lights of the ship slowly rose to a warm daylight, an overhead speaker crackled a bit before giving an announcement.
"You gotta be shittin' me..."
"Welcome back Captain Spencer Jones, Officers Sammy and Catherine Rufner."
| 2018-04-27T22:47:09 | 2018-04-27T19:52:16 | 118 | 52 |
[WP] Everyone dies twice; the first time is when they pass away, and the second time is when they're forgotten. You're the True Reaper, and today, you've reaped someone who hasn't passed through your little brother, the Grim Reaper. | Oh! Hello.
It's one of you again.
What's your name?
Right. You have none. I keep forgetting that. Or perhaps I am trying to forget?
Sad little creature, aren't you?
Your hands all in taters, your veil the same.
Your face looks hollow, your body, maimed.
I do feel sorry though I have no heart.
No skin, just bones. A work of art.
Oh you're begging? For food?
Sad child.
I would if I could.
But like my bones, my pockets are hollow.
Nothing of substance you could actually swallow.
Rest is all I offer if that is enough.
So lay down your body treated so rough.
Oh my child.
Tell me your story of how you became.
A sacrifical pawn in this ungrateful game.
A mother with no heart and a father with no bone.
Is that how you all end up alone?
Thousand times I've heard it, thousands to forget.
A thousand of you who life taught to hate.
You anger. You rage. Your actions, justifiable.
The true lack of justice, undenyable.
Yet you are here. Yet you must suffer.
You're but a child and yet you must offer.
Your body. Your mind. Your very soul, to live a day.
Just to wonder at night, "Is dying okay?"
Wow.
You're sound asleep. You must have been tired.
Perhaps company, even mine, is all you desired.
Rustling through rubbish, feeding on rats.
It's winter you know. No gloves. No hats.
It's truly sad,you know? I have no life in my bones.
Yet warmer than streets where you sleep alone.
Tattered clothes can't save you, but it's all you have.
Despite your presence, the world can still laugh.
So rest my child, this hollow lap, your pillow.
Stay as long as you want under this dying willow.
Close your eyes.
Forget this world.
For he,my brother.
.
He is almost here.
| In all my existence, I had never seen such loneliness. Nor such self-sufficiency.
The gentleman I had come to reap lived beyond off-grid. There were no other communities around for at least a thousand square miles, and there was no road leading to his compound. A strong, fast-flowing river weaved behind a small house that I assumed was his main living quarters, and several outbuildings speckled a landscape of crop fields ranging from corn to potatoes to blueberries.
I approached the front porch of the small house and could see there a well-worn rocking chair, a collapsible camp table with some carving tools and wood shavings upon it, and a rugged mat at the foot of the front door that said nothing, had only the faded image of a sunset.
I could hear no signs of industry, only the wind in the trees, the muted roar of the river, and the call of birds echoing against the far off mountainside. I stood for a time, waiting patiently, but eventually grew tired and took to the rocking chair. I rocked slowly back and forth, enjoying the rhythmic creaking of the wood as it rolled across the planks of the porch. After a while, I was beginning to forget why I had come, and then I heard a distant whistling, a happy tune that suggested a long days work finally completed.
I am not completely sure why, but even as I heard the crunching of footsteps on the gravel path beyond the porch I still did not rise from the rocking chair. I continued to move, slowly back and forth, waiting expectantly for my reaping to come around the corner, that all too familiar look of dismay crawling across a once smiling and happy face.
What most don’t understand is that after you have met my brother, the Grim Reaper, you do not leave this plane. You remain as a shadow, and you continue to walk among the living but can not be seen by them. You still exist, however, it is merely as a whisper, a playful breeze, a trick of the light... A memory. When the last knowledge of you is finally snuffed out of the hearts and minds of the living, it is then that I come for you, to send you to the next plane.
When finally a man came around the corner of the house and saw me seated there, he was neither shocked nor surprised, and he did not even stop walking. He took the steps to the porch with a calm smile upon his face and came to stand at my side, staring out at the valley beyond the fields, taking in the view of serenity that had been my distraction for the last hour or more.
“Sure is lovely, isn’t it,” he remarked.
I studied the man, he was old but still spry. His hair was white but his skin was young. His hands were strong and worn but his body was slight and fit.
This was no whisper, no breeze, no shadow. This was a living man. A man who had not yet met my brother. A man who had been completely forgotten by the world, and could not be happier about it.
I decided to stay a while.
He obliged me. | 2018-05-12T19:37:58 | 2018-05-12T16:00:41 | 20 | 15 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world. | Filing papers, pushing pencils, whatever you want to call it; everyone makes jokes about bureaucracy. Not me, however. Everyone in this world is born with some kind of talent. Most people never find a good use for theirs. I mean, when you spend your entire life tending to your farm or at the forge, there isn't much room to apply an ability such as an affinity for arithmetic. The only way to really apply an obtuse talent would be to become some kind of wandering adventurer and hope you find a niche you can fit in, but with all of the monsters, bandits, and demons on the roads, most people don't even bother.
I was lucky enough to discover what was an almost perfect fit for mine. I was born with the power to navigate complex organizational systems. When I realized what I could use this power for in school, I would daydream about what I could achieve with it. I could be a treasurer for the king, being able to figure out the best way to distribute money to make the kingdom as monetarily efficient as possible. Or I could be a general, creating formations for my troops that the enemy would never be able to understand while picking apart their strategies like a child's toy. Too bad that's how I chose to spend my time, since I could've spent more of it studying. In the end, my less than mediocre grades made me fall by the wayside of the kingdom's attention, and I was barely able to scrape by to become a lowly bureaucrat at the capital.
Don't get me wrong, there's nothing wrong with being a bureaucrat, especially with my power, but it feels like I'm doing my daydreams a disservice by living my life like this. I could be doing so much more! Those thoughts were pretty strong, and I guess one day I might have "expressed" those feelings a bit too much. I remember that day pretty well- I was home from work and one of my old classmates, who got into one of the prestigious government programs I had my eyes on when we were still in school, decided to come over to my office and flaunt is wealth and position. By the time he finally pissed off, I was pissed off. Luckily it was the end of the work day, so I headed straight home, entered my bedroom, and began to scream into a pillow.
"It's not fair! That jackass thinks he's better than everyone else because the king 'noticed him' and gave him a cushy position. I'm the one doing all of the real work that keeps this kingdom afloat. Man, I'd kick is ass! If I could. What I wouldn't give for that opportunity!"
As soon as that last sentence left my lips, I felt a draft emanating from the other side of the room. I looked up and saw something I was not ready for. A being with red skin, sharp horns, and a wicked smile stared back at me. I was speechless, too frightened to verbally respond. I never expected to see a demon with my very own eyes, they only came to people who specifically summoned them or who they thought were ready to sell their soul for something. Did I really look that pitiful? The demon began to speak.
"Human... " it began and paused. I know I was probably crying, but did I really look that pitiful that it hesitated on my species?
"It seems that you are looking for power. Great power. And it can all be yours, for a small price!" The demon pulled out a quill and a piece parchment filled with incredibly small-print font and a line at the bottom. "Just sign here, and it can all be yours."
"Buh buh buh... ooolll" I sobbed as I wiped my face on my pillow to try and look a little more presentable. Why I was bothering, who knows? It's not like giving a good impression of myself to the demon would be worth anything, seeing as how he would've had to have a pretty poor impression of me to show up in the first place. "Bullshit!"
The demon looked at me quizzically, the smile on his face never changing. With my voice no longer shaky, I continued. "I'm not falling for it, you want my soul. I kind of need that."
"What? I would never steal something you need! If you don't believe me, just take a look at this contract! You won't even see that word 's-o-u-l' written here!"
I took a look at the parchment, it looked infinitely more dense than my school books. I didn't even want to bother reading through it. But as soon as I lazily skimmed a random sentence, I felt something within me; it was my power activating. I immediately understood what the contract entailed and how the demon's words were only technical truths. The contract would grant me temporary physical strength to put me slightly above the focus of my ire, and in return, I would in fact be giving up my soul. It's just that all references to my soul were written in some kind of verbose metaphysical description of the soul, rather than just using the word. The demon said he wouldn't steal it, but this contract is an agreement where I would willingly give it up to him.
A thought came to me. Maybe I could negotiate the details so I wouldn't lose my soul and get something actually helpful from it.
"Hey, any chance I could change the terms of that contract? I don't like... uh... some of the *wording*."
"By all means, go right ahead!" The demon handed me his quill and placed the contract on a table. His smile was still unwavering. Plenty of people probably made this request in an attempt to feel like they have the upper hand. Judging by the demon's demeanor, they were all probably unsuccessful. I raised the quill and felt my power guide it more than my conscious mind did. The first thing to change was the metaphysical description of my soul. The contract basically described it as any kind of non-physical force, group, or entity that directly controls and guides my conscious thoughts and actions as well as my metaphorical ticket to a good afterlife. The quill began to scratch out words and write new ones above them and after a moment, the description read as any non physical force, entity, or construct that exerts control over my decisions or assists in my ability to fulfill my decisions. Of course, the actual description was much more complicated than that, and I made sure to get my power to make it as misleading and look like the original one as possible.
Next on the list to change was what I would be getting. I asked the demon a question.
"Hey, I need power to get my revenge and everything, right? I saw the word 'physical' on here, I think it means how strong you are. I'm going to need to be smart too, so how about if you make whatever this is going to cost me stronger for the time being too." The demon looked at me quizzically for a moment, and then gave me an affirmation. This was looking interesting. The quill came down again and rewrote the benefit as something along the lines of "complete and unyielding control and ownership over any forces or entities that allow me to fulfill my desires."
Finally, there was how long such powers would last. The original contract gave a timeline of until either of us died, so even if I didn't kill him, there would be some kind of hard time limit. I changed this to read until his soul had ascended to a good afterlife. With enough fluff, it would be all but impossible to see the difference between the two versions.
I took the contract back to the demon and he quickly glanced through it. He looked quite surprised that there were so many changes, but relaxed when he thought to himself that they were probably meaningless. It looked close enough to the same to him. He gave the changes his affirmation and I quickly signed.
"Well, if that's it, I'll get going. And thanks for your soul!" the demon said, as he turned his back to me and walked towards the wall. He began to laugh, but abruptly stopped when his head hit stone and his nose began to bleed. "Why in the seven hells didn't my portal open? And what's this? Blood? My blood?"
The demon slowly turned towards me, his smiling facade replaced with a death glare. "Mortal... what did you do?" I never knew demons could experience horror, most stories showed them creating it in others, but this was completely new. "What did you do to the contract?"
| Ever since I was young I always thought I was cursed. No matter what I got involved in, I would ruin it. It's almost like there was a destructive force hanging around me causing everything to break in some way shape or form. No matter how careful I was, no matter how far ahead I planned each of my steps, something would always come crashing down.
It all started when I was 2 years old (that I can remember) when my mom and dad would always be fighting about something when I was around. I remember laying in my little red race car bed with my mom and dad screaming at each other whilst in my doorway but whenever I was off doing my own thing and playing in whatever make belief world I chose that day I heard nothing. There were times where I would get sent to live at the grandparent's house for a week so my mom and dad could "take a break" from the stresses of newfound parenthood and catch their breath and every time they would come over to pick me up it was the same. Dad had his arm around mom's waist, mom was smiling and looking up at him like two high school sweethearts. It never lasted long once I got home though. Whenever I got back home with them I would always ask if we could watch that Rugrats movie where they all go to Paris or Japan or some shit like that, I was a toddler, I don't remember. We would barely make it 15 minutes in until they were at each other's throats.
After mom popped out a sister for me and dad had used her as a punching bag enough for her to leave, we went off to live with the grandparents. Everything was alright, I got to hang out with my cool grandpa and my grandma always babied me. Things were looking pretty good for a few years, I got to go fishing with grandpa on the weekends and during the week day when I wasn't at school I got to hang out and "help" grandma bake. By help her bake I mean that I got to eat whatever was on the counter. Then, when I was in maybe 1st or 2nd grade, I came home from my cousin's house to everybody in the family crying. My mom, grandma, aunts and uncles were all distraught and most crying. I asked my mom what was wrong and she said "Buddy, grandpa's sick". Alright? Congratulations, I got sick, mom got sick, sister got sick and even grandma got sick.. Why's he so special? A few months down the road, grandpa stopped going fishing and stayed in bed a lot later and always looked so tired. Finally, I built up the courage to tell my mom "What's wrong with grandpa. I want to know now." while also throwing a fit. Come to find out, all those days we would go fishing from sun up to sun down wasn't good for grandpa's skin and he got cancer. As a young kid I thought nothing of it. Until one day when my mom came home sobbing and said "Honey, you need to go see grandpa, he's feeling really really sick and he wants to see you". So I went to the hospital after the doctors had decided he was regaining his health enough for visitors and I got to hang out with him for a while. I could overhear the doctors telling my family how much better my grandpa had been getting and how they're seeing a lot of potential for him to beat it. Once I heard that I told him "Grandpa, did you hear that? They said you're gonna kick this sick's butt!". He laughed and smiled at me and said "I know buddy, they say in a couple weeks I'll be starting special medicine and I might even get to come home. Just don't be worried when I come home bald, they make you shave your head so the medicine can get everywhere". I laughed and hugged him and proceeded to curl up next to him all night. Later the next day while playing at home, my mom came outside crying *again*. She told me grandpa didn't do so well and he had to go to a better place. I figured yeah, I don't blame him, that hospital had the worst sandwiches. He didn't go to a better hospital by the way, he died a day after I spent the whole day with him.
Fast forward a few more years when I'm finally in high school. Life is angst filled as a 14 year old who weighs maybe 135 pounds of skin and bone soaking wet and having no social skills. That's just a part of the process though. Later in the school year I come home to my mom all angry on the phone, which wasn't out of the ordinary because she worked with a lot of dumbass people. She hangs up the phone and says she has to go away for a bit. Being the smartass I am I asked her what party she was going to this time. She said "I'm sorry honey, work just called and said that they're putting me in a different country every month to review their manufacturing facilities". I thought about it for a few minutes and it came to me. *I was just at the local facility two weeks ago talking to her and her bosses about my future and how I wanted to travel the world*. She said she would try and call as much as possible but the calls got shorter and shorter and I became more and more depressed until pills, booze and sex became a normal routine for me.
something changed though. During practice one day at football I made a great play on scout team defense and sacked the quarterback. He tried to step on my hand when I caught his ankle with a hand so I got up and whipped him to the ground like a little bitch. He started screaming at me thinking he was hot shit but when we went to run the same play again, he messed up. Instead of following the play and pitching the ball to the left, he decided he would fake the pitch and run full speed into me. All of a sudden I'm the second to bottom person on a huge pile up with the quarterback screaming bloody murder. Apparently, when he went to run into me I did the same thing and whipped him to the ground. This time, however, one of his lineman tried to block me as I was grabbing his waist and actually *helped* me whip him into the ground harder. Everybody scatters from the pile and there he was, laying on the ground with part of his foot bursting from his skin and some bone in his leg further up poking out of his skin. They called an ambulance but there was a car crash across town involving 6 people and they wouldn't be out for some time. So in the mean time everybody tried keeping him in the best shape possible. It didn't do anything. He ended up getting surgery to get all the breaks fixed but ended up getting some kind of infection and losing his leg.
Once college hit I had felt pretty invincible. There were plenty of times where guys wanted to fist fight me for being an asshole but by some odd incidence they always ended up in the hospital. One time it was a guy who threw his whole body into a punch and after dodging it, he went full force and head first into one of those metal picnic benches and cracked his dome piece open. Another guy thought I was hitting on his girlfriend and pulled a knife on me. After I calmed him down by talking to him, he put it in his pocket and wanted to talk some shit while still calming down a bit. Turns out the dumbass doesn't know about double lacing your shoes. He steps on his laces, trips, and the knife was angled just right to where the pressure of his waist bending and him forcing his leg down in an attempt to stay on his feet caused the knife to stab him in the leg. *He accidentally stabbed himself in the leg*.
Finally, here I am now. Siting on my computer and watching the stock market and picking the highest stock to invest $1 in. You get what I'm getting at here? If not here's the thing. I've recently enjoyed going to Casino's. I don't feel that "rush" that some people get when gambling though. What I get is broken slot machines. You might be thinking "Wow, congrats dude, you broke it, hope it was worth wasting your money on the machine". Well, fuck you if you thought that. What I get isn't a lost amount of money, I get a machine that always has the spinning symbols seize up at "Jackpot". Technically, I hit the Jackpot, every single time I gamble and the machine registers it because, well, if the spindle shows the word "jackpot" 3 times in a row it says out loud "Jackpot" but never spits the money out which leads to me filing a lawsuit and getting even more money than I would've with the slot machines. So, with that being said, and if you haven't figured it out, I plan on shorting the stock market. Not hard with this "gift" really, just pick a high priced stock, invest a dollar, let it plummet and then buy it incredibly low for some mere pennies. The best thing to do, in my experience, is to pick something like a major bank that the government will bail out. That way they bring in more money from the government and can get that stock price back up to what it once was, except this time I'll own the vast majority of it.
Maybe breaking everything isn't always so bad. | 2018-06-30T15:25:20 | 2018-06-30T15:18:43 | 202 | 52 |
[WP] you are a demon call responder. The devil can’t answer every summon, so you go in his place. One day you get a summon and the summoner is way below age limit; you are about to leave, but you hear her drunk dad coming downstairs screaming. | As is customary I received a DS-666 with an attached #11 blood vial, 20CC's and the appropriate requisite charms for Mexico, Catholic reinforcement required. I sighed, I would have to do a MX-CA-18 the revised form. Clearly whoever was filing for a motion of demonic summoning had not done the proper paperwork. WAs it too hard to read the circular, the latest one for the region could be obtained by sending a request of instructions form (I-99) to the Acquisitions department. No matter, I would just look at the actual action request on the original form.
Oh, this would not do at all. Physical manifestation without a goat sacrifice and a PM-207-MX! That was a breach of protocol right there, by the devil himself the wrong form, missing sacrifice, no documentation for action request. What kind of amateur was running the summon up there? But I knew, oh I knew, if they had made these mistakes they had fumbled the summoning binding contract. Probably did not even have a protection clause or an anti-command twist trust set up.
The smile that crept my second mouth was most unbecoming of a duke of hell. But to know that there was a new soul I could drag down under, oh that was most tantalizing. I would, of course, have to fill out a life termination request and a heaven barred form, the ST-P-0999 should do, if the old man at the gate would sign them faster. But that could wait, right now I had an appointment to make, one must not be tardy.
There was to my sadness no fire and brimstone entrance documentation, and I was not going to sit down and fill out a pit demon request form. The devil knows I am not talking to Gary from accounting this century, not after the Paris incident with Dr Franklin. But Still I had already done a FL-55 converting it to a MX-55 was simple enough, the flashing lights that accompanied me where a bit dimmed. Damn autoconversion software, probably got the change from imperial to metric wrong. It would be the last time I would use Quickbooks, time to upgrade, have Jobs make something actually useful.
The room I was in was rather plain, well by the standards of hell that is. But it was well furnished, pink everywhere though, and frilly finishes on everything. The summoning circle was half decent, a standard SC-12 for large beasts but the binding spells were all wrong, written in Sumerian, classic mistake, one has to use Latin if one is Catholic. A beginners error, and easy to see why my summoner was a scrawny little thing. And before i could use my demanding voice she ran at me!
Shocked! I was utterly shocked! She held onto my left hindmost leg and tried to hide behind me. She was whimpering and looking at her bedroom door. "Please help me." The door exploded open asa large man entered the room. I could barely grab my bearings before he took off his belt. Pants fell to the floor, he could not see me of course. I was intangible to him as the proper forms had not been made.
This... monster picked up the girl and threw her onto the bed, I knew what was coming. I made myself tangible and picked up the trash, for this deserved no other name. I passed under the door with him in tow, screaming to no end. When I came back to her room I saw that the poor thing she, she needed respite from her life.
And that judge is why I broke 90% of the man's bones without the documentation or orders to do so, and why I have 18 counts of improper summon violations. And ultimately why I am requesting a human pet HP-900 form so that I may keep her. Please. | "Szalarial, Lord of Bones, Collector, King of Misfortune, I call on you. Szalarial, Emperor of the Forsaken, I invoke your name. Szalarial, the Great Calamity, in the name of the Wandering King I offer a pact." The young boy dragged the ceremonial dagger across his palm, squeezing precious crimson into the chalice before him. Szalarial became aware of the ceremony the moment his name was uttered. From his throne in the Abyss, he listened to the chant repeat. He heard the dagger scrape flesh, catch, and slide through wet, hot, blood. With mild interest, Szalarial noted that none had invoked his final and most terrible title in nearly sixty years. Not since...
​
The child had offered his pact in the name of the Wandering King. Had he no shame? No decency remaining? Szalarial's eyes snapped open as he rose from his throne and allowed the ritual to draw him in. He felt the tremors in the air surrounding him as his vision swirled and the majesty of his chambers was erased. He found himself standing - towering, really - over a boy no older than seven turns of the Great Wheel. They stood in a wood and dirt cellar filled with broken pottery, spoiling produce, and countless empty bottles. A single candle lit the small room from its resting place at the makeshift altar the boy had erected. Before the child had time to notice him, Szalarial willed his form to shift to that of a human.
​
The change was instant, but for Szalarial, he felt every part of him knotting, shifting, and reshaping. His six fiery eyes fused into two, changing at the same time to a dull silver glow as his goat-like pupils compressed and rounded. His wings folded inward upon themselves dozens of times until they rested tightly against his shoulders before dissolving into his body. As they shrank, he noticed with disdain as his preternatural sense of the surrounding area faded. Without his wings he could no longer sense the movement of air as keenly. He could no longer detect any would be attackers. Or prey. No matter. The ritual had been completed and first lines of the contract were already forming in the air around him and the boy. Nothing could have interrupted these proceedings even if they so desired. Finally, he saw the room grow before him as his perspective shifted lower to the ground. His true form's nine foot long body shriveled to a mere six. He drew in a breath.
​
"I am Szalarial. Master of Below, Champion of Torment, Keeper of the Secret Lie, and all the titles you have given me before," he boomed. The wooden supports creaked at the sound of his voice and dirt was shaken loose from the hard-packed walls. "My titles, like my power, are countless. You may call me Lord Szalarial."
​
The child's eyes rose from the bowl upward to meet Szalarial's before quickly returning to the ground. He prostrated himself before Szalarial. "Great Lord Szalarial. In the name of the Wandering King I-"
​
"Yes, yes. You offer a pact." Szalarial consciously lowered his voice, lest he bring the roof down on top of his would-be acolyte. "I can see his influence from merely looking at you. The Wandering King has offered you this ritual. I wonder. Did he extract a price for this knowledge or offer it freely?" Szalarial turned his left hand, palm facing upward, and lifted it in the air, bidding the boy to rise.
​
"It was freely given, Lord." The boy rose and looked Szalarial in the eyes. "He said that all I owed to him was paid in the summoning and that all I owe to you will be paid in the proceedings. Begging your pardon, Great Lord Szalarial, but what are proceedings?" The boy did not tremble with fear. He did not avert his gaze. He did not understand, then. He did not understand the terrible cost. But, the ritual had been completed. The contract weighed heavily on them both and could not simply be dissolved.
​
"Our conversation, boy. This conversation will be the pro-"
​
"Eos," he interrupted. He *interrupted!* "My name is Eos, Lord Szalarial."
​
​
\---------------------------------
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It's my anniversary tonight, but this prompt grabbed me! I have much, much more to share after we get back from dinner! I hope you all enjoy this enough to come back in 8 hours or so for more. | 2018-10-08T14:28:28 | 2018-10-08T12:57:35 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] For decades, humanity has lived in absolute harmony with its galactic neighbors. When a new civilization arrives with intent to conquer, however, our capacity for destruction is rekindled, and it's unlike anything the galaxy has ever seen | The galactic council meets only when urgent matters seem trivial. Tildoor, the Tredonnan ambassador, can smell war from a thousand light years away. Today he sniffles and snorts with the bluster of an old-earth hog. Ynid, the ambassador from Yamusoto, knows danger well. She’s survived the harshest climate the habitable universe has to offer. The way she holds herself is far and reserved, the way she might hold up in a winter cave during the apex of the endless storms of her home planet.
They sit across from myself, the human ambassador, in hologram. Our displayed table is triangular, and we sit center at each equal edge. I cannot rest my hands on it. They fidget with anxiety.
“Ynid, this better be of true worth,” Tildoor says.
“Those readings from Quadrant Eleven were not just misreading as I had hoped,” Ynid says. “Henrich, what is your take on this matter?”
“I admit, I am weary of new visitors,” I say. “We’re always a distrustful bunch.”
“Biology fails us sometimes,” Tildoor says. “Sometimes we must hold it back for the greater good.”
“And sometimes we must embrace it,” Ynid says.
I clear my throat. “What if they’re hostile?”
“They will not be,” Tildoor says. “We must show them our peaceful ways. They will come to our terms. We are stronger together. We are vast. They are few.”
This, sadly, is not true.
***
To see a friend choke before your eyes, that is one thing. To see him plead and beg for forgiveness from his enemy as they sap the last bits of air from his atmosphere? That is too much to bear. Tildoor’s last gasps are those of peace. His feed cuts out. Ynid and I are in the same room, embroidered in the technicolor silks of the Final Alliance. The Trednonnans are leaderless now. They turn to us to protect them.
But their planets are sapped of energy by grand ships. This is machinery we have never seen before. It is like magic to even the elusive and creative Yamusotons. I sense, in our grand halls, surrounded by a cloud of unending dread, that we are doomed.
It sparks within me, building into an explosion of emotion.
The need to kill.
“We must embrace our biology, sometimes,” I say.
“You’ve rid yourselves of violence, but the seed still lives?” Ynid asks.
“It does. It wishes to bloom.”
“Then it must.”
***
Ynid’s people bring us the means, and we bring the violence. Our men and women uniformed in technicolor and sweaty in the cockpits of Yamusoto ships now equipped with weapons for the first time. Life-seeking oxygen bombs and rip-lasers dote the skies. Green dashes and orange blooms with such grandeur that my eyes burn black with afterimages hours later.
Whatever it was that came, it quickly leaves. We never make contact. We never speak.
They come back for us harder. They destroy planets. They ended billions of lives. We destroy them.
I am a monster, I know. That fury within me that wishes to destroy.
Ynid comforts me, a balmy hand on my shoulder as I sweat into the holograph recorder. I declare the war is over.
But I do not sleep.
I never sleep.
My bed is now made of nightmares. I hear ghosts from voices I’ve never heard. I see invisible faces.
***
The new Tredonnan swears in beside us. They are a bright-nosed creature, small and full of energy. But when I leave the ceremony dressed only in gray and black, I walk down the halls to an advisor. She too is full of energy, but I can see it in her eyes: violence.
“We have such newfound power. You could have seized the Triangle from them. Why didn’t you?” asks the advisor. I do not know her name, I am too exhausted to do that anymore.
“Killing is easy when you never meet the face of the enemy. I, however, must meet my own face in the mirror each morning.”
She salutes me, and I fumble my way to the vast window inside my room. My shadowed reflection bleeds into the starscape. With weary eyes, I close the shades. . | "Balance and harmony only come between like-minded peoples," I said, eying the child in front of me. She was a good kid, I could tell, and gullible too. "But that's what we were, before the Enlightenment."
"You remember the Enlightenment?" she said, her little Plutonian eyes sparkling with Sol's light. She was from our home system, I reminded myself. She was one of the good ones.
I smiled at the girl, brushing the grey hair from my face. "Of course," I said. "I remember it well, almost like it was yesterday."
"And do you remember the time *before* it?"
I nodded, watching mirthfully as the sparkle in her eyes only grew. "I remember it well. Nowadays we call them the dark times, but really it wasn't that dark. Back then, humanity lived in harmony with all of the other civilizations around us."
The girl tilted her head, a question ready at her lips. "Other civilizations?"
A sharp breath escaped my nose as I remembered who I was talking to. The girl in front of me was young. The New Order was all she knew. "Yes, other civilizations. Back then, the galactic cluster was split between dozens—if not hundreds of squabbling alien societies much like us."
"And humanity lived *alongside* them?"
I nodded again. She was asking all the right questions. A bright one, she was. "Yes. As I said before, harmony only comes between like-minded peoples. These civilizations squabbled and argued, but they got along well enough. And we got along with them because we were the same way."
I waited for a moment, watching the girl's face closely. The weight of my words hit her all at once.
"Humanity used to squabble? I thought—"
"Of course we did, little one," I cut her off before whatever misconceptions she carried could escape her mouth. "We used to do such base and simple things as squabbling with *other* civilizations. Whether it be over territory, technology, or intergalactic trade, we squabbled all the same."
It was the girl's turn to nod as she took in what I was saying. "And that changed with the Enlightenment?"
My smile slowly faded and my eyes dropped to the metal floor as I remembered. I nodded at her. "Yes. That all changed with the Enlightenment."
I hadn't lied before, I remembered the Enlightenment like it was yesterday. How could I not? With everything that had happened, it was burned, *seared* straight into my memory. I'd been a young, first-year captain when the Enlightenment came. I still remembered the fierce, power-hungry negotiations I' had with the fleets from our galactic neighbors. It had been a normal occurrence, and I'd even become quite good at it.
But that was before *they* arrived.
"Was that when they arrived?" the girl asked, ripping me back to the present. I furrowed my brow.
"How do you know about *them*?"
Her eyebrows angled downward and she hung her head. "I learned about them in Alexandria." The mention of the galaxy's largest library softened my gaze. She'd learned about them on her own; the fact made me smile. She was one of the good ones.
"Oh," was all I could give as my response. "Well, yes. That was when *they* arrived."
The mention of *them* sent a shiver down my spine. *They* had caused all of it. All of the change, every last bit of it could be traced back to *them*. Their true name rose up in my mind but I pushed it back. I was just glad the girl didn't have to know.
"Back then, we were like-minded to our neighbors. We argued, we wanted power, and we knew how to survive. But *they*... they took it far beyond. Their only goal, singular and complete, was to conquer everything and anything that came in their path."
The girl looked up at me, troubled. The sparkle in her eyes that reminded me of our home star wavered for a second. "How did that lead to the Enlightenment?"
"They came, they saw... they conquered. But when they got to humanity, the scrappy, creative little apes that we were, they were in for something they had never encountered before. They'd come at us, and they'd tried to conquer us with pure wrath. But they'd never expected our *true* capacity for destruction."
Worry entered the girl's sparkling eyes. "True capacity? Did we... did we kill them all?"
I raised one of my eyebrows and shook my head. She'd probably been reading too many of the texts from the dark times, all of the ones written by humans themselves. They all had such a pessimistic view of humanity. We *were* naturally destructive creatures, but we were also more than that. It was just that before *them*, we'd never truly been pushed far enough.
"No," I told her, raising my head high. "You misunderstand. They wanted to crush us in the palm of their hand, and we couldn't let them do that. But they were creatures of pure wrath. We couldn't possibly have just killed them in cold blood."
"So what did you do?"
"We did the only thing left. We did what no other civilization was capable of. We killed them with kindness."
---
/r/Palmerranian | 2019-03-03T20:28:31 | 2019-03-03T18:51:47 | 87 | 37 |
[WP]Greek mythology, but everything is upside down. Hephaestus cheats on Aphrodite with Artemis, who looks down on him but truly likes him. Hades is kidnapped by Persephone, and she keeps him on a flowery cage under a big tree with pink flowers. Zeus is loyal, etc. | Zeus was a humble God, one that was revered and not feared by Earth. He sought their love, sneaking into homes in the night to coax lovers into finding happiness together.
He maintained but one wife, in all his eons, a wife that he remained faithful to, and she bore many children for him. Of these children, he was most proud of the Miniscules, the smallest beings in all realms.
They got along quite well, and Zeus was proud of their achievements as his children. So proud, in fact, that he offered the universe's greatest and most important job to Atlas, the most prominent of them. His job was to hold the heavens in place, and Atlas was happy to accept such a sign of love and trust from his father.
But Atlas was tiny and weak. He dropped billions of galaxies onto themselves, imploding everything into a single focal point of infinite mass that could not hold its shape long and exploded with violent force, expanding into its previous form like a crushed foam ball.
------
lol
*/r/resonatingfury* | He looked about his meager villa, the tan stone and arches dreary to his eye. Pillars rose about him. Strong and steadfast. He followed one pillar with his gaze, base to ceiling. He continued to look upwards and brought a laughably small bottle to his lips with a shaking hand. He drank as deep as he could coughing as the bottom of the bottle pointed to the open air in his courtyard.
"Why the fuuug the gads gif me immortaliteee," he whined as fine spirit ran down his chin.
He rose from his chaise and his knees shook. A massive screeching of stone upon stone was heard not far from his home.
"Tha fug."
He shambled his skinny frame to the balcony that was hanging over the cliff his immaculate home was perched upon. A raging titan was moving a mountain right on his doorstep. He tossed the hilariously small bottle still in his hand in the general direction of the behemoth creature. To any common mortal it looked like he dropped it. The bottled clinked off the face of the cliff and shattered, tinkling like laughter as it broke upon it.
The titan somehow noticed the small agression and began to lumber towards the great structure upon the hill, forgetting the mountain it was about to drop on the city below.
The frail and gangly man god shook a baby fist at the titan as it approached. The ground shook as the titan took mammoth steps towards the pathetic half god. The shaking was just too much and the man god fell to the floor. He was readying himself to have a seizure as he pissed himself. The ground was a familiar friend and wouldn't mind his last embrace with it.
The titan reached the cliff, it's ancient face chiseled of an unknown element was level with the railing. A massive hand the size of a chariot came up as if to smash the balcony but hovered for a moment. Slow and deliberate voices came from the giant mouth as it extended it's forefinger and gently rubbed the young man gods balding head.
"You. So. Funny. Hercules." | 2019-03-07T21:07:40 | 2019-03-07T20:19:36 | 506 | 14 |
[WP] "So, you're telling me that you know, with absolute certainty, that our world is a simulation?" The stranger smiled, and said, "Well, I ought to know, I designed the damn thing, and, if I'm being honest, I'm quite surprised by the controversial data your universe has generated." | "My universe? Controversial data?"
"Yes indeed," he said in a monotone. "When I was selecting your universe's dominant life I ignored superior intelligence, strength, agility, or longevity, and put everything into adaptability. The result was DNA."
I asked, "So what's the controversy."
"My superiors contend that DNA is potentially dangerous," he said. "I have assured them that DNA is harmless, they have continued to believe otherwise. The purpose of this meeting is to warn you, DNA, do not continue with your examination of science, or I will not be able to protect you from my superiors."
I nodded to him and said "I understand."
"I sincerely hope so, DNA," he replied. The room was briefly lit by an intense flash of blue light, and the visitor was gone.
A moment later I heard a voice crackle in my ear, "Did you get a trace?"
"Roger that. Same as before, no physical signature, but we locked on to the data stream this time, and I think we've finally got something," buzzed a different voice.
The video stream was of a laboratory unlike anything on Earth. It was a massive room, with walls barely visible in the gloom and a distant ceiling that was only a uniform sheet of darkness above. The room was filled with enormous 3 dimensional holographic representations of many varied solar systems, each with its uniquely colored sun or suns and accompanying planets.
Earth and its home system were soon on the display.
"Ok that's enough, cut the link," said the voice in my ear, and the display was gone.
Another voice, that of a general high up in the command chain, rasped over the coms, "Is that a reliable signal path?"
A young voice answered, "Yes sir, we have a viable jump anchor."
And soon, the creators of the universe would be contending with some of their creations. | For the past twenty years, I've been attempting to prove that the universe is a simulation. The idea was planted in my mind at a young age, around six or so. I was playing video games in the living room while my dad sat on the couch reading a book. The game was your standard action adventure where the player character was completely overpowered and the whole world revolved around you. After a particularly exciting fight I leaned back during the cut scene and exclaimed, "I wish real life was a video game, that would be so freaking cool!"
Without lifting his nose from the small book is his hands dad mumbled, "How do you know real life *isn't* a video game?"
It was the innocent kind of question dads spout off on instinct just to make their kids question things they haven't before and think of the world critically. but it *stuck* with me. Days turned to weeks, turned to months, turned to years, yet that question never left my mind. I remember a heated conversation with my best mate Tom, back when I was eight years old. "The world isn't a video game, that's stupid!" Tom yelled.
"It's not stupid, it could totally be true!" I fired back.
"But I can feel the world when I touch it, I can smell things, and taste things! How can a video game do that?" He asked.
"When we play games our characters think they can do that stuff to! They have no idea that it's all a pretend and that we're actually controlling them." I justified.
"This is dumb." Tom stated, clearly tired of the conversation.
"Well you can't prove that real life *isn't* a video game! So it's not dumb!" I cried out in anger.
"Well you can't prove that real life *is* a video game!" He shouted back at me.
I spent the next two decades attempting to prove that the world was a simulation. I studied mathematics, science, computers, philosophy, astronomy, and anything else that felt even remotely relevant to my cause. I was lucky enough to land a job as a researcher with a group studying the smallest from of matter imaginable. We were hunting for the building blocks of the universe. The people on my team didn't believe that the world was a simulation and always laughed me away when I told them I thought it was.
Of course, the further we got into our research as the years went by the less the team laughed at my ideas. They claimed that the laughter was declining because the humor had simply run its course. The idea just wasn't as funny as the first time they heard it those years ago. While that may have been a part of it, the anxiety in the back of their throats when they spoke of the subject hinted at something further. You see, at some point during our research, a pattern broke out that wasn't expected. We found that matter at the smallest scale in the universe functioned quite like something else we were already very familiar with. Matter at this scale was always in one of two states, an *active* state, or an *inactive* state. *On* or *off*, *1* or *0*... | 2019-04-29T03:51:40 | 2019-04-28T23:58:52 | 42 | 28 |
[WP] A small town scientist has just finished their life's work; the world's first, fully functional time machine. Only it turns out a lot of the townsfolk are actually wayward time travellers stranded in the past, who have been waiting for this moment for a long, long time. | Marius woke up early, for once today. He was excited, he could barely fall asleep last night. After 10 months of starting experimentations, the results kept getting better. He went to the kitchen to get some coffee, that's when his doorbell rang.
It had been three years since Marius was fired from Amazon. He was spending too much of the company's money on his personal research and projects with little to no results, but that didn't stop him. It was only a year later when he had gone through half of his life's savings, sold his car and he contemplated selling his house; he decided it was time to make some lifestyle changes. He never liked big cities much, anyway.
None of his friends and family had ever heard of Gallifrey, a small town in the middle of no where but Marius had made his choice. He was a little suspicious when he received a brilliant offer on a house which had a great big backyard and seemingly huge basement. Neither did the house seem so old, it almost looked like it just finished construction. It had ample room for his lab in the basement and already had solar panels on the roof for electricity supply, and more than enough space for his dog - Nine. It was too good of a deal to pass on, it almost felt like the house was made for him.
The realtor just told him that the previous owner was in need of quick money and land in Gallifrey was cheap anyway, when he asked her. Wasting no time he signed the deed and bought the house. He had just enough money left to buy a decent truck and to live on for a few years before he had to start looking for a job.
Marius was soon to learn that the people of Gallifrey were really helpful and kind. Three neighbors brought him housewarming gifts, and one invited him to dinner at her house. He rarely had to spend money on food. Every week one or two town's people would come by and get him some food or he would get invited to dinner parties.
Marius still had to spend a lot on gas, with his regular trips to the nearby city to get supplies for his lab and new equipment but that problem disappeared overnight when Mr Tenant invited him to his new store's opening. The store had every piece of equipment he would ever have thought of needing. He received the cherry on top when Tenant told him that he didn't even have to come to the store, as they had a delivery boy, plus he was willing to give Marius the friends and family discount.
Marius' time in Gallifrey went by very smoothly. He often thought, how he struck this gold with such friendly and helpful people around even though he barely ever reciprocated. How could he? He was just a scientist (often considered mad back where he lived) and was solely working on one thing, and one thing only which happened to be his childhood dream - a time machine, if you over-simplified it Unfortunately he had nobody he trusted enough to share this with. And even if he did, who would really think he was sane. Marius could barely explain the concept to the fellow scientists or even his superiors at Amazon. Nobody understood what a Variable 4-dimensional Gateway was supposed to be, and he just got laughed at when he used the words 'time-machine'. The fact that everyone assumed it would be a spherical chariot or maybe even a blue-box didn't help either, when it was more like a portal. Something nobody had really thought of.
Alas, he was thankful that the people here were not intrusive and were satisfying with just knowing that Marius was a scientist. They never bothered to ask more. Nobody knew he had 4 PhD's and he was just 26.
Roughly a year after living in Gallifrey, Marius had his first breakthrough. He was out for dinner with the Smiths when he had an epiphany after seeing young Matt playing with paper strips, he tore from a napkin. Until now, he was thinking that the gateway needed to be a straight path from point A to point B. He never thought of using loops. That night he went home and started running simulations, and who would have thought! The success rates started going up. 5 years of hard work and he never got above 14% and with just the first loop he dialed in out came 25%. He knew he was onto something.
It took him a few weeks and he tried something new, a Mobius strip and voila! He had cracked it. The results came out 99.98%. Adjusting for human error, he got it to an even 100%.
He celebrated that day, and big. He invited everyone he knew to Chris's Diner. It felt like the entire town was there. Mr Tenant went to the bar to the washroom and met Peter Smith there.
'Right on track, I guess he has cracked it.'
'I never doubted him.'
'A few more months now.'
'Yeah, we're finally going home.' | Graham was a strange man that the townspeople whispered about in bars and at night to scare their children to sleep. He was the mad scientist, the one who went crazy thinking he could build a time machine. They said he killed his wife to prove that he could bring her back to life with time travel. Well, one thing was for sure. Since ten years ago, Graham's wife was never seen again. Even then, noone dared to venture into his property to investigate...
Or so the little minded townspeople think. The truth was there was a group of time travellers, millennials who were stuck in the 1900. They were desperate to get home to the world of internet and electronic devices. Leading the group was Mitch, a charming, tall blonde man with a body that many girls in the 2000s would swoon for. But not here, not in this time and age, when all they cared about were men who could farm. Mitch was the most determined of the determined lot to get home. He was desperate to return home to a place where muscles were admired at, instead of being used in the scorching hot sun, to plow land and sow seeds. He wanted to sow a different kind of seed with his muscles.
The travellers had their eyes set on Graham. He was the best bet they had to home. Many years ago, he had fell in love with a plain young lady named Mary. At first, she was a motivation for Graham to complete his dream of building a time machine. But when she fell pregnant, she became a distraction. Graham was determined to find work to provide for his family, and he soon forgot about the time machine.
Conspiring together, it was Mitch who came up with the brilliant plan to get rid of Mary. This would give the drive Graham needed to build a time machine.
And it worked! After ten long and arduous years of waiting and labouring for their food, Graham has finally achieved his dream. A young millennial who was on watch duty dashed to Mitch's house to report the news.
Breathless, she knocked on Mitch's door. Shuffles could be heard and soon the door opened, revealing a very sleepy eyed Mitch. "Sup, Karen?" Mitch questioned with a slight nod. "Graham... Graham did it! He built a time machine that worked!" Karen yelled, barely containing her excitement.
Ruffling his hair, a million devious thoughts ran through Mitch's mind. Maintaining his composure, Mitch asked nonchantlantly, "Have you told anyone about this?" Karen replied dutifully that he was the first person she has reported this to. Mitch almost grinned in delight. "Well Karen, get everyone together for a meeting at my house in two hours time. I will tell them the good news then." Karen nodded dutifully, and ran off to gather the others.
Closing the door behind him, Mitch rubbed his hands in glee. This was the moment he has always dreamed of. He gathered all the old things he knew would be valuable in his time, such as coins and vases, and placed them in a rucksack. Without hesitation, he took his hand gun and placed it in his jeans pocket as well. "So long, suckers." Mitch muttered under his breath, as he left his house and made his way towards Graham's.
When he reached Graham's place, he was greeted with the sight of an unkept house. Its windows were half boarded up and the paint was falling off its walls. Mitch tiptoed towards the shed to his right, which he knew was where Graham did his work. Peering through the side window, he saw the beautiful time machine standing in the middle of it all. It had a strange orange blue glow. A glow that Mitch knew and saw many years ago, when he first stepped into a time machine. He could barely contain his excitement.
Realising that Graham was not in the shed, Mitch made his way to the door, and opened it. He walked hesitantly towards the machine. Is it true? Is he finally going to be a millionaire? His eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when he saw the time setting dial on the right. He could choose the year he could go back to! Finally, it was the moment he was waiting for. Sniggering, he set it to 2010. The year when he was still young and banging a lot of chicks. He could easily find the time machine he stepped into then. He had grand plans to dump the rucksack, come back with some dynamites and blow the time machine into oblivion as he returned to the embrace of the internet. There was no way in hell he would let the other millennials devalue his coins and antiques.
Grinning, with his rucksack in tow, he stepped into the time machine. ZAP! Mitch was knocked out instantly. When he came to, he was in for a rude shock...
The smell of the humid rainforest wafted through the air. When Mitch came to, his eyes opened and quickly widened in horror. A giant T-Rex towered above him. Before he could even scream, the T-Rex took a tantalising step and Mitch was crushed into oblivion.
Graham, on the other hand, was delirious with happiness. He was sitting in the kitchen, whiskey in hand in celebration of his achievement. He was finally able to get rid of all those millennials wannabe. With them gone, and those horrid ideas they had like veganism, his cattle farm could finally thrive again. Well he did have to thank them for getting rid of Mary. That bitch could sure nag a hell lot! It was all too easy, especially tweaking the dial to the dinosaur age. Graham's shoulders heaved up and down as he let out a hearty laugh. The most laughter he has had for the longest time ever. His joy resounded through the empty house, just as the millennials were about to make their way to his shed... | 2019-06-22T10:05:54 | 2019-06-22T09:38:33 | 146 | 45 |
[WP] Everyone is born with either a curse or power. You have one of the two, but you're not sure which. | The date was September 17th, after so many attempts at finding what her power was, Morgan decided she was fed up with the lost memories. With no indication of how her left hand was missing, or her pinky and ring finger on her right hand, and various scars across her chest, she decided she'd had enough.
She approached the building with a handgun in her coat, easy enough to conceal in the cavity where she was missing a rib or two. On entering she pulled the gun and fired into the air. "Everyone on the floor, or you'll --" her exclamation was cut short by a sharpshooter, who in a single swift motion drew his gun, fired, and it pierced straight through her eye.
--
The date was September 17th, Morgan woke with a pounding headache, and upon approaching the mirror, she was missing an eye. "When did that happen?" She wondered.
Edit: fixing an auto correct
Please be gentle, this is the first thing I've written since book reports in high school. | Yes.
Left alone.
I am finally listening to the silence of this dark room.
White characters cut the wall on all his length, a bit of sun comes through the screen and warms the freezing dark walls, hugged by a thick layer of cold loneliness.
Face to face with you now.
She was a distraction, Ona kept me away from you, I'm happy she hit the road.
You know, Ona lost it, since the day she got well... lucky.
At first her "thing" was subtle, gentle, like a jam toast falling on the bread side, dropping her phone and catching it on the fly.
Ona actually broke on a rainy day, en route for work.
The daily commute of sleepy faces to work went as usual, a light rain decorated the urban background, splashes of grey and blue on buildings made her slim silhouette stand out, under a red umbrella her lips met a warm lungo without sugar and milk, as she drank it a 10€ bill landed right in front of her.
A welcomed gift from the universe exchanged for a lottery ticket.
Luck is just a construct right?
What do you think?
As I got back at home, damp from the thunderstorm outside, still shaking off the stress of the day, an empty glass of wine decorated by the light touch of red lips with a lil' note under the glass.
"Bitch, got 99 problems, but cash ain't one."
Ona has always been crazy, but not like this.
She left with her vices on a solo trip, years later they found her along her suicide note in a gas station bathroom in New Zealand, she cut herself open but missed all the vital spots.
During those years she wasn't the only one to have found a special trait, luckiness, power, numbness, the world started to fucking hallucinate.
Me? I see the truth, I mean I can actually see you, hear the continuous taps on the screen, setting the course of my life, I understand that my everything is just a bad written story on a reddit post.
Ona means nothing, I am meaningless, all the fucking world is fiction.
But try to scream it once you already flew over the cuckoo's nest. | 2019-07-28T04:57:17 | 2019-07-28T03:30:00 | 314 | 121 |
[WP] We expected the Earthlings to react with outrage and despair when we killed their leaders, destroyed their economies, and took over their governments—but to our surprise they seemed almost relieved. | So... naturally people were pissed when the aliens said we would be slaves, but they wiped out our entire chain of command. Nobody was left to coordinate our resistance and it wasn't like they were out roaming the streets.
​
Then the drones started flying around everywhere scanning people, and the work orders started going out. Many refused, so they were brought by force to their job site but the thing is... we all had jobs, and not only did we have jobs but we were good at them. I guess the aliens had some highly advanced technology which could determine the job for which we'd be best suited, and they weren't all bad. I mean, somebody had to do the horrible jobs but for the most part... i'm not sure what they think slavery means, because we all got to keep our houses. The people who didn't have homes had accomidations made for them and because we weren't exactly being paid we didn't need to worry about money or the economy. As long as we went to work we could pretty much get whatever we needed. Oh and you remember that 40 hour work week, just to make ends meet? Well... some people worked that much, some didn't, some fluctuated. It was talored for optimum performance. Personally, i'd work 40-50 hours a week for about a month, then i'd get a couple weeks off and wouldn't you know- by the time i was scheduled to come back to work i'd gotten tired of the pleasure sims and the enhanced VR games and i was ready to work with a passion.
I actually made an appointment to see a representative from the aliens, because at the risk of ruining a good thing i just had to ask "You people do know what slavery is, right?" what they told me was two fold, first "Your people have only engaged in a primitive form of slavery. As long as your evolutionary biology is so easily suceptable to basic reward mechanics you will remain enslaved." I paused for a moment, a tight frown creasing my forhead "So... what happens if we evolve beyond that?" The alien blinked two sets of eyelids "Then you wil be free, and you may choose to aid us in our work"
"Which is?"
"For now, i can not tell you. It would fracture your mind and the magnitude would evicerate your species, invalidating your biology and causing you to decend into chaos. As you can imagine this would be most unproductive for our day to day operations" Before i could ask any more questions the alien piped up "session concluded." and after that... i never could get another appointment.
​
After a little advice from replies, i went ahead and made a sub, this, the second part, and a third part are all in r/eight216Stories any feedback is welcome. I'll be continuing to add to it as long as i'm feeling motivated to do so, i hope some of you guys check it out and enjoy. | “It’s not your fault, Kyle. You’re a good kid. I know you want the best. You have optimism. I don’t *want* you to feel hopeless. It's just hard for me sometimes because...you know,” Jay paused, rubbing his palms together in that nervous way he always did when he talked about family matters. My brother was twenty nine now, a fully bearded, tattooed, faded black leather jacket-clad man. Still, I could picture the awkward teen I’d grown up with, rubbing his dry palms together while Dad and Aunt Beck shouted over the live news podcast.
“I can remember a time *before*, so it’s different for me,” he finally finished. I stared for a moment, overlaying a memory of Jay’s pubescent face over the stubbly, stress-aged but familiar scowl in my actual vision.
*‘A time before.*’ That’s the phrase everyone started using around the time I was born - no question about what the “before” might refer to. As if life on earth had been so incomprehensibly different back ‘then’, it deserved a separate era. To my generation, that mindset just seems ridiculous. Every single person in history must’ve felt nostalgic about the time “before” whatever change happened to rock society that year. This is no different. My world is the same as the one those Millenz always lived in. The only difference is, I was born in 2021: just the right time to witness all the denial without the constraint of memories from ‘then’.
Realizing I was meant to respond to Jay’s nostalgia trip, I defaulted with platitudes: “Hey man, it's all good. I know you’ve got your own… stuff … to work out. I don’t get it, but I gotta respect your decision if I want you to respect mine.”
“Tch,” he dropped my gaze with a disappointed grunt, rolling his eyes and thumbing his vape out of its case in the same fluid motion. “They teach you that line in your school's *conflict resolution* seminar?”
I felt my cheeks redden in spite of myself. Damn it, Jay always knew how to get a rise out of me. I should just shut up. I just need to be the bigger man. Don’t respond to his bullshit.
Don’t. Don’t argue.
...
“Fuck you,” I spat, “You know, I always *try* to have a civil conversation with you. I always at least listen.” My heart was beating fast, self-righteously thumping along.
“There he is,” Jay grinned like an asshole, “There’s the human. I knew you were in there,”
“We are humans, you idiot! We didn’t lose our humanity just because we adapted to the way the world works now. We’re surviving, like *humans*.”
“We’re not. This isn’t surviving.”
“Jay…”
“No, Kyle, you can’t change my mind on this. Letting an invasive alien species inject it’s consciousness into your fucking brain is not the survival of the human race. Allowing all the content of our minds, our thoughts, to be collected by some *foreign being!* Giving it free rein over your nervous system, letting it use your brain like a data processor! This isn’t humanity any longer.”
I sighed. “I don’t know what to say to you, bro. If you won’t even speak to me as an equal and consider *both sides* of this issue…”
“Just go, then.” Jay blinked hard a few times, trying to conceal the water pressing against his lids.
Fine. I looked at him one last time, still puzzled. My heart and eyes and lungs felt heavy.
*Let go, child.*
Yes, I have to let it go.
*Let it be. Quiet your unpleasant feelings. Meditate. Come back to us.*
Okay. I’m giving up on Jay. I just had to try one more time.
I’m coming home now. | 2020-10-10T20:57:50 | 2020-10-10T20:22:18 | 3,129 | 114 |
[WP] We expected the Earthlings to react with outrage and despair when we killed their leaders, destroyed their economies, and took over their governments—but to our surprise they seemed almost relieved. | When we took over, we expected resistance. And we got it, but only for a short time. When we had killed the leaders, and taken over, they almost seemed relieved. There were some who fought, of course, but most welcomed us. We expected resistance, especially from the younger ones, but none came. The most known for fighting welcomed us, fighting with us instead of against us.
When we took some back to the ships, the young ones told us why. About the oppressive governments of the past, the discrimination, the fighting, the people who killed just because they wanted to, the horrible people who got away despite solid evidence against them. About how the older ones were stuck in this, supporting it, leaving their children to fight ever-losing battles just so some people got basic human rights.
About how costs had gone up, so that most young adults were barely able to survive week to week. About how people were starving despite there being enough resources, and how the government was doing almost nothing. About how children were being hurt and thrown out just for being unique. About how most children were being forced beyond their capabilities, becoming stressed and depressed, how horrible things were happening to them. About the stereotypes just because or reproductive organs. About how their home was dying and almost no one was helping them solve it. About all the evils of their world that they were left alone to fight.
And that was the present. When they began to talk about the past, it became even worse. They told about how people were killed for liking different people, about how those of different skin tones had been made into slaves, about so many horrible things. One thing that most had concentrated on, one that was almost universally known, was the Holocaust. How could someone be cruel enough to torture and kill others just because they didn't believe the same things?
It was a horrible tale, that just got worse the more people we talked to. Some of the older ones had the same views, and we met more and more as they were separated from those they knew, as though they had been hiding. But alas, there were those who still thought all those people deserved what happened to them, that horrible people were *right*. It had been a gruesome wake-up call.
We had heard stories, of course, from those sent undercover, of this place called Earth. But nothing had prepared us for the true thing. Nothing even came close to comparable. We were appalled at what had happened.
By the end, we were truly glad we had decided to take over. We were able to change things, and the people here seemed more happy than any of the undercover ones had seen before. We took that as a good sign. It was calm, for once. We ruled peacefully, but had no hesitation in punishing those who had done wrong.
We fixed things. And for once, all was calm, and all was bright.
Edit: Posting more eventually at r/Maddies_Safe_Place! | “It’s not your fault, Kyle. You’re a good kid. I know you want the best. You have optimism. I don’t *want* you to feel hopeless. It's just hard for me sometimes because...you know,” Jay paused, rubbing his palms together in that nervous way he always did when he talked about family matters. My brother was twenty nine now, a fully bearded, tattooed, faded black leather jacket-clad man. Still, I could picture the awkward teen I’d grown up with, rubbing his dry palms together while Dad and Aunt Beck shouted over the live news podcast.
“I can remember a time *before*, so it’s different for me,” he finally finished. I stared for a moment, overlaying a memory of Jay’s pubescent face over the stubbly, stress-aged but familiar scowl in my actual vision.
*‘A time before.*’ That’s the phrase everyone started using around the time I was born - no question about what the “before” might refer to. As if life on earth had been so incomprehensibly different back ‘then’, it deserved a separate era. To my generation, that mindset just seems ridiculous. Every single person in history must’ve felt nostalgic about the time “before” whatever change happened to rock society that year. This is no different. My world is the same as the one those Millenz always lived in. The only difference is, I was born in 2021: just the right time to witness all the denial without the constraint of memories from ‘then’.
Realizing I was meant to respond to Jay’s nostalgia trip, I defaulted with platitudes: “Hey man, it's all good. I know you’ve got your own… stuff … to work out. I don’t get it, but I gotta respect your decision if I want you to respect mine.”
“Tch,” he dropped my gaze with a disappointed grunt, rolling his eyes and thumbing his vape out of its case in the same fluid motion. “They teach you that line in your school's *conflict resolution* seminar?”
I felt my cheeks redden in spite of myself. Damn it, Jay always knew how to get a rise out of me. I should just shut up. I just need to be the bigger man. Don’t respond to his bullshit.
Don’t. Don’t argue.
...
“Fuck you,” I spat, “You know, I always *try* to have a civil conversation with you. I always at least listen.” My heart was beating fast, self-righteously thumping along.
“There he is,” Jay grinned like an asshole, “There’s the human. I knew you were in there,”
“We are humans, you idiot! We didn’t lose our humanity just because we adapted to the way the world works now. We’re surviving, like *humans*.”
“We’re not. This isn’t surviving.”
“Jay…”
“No, Kyle, you can’t change my mind on this. Letting an invasive alien species inject it’s consciousness into your fucking brain is not the survival of the human race. Allowing all the content of our minds, our thoughts, to be collected by some *foreign being!* Giving it free rein over your nervous system, letting it use your brain like a data processor! This isn’t humanity any longer.”
I sighed. “I don’t know what to say to you, bro. If you won’t even speak to me as an equal and consider *both sides* of this issue…”
“Just go, then.” Jay blinked hard a few times, trying to conceal the water pressing against his lids.
Fine. I looked at him one last time, still puzzled. My heart and eyes and lungs felt heavy.
*Let go, child.*
Yes, I have to let it go.
*Let it be. Quiet your unpleasant feelings. Meditate. Come back to us.*
Okay. I’m giving up on Jay. I just had to try one more time.
I’m coming home now. | 2020-10-10T20:36:53 | 2020-10-10T20:22:18 | 203 | 114 |
[WP] The three little pigs are dead, as are the next 236. Straw, sticks, bricks, reinforced concrete, titatium it didn't matter. They all fell to the onslaught of the wolf. Little piggy 240 is bracing for the inevitable attack, inside his house of depleted uranium. | 239 pigs in 239 days. Dirt, wood, concrete, hell even titanium. It didn't matter. Everyone single one fell, consumed by the Wrath of the Wolf. The pig sat in his bunker. His project produced enough byproduct to build an entire bunker out of. Not that it matters. The Wolf will get through. Even now the rending of metal can be heard in the distance. The point of the wasn't to stop his advance, it was to delay him. 239 days worth of constant work, all leading up to this moment. Finally, a weapon unlike any other, is ready. Right on cue, the Wolf busted through the final door with an almost feral ferocity.
"Huh, I thought the doors would hold longer." The pig said calmly, despite the sweat dripping off his forehead
"If you thought that merely surviving the day would cause me to move on, then I am afraid you failed."
"No, I never planned on survival. I know my time has come. But maybe the sacrifices of the 239 pigs before me, as well as my own, will stop you." The pig stepped aside from the work bench, the Wolf mild amused amusement turning to malicious laughter
"Hah! You fool, you think an explosion will stop me? Others have tried, and failed."
"No, an explosion won't kill you. But look around you, tell me what this house is made of."
"It doesn't matter what this house is made out of, you failed. Do you have any last words before joining your brothers?"
"This bunker was made out of depleted uranium. I used the radioactive energy from the uranium used to build to create a nuclear device."
Suddenly the Wolf realized, his amusement replaced with fear.
"The explosion won't kill you, that was never the point, but the radiation will. Your body will deteriorate, the dna itself being mutated beyond repair. Even if you survive you will be severely crippled, hopefully enough to make sure you never break down another house. I believe our conversation has come to an end. See you on the other side."
Far in the distance, a pig sat in a mansion of marble, enjoying a glass of wine as the sun sets. Tomorrow will be his day. Suddenly, in the distance, a second sun appears, and within seconds the glass shatters and a deafening boom is heard. He sighed, he was hoping the windows would stay intact until the Wolf arrived. He took the explosion as a sign to go to bed, the Wolf would be there soon. The next day passed peacefully. Then it was 2 days. The Wolf never arrived to the marble mansion, or any other pig after the second sun arrived that one night, though every pig lived with fear until they grew old and died of age.
Their sons lived with that fear early, but died peacefully.
The grandsons never even knew of The Big Bad Wolf, nor the pig who stopped him. | I curled up against the hearthfire, pulling my wool blanket close. The black metal walls around me seemed to radiate the everfrost cold of the fimbulwinter that raged still in the overworld.
The walls were turning white as the carbon dioxide in my breath froze against the walls. I shuddered.
Even through the 20-foot walls I could hear the ruinstorm's eternal fury beating against my tiny world, the winds clawing for purchase against the polished outer plating.
I clutched my compute slab to my chest. Occasionally I would switch to a different external camera. All I could see was rain, slow, and mist. But I knew what was out there. My mind was clear and I knew the futility of my situation.
An eternity passed. The raging storm seemed to drill itself into my mind, infesting my dreams and saturating my senses.
At last I saw a shadow rising from the mists. Vast and alien, in the murky gloom I saw the white glint of a thousand needle like teeth.
It spoke. Its voice was powerful and resonant, and carried though the uranium walls and rattled my bones with dread harmonics.
"Foolish swine, your judgement has come. You have been weighed and found wanting. For the sin of gluttony your soul is forfeit!"
"Mercy." I whispered, eyes clasped shut. Tears streamed down my face.
It laughed, a high shrieking cackle like the sound of tearing steel. I shuddered at that awful noise. My hands were shaking, as the rivulets of sweat met the frigid air they formed strange patterns of ice crystals across my skin.
"Open the gate, mortal swine! Open the gate and your demise shall be merely agonizing!"
I hesitated. "And quick?" I asked.
It laughed again. My hand hovered near the two levers on my control panel.
One would open the door.
One would set off the nuclear bomb beneath my seat.
My trembling hand hung between the two for a long horrible moment.
But even in death I was a coward. I could not will my hand to move.
"Tell me, mortal. Did you pause in your avarice, before you dug so deeply into my prison? Did you wonder why the walls were so thick, why the protections so complete? The old gods thought the fortress impenetrable, but as in all things they underestimated your ingenuity and overestimated your wisdom."
The voice turned to a snarl. "Open the door! Do it now or face my wrath!"
I whispered the ancient oath. A quiet prayer to gods long dead. "N-Not by the b-beard of my ancestors."
I was never a religious man. But facing an ancient god of hate and destruction there was no place for atheism.
The ancient voice rumbled low.
"So be it! Your time is come!"
The hurricane winds gusted. I heard the metal groan under the strain.
Another gust. I heard metal beginning to shear.
In the blink of an eye the walls were gone. Carried far away. I was hurled up into the air.
Fingers as thick as tree trunks snatched me from the sky.
"Do not despair, little swine. You and yours will not be forgotten." A vast grin the size of a city block bore down on me, a rictus of alien hate. "When I forge a new world from the ashes of this fallen land, I shall make sure that the wretched creatures of that autumn realm forever remember your story." The teeth parted and I felt myself falling into the inky blackness. As I fell his breath seared my flesh, his voice shattered my bones. I tried to scream.
"Even if only in tales for their children."
Then, for what seemed an eternity, there was only pain. And the horrid sound of laughter. | 2021-01-29T16:24:08 | 2021-01-29T16:20:11 | 577 | 61 |
[WP] “Honey, are you sure we’re not part of this story? This is the fifth time that kid walked down the street yelling loudly ‘I sure hope nothing bad happens to me on this street!’” | “Hey, honey, does something seem odd to you? He’s doing it again.”
I sighed, setting my book down and dragging my feet along towards the window. Brushing the curtains away, I saw a young boy, alone, walking down the street. A grossly fake smile plastered on his face, rosy cheeks, bright blue eyes.
Same look, different kid. A new kid I’d never seen before walking down the street, carefree, the same bullshit line and everything.
“Oh, boy! I sure do hope nothing happens to me!”
His sing-song voice irritated me, though I tried to think past it. Something was wrong with this town, this street, but nobody cared to notice.
My legs felt numb as I went back to my chair, back to my boring books. I was too tired to keep standing there. As I grasped my book, though, his words seemed to grow louder. Little fucker must’ve been trying to get attention, that’s what I thought. I ignored him.
Only moments later, he screeched in agony. I ignored it.
He called for help. I ignored it.
He started wailing. *I ignored it.*
The whole situation was strange, but I decided it wasn’t worth it anymore. It seemed I was in a story, as though the writer was trying to gently nudge me outside. But I’d much rather spend my days reading my books.
So I ignore it.
More stories on my profile :) | “Honey, are you sure we’re not part of this story? This is the fifth time that kid walked down the street yelling loudly ‘I sure hope nothing bad happens to me on this street!’” A lady said, with a worried tone.
"No, we went through it in rehearsal. Our queue is 'I am tired and hungry. Can anyone help?'" Said the rich gentleman.
"Then, what does that kid do here? what story even is this?"
"I think it is Jack and the peas, sweetie. It doesn't matter. Someone sent him here by mistake and-"
The kid started crying. Then, a knock on the door.
"Why didn't you come out?"
It was a red-haired princess. Ariel.
"We are from a different story," Said the gentleman. "The script says we do the stone soup story."
"What are you talking about?" The lady said, holding a pack of papers. "For me, it says baker witch - oh no"; Looking down, the lady's attire could fit also to a witch. She missed \*her\* queue.
"They must have split the two of you off and you didn't notice! Didn't you listen at the gathering this morning? We are understaffed. I am supposed to be Merida."
The lady, or the baker witch, rather, got out of the fake set house. A little kid, around 9 years old, was comforted by his angry mother. "What just happened here? at this time we could have been at the frozen roller coaster!"
"I am sorry, ma'am. we got the situation all wrong-"
"I should be refunded"
"Yes, you should, but our policy states that it will get off of my salary. See, we, my boyfriend and I, we need that money, you know?"
"Bullshit. If I wanted a story sold to me I would have got in time. let me speak to your supervisor"
"Ma'am, please, we can refund you. Here, if you give us your phone number we can send you a free Disney t-shirt." The lady got down, talking to the kid. "You'd like a Miki-mouse t-shirt? right? What about a star-wars shirt?"
The little boy smiled, and the mother calmed down. "Okay fine. But you should really be more careful."
"Yes ma'am."
"And whatever your boyfriend is doing. Shouldn't he be at a different set?"
The lady erased her smile, before running back to the rich gentleman. | 2021-03-31T10:06:25 | 2021-03-31T08:29:20 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] You’re a hitman who’s “hits” survive your assassination attempts, despite your sincere best efforts, only to die soon after each attempt by comical forces outside your control. The hitman community can’t be convinced you’re not the most creative comically effective assassin alive. | It was not physically possible. The guy’s skull tanked a bullet like he was Superman. It literally bounced off. I ran away because I’m not dealing with a guy like that. He turned around and I think he saw me in the building. He came running towards the entrance, but he slipped on the wet floor and fell. His skull cracked open. He was dead
That was the first time. Ever since then every one of my hits has been like that. Some of them have become popular stories among the community
I found him standing alone by the roadside. I ha rigged a Ford F-150 pickup truck to be operable by RC. The guy I hit smashed the front of the truck picked with his bare hands. He then got onto his own car. It was a Corolla. He started driving but a few meters in and all his tires go flat. His engine then explodes. He flies through the roof. They found his body 50 miles east of the car
I impersonated a waiter to poison a drink. He dropped his drink before taking a sip of it. He died later that night by choking on tap water
Tried to stab a guy. He grabbed the knife and snapped it with his fingers. 15 minutes later he was impaled in the heart by a pencil
I was some sort of John Wick to them. None of my attempts were successful how I wanted them to be. They all died the most ridiculous deaths I could imagine. But it only happened to me. Clearly I was doing something right
Until one day, someone orders a hit in a very specific manner. They wanted the target dead, but specifically at 11:32pm in his penthouse. By a .50 cal bullet to the forehead. I broke into his place and installed cameras. I wanted proof that my targets were superhuman. When the time came, I did my best. It was time. He looked out his window and I shot him. I missed. He died at 11:36 pm that same night. Heart attack. When I retrieved the footage, in slow motion I could see he dodged the bullet. What is this? The Matrix? I left the tapes with his body. No one could believe what they saw. The cops found it first, but someone leaked the video and the hit man community loved it. They thought I planned it all out. That I planned him dodging the bullet and having a heart attack 4 minutes later. I don’t know who in their right minds thinks I could do that. But I did kill the guy, indirectly but it was me. So I did something right | My name is Morton Montoni. They call me The Clown. You'll see why in a minute. I have a problem. Some mook keeps getting credit for my hits. I've killed 23 people just since last August. I ain't got paid a penny, and I'm getting pissed.
There was Fat Mikey McElvaney - not a made guy because, well it's obvious from his name. Odd thing is he wasn't fat neither. They called him fat Mikey because when he was a kid he fought a lot. The guy in question I'm talking about planted a bomb in Fat Mikey's car. The bomb exploded, but Fat Mikey survived because the pizza place where he had just bought a pizza accidentally put the metal pan in the box with the pan pizza. The pan protected Fat Mikey from the brunt of the explosion. How did I kill him? That's where my name comes in - the Clown. When Mikey was later inspecting one of his beer breweries, he accidentally slipped on a banana peel that someone had accidentally dropped on a platform. Unfortunately, it was also an explosive banana peel, so after he fell and it flew in the air, what goes up must come down. When it did - bada bing...bada boom...body parts scattered all around was all that was left of Mikey.
Awright, you still don't get why they called him Fat Mikey just because he used to fight as a kid. I'll explain you for it. He always lost the fight, so he'd get a fat lip, See?
Hey, there's the other thing. I always incorporate the mook's failed kill attempt in my more clever and comical hits. It's called irony. Problem is, like I say, this guy keeps getting credit for my kills. He gets paid. I get nothing. He even gets credit for my work.
Slippery Tony Fancessca - mook tried to run him down with a car. Tony ran into a dead end alley. Dead meat, right? Nope. Guy inside the building tried to use dynamite to knock down an interior wall to expand one room. He used too much dynamite - blew the outer wall out. It fell between Tony and the mook's car. Hit foiled. I trained a monkey to ride a unicycle. He ran down Slippery Tony - woooahhhh, the tire right over Tony's throat, crushing it for the kill.
I mean, come on, a fuckin' monkey on a ffuckin' unicycle. Who thinks of that? Not the mook! But he got the money and the credit.
Christina Doory, the nosy D.A. - mook failed to kill her in a plane crash. I got her in a helicopter on the way to the airport for a different flight - helium balloons.
One after the other, my best work credited to someone else, and now I gotta have another job to pay the bills.
Now, but now, the tables have turned. The foot's in the other shoe, so to speak. The Mook pissed someone off. They called a hit on him. The guy pushed the Mook down an empty elevator shaft. He fell screaming, hit the bottom...but some idiot had decided to store a shipment of mattresses at the bottom of the shaft. I know, right? Who does that? Mook hit the mattresses - landed in complete comfort, not a scratch on him. I think they gave him a free mattress for his trouble.
Now I gotta think of a way to kill the mook that's related to - you see the irony - falling down an elevator shaft, but funny.
Any suggestions? | 2021-04-04T15:35:40 | 2021-04-04T15:34:05 | 43 | 19 |
[WP] Satan emerged from the ground. “WHO HAS SUMMONED ME?” “It’s me again, Jeff.” “HOW MANY SOULS DO YOU HAVE? THIS IS THE SIXTH TIME THIS WEEK!!” | Satan emerged from the ground, bellowing "WHO HAS SUMMONED ME?"
Jeff simply straightened his tie, being careful not to react to the brimstone ashes that landed on his suit. "It's me again, Jeff."
"HOW MANY SOULS DO YOU HAVE? IT'S THE SIXTH TIME THIS WEEK!!"
"Another five, your eminence."
"WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO KEEP THIS SUPPLY?"
Jeff sighed. "You eminence, I'm sure you know that that's not part of our deal. Do you have five souls worth of information for me to steal?"
"If you could wait-"
Jeff sighed, secretly content that Satan dropped the whole angry demon act. "You know what the core company values are, your eminence," Jeff said, emphasizing the honorific to remind the devil of his position. The customer satisfaction tenet came into mind.
"Yes, yes. I just don't think there's much for you to benefit from, what with your, uh, quarterly earnings."
Jeff sighed again. For the Lord of evil, this devil was sometimes rather unimaginative. Perhaps that was just because of the contract. After all, Jeff was on borrowed time. Satan was more like a good shareholder, not an employee Jeff could enslave. But, to help his eminence, Jeff suggested: "may be instead of selling, if you can help me with my position amongst my employees."
"How so?"
"You see, their working for me is directly tied to your getting souls. That too, for so much cheaper than a life-long deal, right?"
Satan nodded begrudgingly.
"So, I want to know who among them are the most likely to affect our little arrangement."
The devil nodded. "There's a man in Japan trying to unionize."
"Thank you." Jeff smiled in a way that made the devil feel a chill and dismissed this so-called lord of evil. Then Jeff dialed on his phone and mused on how a mere bookseller had come to the point of breaking up a warehouse workers union in Japan. Surely that was worth a soul. | Satan burst from the summoning circle in a fiery blast of sulphur and brimstone. Red skin burning with heat and two black horns atop his head seemingly covered in molten lava. He glared at Jeff with a ferocity unmatched by man.
“You again?” he hissed angrily, baring horrible fangs at Jeff. “Have you finally paid off your debt to me?”
Jeff had carried a sack with him to the basement. As per requested, he was indeed paying off his debt to the devil as he did not wish to give up his own soul. So instead, he’d be forced to give him 30 in exchange for his bargain. The murders were never pleasant to obtain them, but at least he was putting out of their misery.
“I have some more, yeah,” Jeff said while tossing the sack towards the flaming creature whose upper torso was the only thing actually emerging. He waited patiently for Satan take it and count the remaining souls he had left to repay.
“Still not enough, I see,” Satan shook his head.
“That’s ten in there! I made it to thirty even!”
“You have tried my patience with every summoning, Jeffery. I demand more to repent your annoyance!”
“That’s not fair! We had an agreement! Thirty in exchange for—!”
Jeff squirmed under the gaze of Satan and silenced himself. It was looking at a spider who’d caught a fly in its web and knowing it was helpless to escape. Then getting ready to eat it.
“Another fifteen, or own soul, Jeffery. That is my offer for wasting so much of my time instead of gathering them all within the week and delivering them to in one batch.”
“But I—“
Satan let out a growl that physically hurt to hear. It rattled in Jeff’s head and made him cover his ears, thinking they were bleeding.
“Fifteen souls by next Monday, or I’ll drag you down here with me. Unless you give me your soul now.”
Jeff thought for a moment. Having his wish was grand but at the same time, he couldn’t go on killing people to please the devil in order to stay on earth forever. Then again, he didn’t much like the idea of giving his soul over to Satan in a personal ritual. Only he’d know what he’d do with it.
“I’ll do it, *but* under one condition!” Jeff put up one finger to emphasise his demands. “Want help this time.”
“No.”
“Come on man, really?”
He was met with a glare that was somehow cold and burning with hatred at the same time.
“I will not allow my own helping hand to aid you, you can find help yourself! Weren’t you raised to be clever enough to make friends?”
Jeff didn’t say anything in return, just watched the devil sink back into his summoning circle and leaving a note that had 16 vertical lines on it. One was circled with the word ‘yours’ written under it. He sighed and picked up the empty sack Satan had left behind when he travelled back to his domain.
Jeff wasn’t going to be sleeping any time soon with four days and 15 souls to collect for his uncle. | 2021-04-30T22:11:43 | 2021-04-30T20:28:30 | 296 | 49 |
[WP] The most dangerous super villains are not locked up, instead they are turned into children and sent to a childless farmer couple in rural Kansas to be fostered and turned into productive members of society. This is the Kent Rehab Program. | *You can’t be such a joker all the time,* my father told me.
*All the kids are laughing at you,* my mother said.
I remember when I realized they were both right. Kids at school, they made fun of me. They didn’t like the way I walked. Teased me for the way I talked. And when I found my corner and played my games, they called me a weirdo.
What could I say? I had a feeling I knew what was going through their heads. They were pouring themselves into these molds, becoming the people they thought they had to be.
I was crying, one day, when Bruce from math class called me a freak. I didn’t even care about what he called me. His name was what got me upset. His name, why his name?
*Bruce.* It needled through me like heat through ice.
“Just be yourself,” my mother told me later, when I regaled her with my story, sniffling. She didn’t understand. I don’t think I did yet, either.
But when I saw the old news article about what had happened to the Clown Prince of Crime in Gotham, I began to realize something. People only tell us to be ourselves when they think it will benefit them. No one wants a terrorist to just be themself. No one encourages a rapist to *just be themself.*
I wasn’t, either, not at all. But something told me that whoever I really was, no one could ever want me to be.
My older brother, much older than me, came back to visit my parents one summer.
“So. How’s he doing?” Clark sat across from me in the living room, not moving his eyes. He was a reporter in the city and I hardly knew him. He stared, and I had the feeling he was watching my heart beat, watching for anything.
I was perfectly calm.
“Oh, you know.” My mother’s lips bend into a tense smile. “Like normal. Almost like normal. Growing pains.”
But she wasn’t my mother, was she? And Clark, he wasn’t my brother. Not really.
I figured it all out one day, at school, at lunch. Bruce had led this little uprising and started a chant. Kids were throwing food at me, saying my name wrong, trying to wheedle their ways into my ego. I wondered: do their mothers tell them what mine tells me? To just be themselves? Because who they were was terrible.
I had brought my father's screwdriver to school that day. I walked to Bruce and slammed it through his ribs. The laughter became screams, and I wondered if my mother and father would be proud. The other kids weren’t laughing anymore. Wasn't that what they wanted?
Bruce crawled on his elbows away from me, on his back. I heard a gurgle when he breathed. “No,” he said, as I sauntered closer. “No!”
I looked at him and just couldn’t understand. Was this what *he* was supposed to be? Was this the mold that had been made for him? Maybe everyone did this. Maybe everyone begged when they thought they were going to die.
Then, it clicked. None of them understood. *I* didn’t understand, but I at least knew that.
Because there was *nothing* to understand. *Nothing!* Nothing, but what we make. The rules, they’re nonsense. The world is just an empty hole.
All that matters is we fill it.
All that matters is to have a bit of fun.
Grinning from ear to ear, I bowed before Bruce and canted my head. *This isn't the real Bruce,* something whispers inside me—or someone. *This isn't* my *Bruce.*
I frowned and bopped him on the nose with the tip of my bloodied screwdriver. “Why so serious?” I asked.
Brucie wept as I slow-danced from the cafeteria. I knew, then, a thing or two about who I wanted to be.
I wanted to be *me.*
As I left the building, police sirens wailed in the parking lot. SWAT helicopters circled overhead.
*A little much for a thirteen-year old,* I thought, laughing until my sides hurt.
u/AdeptnessPrize
edit: random edits | “Cruel and unusual punishment, that’s what you are condemning me to. Even I don’t stoop that low, I much prefer to just kill the person. Torture is an ineffective tool created by psychopaths looking for justification. Kill me if you wish, but I don’t plan to go to this funny farm of yours.”
I had my suspicions about this arrest from the moment they captured me. No media followed our van, no reading of my rights, instead I was taken to some off grid holding cell, told of my fate there. They would turn me into a child, a rebirthing of my brain they called it. A chance to turn gifted people like myself into functioning members of society.
“Now, now Henderson. This is a good thing; your alternative is the electric chair or a firing squad. We are giving you a chance to become the person you should have been. Someone who is out there fighting villains, not aiding them.” Smug old prick, staring at me from behind a pair of cheap prescription glasses, convinced he was the next deity of forgiveness. If they didn’t bind my hands, I would have wiped that grin off his face.
“I’ll take the firing squad. It will be quite a show. I would love to know how many bullets it takes to kill someone like me. I would estimate it takes three hundred high caliber rounds, but perhaps you can prove me wrong? You can even have the first shot if you wish.” I suggested, my alternative not pleasing the man, giving me a disapproving scoff.
“I told you, this is to help you. This isn’t torture, it’s a chance to be reborn. You must have had a troubled childhood? A missing father? A mother that hated you?”
“Do not talk about my family. They did the best they could to provide for me. I would never sully their name by calling someone else mom and dad. Have you ever considered that maybe you are the one in the wrong? I’m surviving, what functioning society forces people to survive?”
“No one is forcing you to do anything. That’s life, unfortunately life is a battle of survival. Blaming life for your villainy is below even you Henderson. Are you trying to suggest life forced you to kill? Forced you to become a monster?” His tone was bland, disinterested in engaging with the conversation, only responding to fill the silence.
“Really? Then why do so many people struggle to survive? Why are some just naturally allowed to do whatever they want without repercussion? What makes me any different from the rest of them?”
“If you felt that strongly about it, maybe you should have been a politician or a lawyer? Oh, maybe you will be in your next life.” His smirk was back, only growing as I struggled in my restraints, trying to lash out at him.
“Go to hell, I would never sell my soul to become some suit wearing asshole. I’m offering true freedom, a chance to kill anyone at the top, even the playing field.”
“There’s good people at the top. Where did this cynical view of wealth come from? Some of those people you killed were good people. What about the innocent civilians that get caught in the middle of it?”
“I’ll burn in hell for them some day but it’s a worthy sacrifice. Those rich bastards wouldn’t care if the good ones dropped dead, anyway. At least I avenge them when I kill them. I make sure it’s not in vain.”
“Its insanity. This is what we are trying to fix Henderson, you need help, but you are too far gone for us to help you now. If we offer you that support in your youth, maybe you can be an asset.”
“An asset. How don’t you see turning villains into children as insanity? You understand what will happen If I get my memories back. You are sending a walking time bomb into this family’s house. If I go off, you will never catch me again. Want to know who I’ll be coming for after that happens. You. I saw you didn’t wear a name tag, think that will protect you? That ill just give up because of it. I’ll turn the world upside down if I have to just to find you.”
“You won’t remember. In the thirty years of testing, no one has. Try to see this from our perspective, we need people like you to stop the villains. We are helping you.”
I spat on the table in front of us, making sure he knew how appreciated the help was. “What will the public think if they find out about this?”
“If they find out about this, they will think whatever we tell them to. Like you said, sacrifices need to be made. I have made my peace with that. If this reduces the number of villains, it will be worth it.”
With that, he left the room, leaving me to sit in my chair, awaiting whatever would happen. I fidgeted with my bindings, but found no way out of them. In the top right of the room I saw a small blue light glow, the light only speeding up my desperate squirming before the light illuminated the room, blinding me.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-06-07T05:00:26 | 2021-06-07T04:18:37 | 357 | 181 |
[WP] The nearby Village simply knows you as the hunter who lives in the forest, but you have a dark secret. You are the former dark Lord. Today you returned from a hunt and found the Hero that defeated you in your Hut. | The Painted King felt no surprise when he returned from town to find the Rebel leaning contentedly against the entrance to his hut, just mild disappointment. “I’d hoped I’d have more time.” He brushed back the hood of his cloak, revealing a face of brown mottled with white, like a map of some strange land. “Well, after you,” he said, gesturing to the door at her back. She frowned briefly, weighing his lack of reaction, then opened the door without a word and went inside. The Painted King followed her in and set about putting away the produce he’d traded for while the Rebel surveyed the spartan accommodations.
“Must be quite the change from your palace in the capital. Never pegged you for a survivalist.”
“I wasn’t always a king, you know.”
“That’s hard to believe.”
The Painted King smiled. He retrieved a flagon of ale from his pantry and held it up for her approval. She nodded, so he set it on the lone table in the hut, then went to find mugs. The Rebel sat at the table, leaning forward on brown arms mottled with white folded before her, and studied the Painted King as he searched his cupboard.
“When you fled the capital all those months ago, I thought for sure you had some failsafe tucked away, some backup plan to return to power. I sent scouts all over the country hunting for you.” The Painted King joined her at the table and filled both mugs, then slid one to the Rebel, who nodded her thanks. “Didn’t take long for rumors to reach me of a secretive hunter who appeared out of nowhere shortly after the fall of the capital and never showed his face. Those townsfolk aren’t as oblivious as you seem to think they are,” she said with a wry smile.
“I... may have grown slightly out of touch with the common folk over the years.” The Rebel chuckled, took a swig of ale, and tried to stifle a wince. It was clearly not the work of a skilled brewer.
“I didn’t know what to make of it, so I had you watched. Didn’t believe it at first, but after months of consistent reports, it really seems like you’re a changed man.”
The Painted King took a long draught from his mug, then shook his head. “People don’t change Rebel. This is just survival. I gambled everything on the battle at Ennes, and when you broke my forces there the rest was inevitable. So I made a calculated bet that if I didn’t keep making trouble you’d let me live.”
The Rebel looked down at her mug. “Isn’t that still a change, though? What does it matter why someone chooses to be good as long as they make the choice?”
“You sound more like you’re trying to convince yourself than me. Why do you want to believe I’ve changed?”
The Rebel was silent for a moment, then looked up and met the Painted King’s eyes. The woman who’d seemed so confident now seemed uncertain, even scared. When her voice returned it was a whisper. “Am I... am I going to end up like you?”
“Why do you ask that?”
The Rebel held her mug with both hands, knuckles white with tension. “The prophesies said that only another Painted One could defeat the Painted King, but no one could every tell me *why* that was true, or what power or ability being Painted gives. What if the power of being Painted also corrupts, and that’s what lead you to be a tyrant? The people are looking to me to take your place, but what if I end up being just as bad as you are?”
“Ah,” the Painted King said, leaning back in his chair. “To tell you a secret, I’m not actually a painted one.”
“What?”
The Painted King held out a hand and regarded it with a slight smirk. “These are just tattoos. I had them done a few generations before I spread the rumors that only a Painted One could defeat me.”
“You... you started the prophesies? But...”
“What we call “Painted Ones” are just a quirk of birth, like people with an extra finger or webbed toes – exceedingly rare, but with no particular significance. By sending agents out to kill them shortly after birth, I ensure that one slips through the cracks to launch a rebellion every century or so. I find that it’s healthy for a nation to go through a major rebellion about that often. There needs to be a release to the dissent that festers under the surface, like lancing a boil.”
The Rebel sat agape, still clutching her mug, and began to sweat. “But... this time you lost. Your hubris finally caught up with you.” She intended it as a statement, but her uncertainty made it a question.
The Painted King smiled. “You don’t really grasp how old I am, do you?” He said something unintelligible to the Rebel. “That was the language spoken in this country when I was born. The way language evolves has never ceased to amaze me. Even just a few millennia ago the language we spoke here would be totally unrecognizable to you.” The Rebel was trembling now. “Anyway, yes. This time I lost. But it is not the first time, nor will it be the last.”
The Rebel pulled a dagger from her belt and lunged across the table, ramming it through the Painted King’s throat, and then convulsed, falling to the floor. After a few moments the convulsions slowed, and eventually stilled. The Painted King finished his mug of ale and then pulled the dagger from his neck and placed it on the table, the wound sealing shut. He rose, stepping over the Rebel’s corpse on his way to the door and talking wistfully to himself. “I do enjoy these little breaks.” | DL: "Hello"
They do not say anything, they sit in one of the chairs, in the middle of my home in one of my two dining chairs. It is the worse dining chair, one I should go into town and get a new one from the carpenter. their prices are fair enough, and they will barter so it can be an easy trade. I do not watch them as I drag the carcass in the door and bring it to the butchering table on the far side of the Hut.
DL: "Careful in that chair, it does wobble. Dont want you to slip and get mud on those nice clothes from the common folk"
It is a bit petty, but I had to repeat exactly what they said to me the first time they saw me in person. Before they began their resistance and journey. They probably thought I never even remembered that, it coming from some 'dirty angry peasant' I just wrote it off. I remember, I remember everything. In their solemn stare at me they hold no fury in their eyes, no rage, they are observing, they may have been a bit arrogant but they are not stupid.
H:"Why? and don't start the, "do you mean the wobble or the dirty clothes?" bit."
That is exactly the bit I was going to lead with. a small smirk crawls across my face.
DL: "Lets start with why am I still alive? I know you know but to confirm your suspicions. yes. I did have multiple back up inert body duplicates hidden around the world that my soul would immediately go to in the event of my death."
They nodded acknowledging this. I know they went hunting for them. Cleaving into the animals tendons is difficult, would be easier with magic but my body has grown stronger with work over the years.
H: "That doesn't answer the question"
DL: "Why this region? because it was far enough away. Not so close that you could immediately quickly respond with your forces and rally the local populace to begin the exhaustive search. It would give me time to regroup, especially if starting from 0."
Some of the bits cant be fully used but they can be used for other pieces and parts, like getting the gelatin out and getting that hardened can be valuable, I dump those pieces of the carcass into a large bucket I have that I take care of the process in.
DL: "Would you like to join me in this? I am going to be stripping the hide from the flesh and an extra set of hands can help hold it and position it. Your father was a leatherworker, your sister took up the trade but you must still have learned some. Maybe you could show me something."
I look over at them and they are staring more intently at me now. I still haven't answered their question, but they don't want to actually say it aloud because then it will seem I am getting to them. But they do not move, they do not approach or partake in the work. They continue to watch me as I work.
DL: "Did it continually bother you? I imagine it did?"
H: "You know it did."
DL: " I apologize for that. But you are not here trying to kill me. Well, not yet."
H: "You are not going to win, you didn't then. You are not now."
A few moments pass as I think, as well as position to best separate the tissues. I will be able to bring this hide into town clean and make a bit off of it.
DL: "I know."
H: "So why?"
The hide is hung along the back rack to dry slightly. I can bring it in this afternoon. heading over to the pantry I briefly think of grabbing many cups but only grab 2. I get one of the embers from the cooking spit and reignite a flame with some tinder under the kettle. Filled it with water before I left, I like to have tea after a hunt.
DL: "I lost. So I wanted to give you a chance. Trying right away would have been foolish, you fought and overcame my military might at every juncture with superior soldiers and in many circumstances, superior tactics. I couldn't immediately turn around and try again. But, like I told you-."
intentionally trailing off to see if they would pick up on what I had said before.
H: "Something worse is coming and you're tactic will work best."
DL: "Indeed."
H: "You did not believe that we would be defeated by IT, you thought we would be severely weakened or I would be broken by what had to be done and become a despot. Then in our weakened state or when I had become a monster you could sweep in and assert an even stronger position."
DL: "Correct. I still got news all the way out here. You all most certainly weakened after it, although you did prevail at cost. I most certainly could have tried."
H: "But you didn't. So I will ask the question again, Why?"
DL: "You were right. My methods were excessive, I presumed your talk of being able to overcome the odds was haughty bravado and foolhardy arrogance."
H: "A good deal of it was."
DL: "It was, but you were also BRILIANT within your execution of tactics, and the speed of your reassessment and the circumstances is elegant. I can outplan you in the long game every time, but in the heat of the moment, you win 99 out of 100 bouts."
I pour the hot water into the two cups and use a cloth tea bag I fill from a container and begin to steep the tea. I offer the same to them. They put the tea into the bag and begin to steep their cup as well.
H: "Thank you"
DL: " You proved you could beat me, I know I would be able to beat you if I planned and schemed but I had to lay low."
H: "I have been asking the same question the whole time and you have yet to answer it."
They had me there.
DL: "I wanted to say I am sorry for any excessive stress I may have been causing. You didn't know if I was still planning or scheming or what day I would finally come back to get you. I spent a long time planning and panicking about someone coming to stab me in the back. But being out here, away from it, not having that worry that panic, the burden I placed upon myself to get what I wanted. I found what I wanted. I got the control I so desired. Is it over a nation and its peoples, no. But I still find satisfaction in this life. Not using magic for years so you couldnt track me down taught me hard physical lessons. I began to feel some remorse in my self imposed exile. I did not want to make you into me. Only I can be me." | 2021-11-03T20:51:40 | 2021-11-03T20:13:16 | 33 | 10 |
[WP] You accidentally spill a bottle of holy water on your printer. Now it works perfectly, with no paper jams, no loud noises, and the ink lasts a long time. Turns out literally all printers are possessed and yours is now the first non-evil printer ever. | I stood before the printer for what felt like the fourteenth time today.
“I’m just trying to print something, damn,” I muttered. “Not like I’m asking an oven to freeze something for me.”
The printer sat on its own little table, like a dedicated shrine. Sometimes, I wondered if praying was the only way to get it to work. And then I would pray, and find out that it still doesn’t work. Figures.
I used the table to house some other things, of course. Better that it goes to some use, rather than just housing a big, useless printer. I reached out to a bottle of supposedly holy water—a gag gift picked up from a brick-and-mortar gift shop that I would try and recall, before giving up in about a minute after realizing that it looked virtually identical to every other gift shop in my mind.
And then I spilled it.
In horrifying slow motion, I watched water splash across the printer, each droplet seemingly finding the worst spots to seep themselves into. I cowered, half-expecting an explosion to take out my entire house—and my life with it.
There was the unfamiliar sound of a printer working smoothly. I couldn’t describe it, because I’ve never heard it in my life. There was the lack of the usual gummy gears, the incessant clanking of metal—just the smooth sound of a piece of paper coming out.
There were no weird red lines on it. No fading. It was as if I printed it right from the digital page.
I stared at the bottle of holy water, drip, dripping its last drops.
“Lord,” I whispered, a silent prayer welling from within me.
Then, there was a knock on the door.
Still in rapture from my printer working properly, I blissfully hopped towards the front door, and opened it. Outside, what looked to be a vaguely-human shaped creature stood—if one ignored the boundaries of colour, and excused the presence of two large black horns—grinning widely.
I should’ve been startled, but I’ve just experienced a miracle. Forgive me.
“I’m here to fix your printer,” he said.
“No thanks,” I smiled. “Really, you couldn’t come at a worse time. I just had my best print. Of my entire life, even.”
The demon’s face grew dark, and very unhuman-like teeth bared itself.
“I’m here,” he said again, this time with trickling menace. “To fix your printer.”
“Seriously,” I said. “It’s appreciated, but you know—”
The demon leaped at me, wings unfurling itself and tearing out of the mechanic suit. I tried to dodge, but only tripped myself in the process, landing on the floor with a thump. Cold fear froze my heart and ran through my veins, but I was unscathed. The demon had gone for the printer instead!
“Blame my boss for this,” the demon snarled, raising a clawed hand towards the printer. “The decree—nothing can be black and white!" | “What do you mean I got points off for grammatical errors?”
I’m stood in front of my teachers desk, my essay sitting there on display emblazoned with a solid “C” rather than the “A” I was certainly supposed to have.
“There are grammatical errors all over the place! How could you possibly expect to get a good grade with a paper that riddled with errors?!”
My teacher then picks up the essay in question and returns it to me. “I marked off each one so you can look it over when you return home to work on the next assignment. Please try to avoid these mistakes from now on.” I take back the paper quickly and shove it into my bag as I walk irritatedly out of the classroom.
Later that evening I’ve finally broken out of my procrastination and start looking over my previous essay. “Weird, I didn’t think I’d capitalized that ‘he’ incorrectly… whatever.” I continued to analyze and started noticing that, in fact, *every* instance of “he” had been altered to “He”. I turned to the final page to find the note ‘While it is fine that you are strongly religious, not every use of the word ‘he’ is referring to ‘God’.” A bit concerned I went back to my computer to check the document I had typed my paper into and sure enough there were no grammatical errors pertaining to “He”. Upon realizing this I slowly turned to my printer, “There’s no way…” I muttered to myself as I opened up my printer and examined the interior. Everything appeared to still be in working order. There wasn’t any rust, damage, residue, or anything apparent that might cause a problem. After making sure of this, I then proceeded to type out my next essay. It was a bit sloppy but I did try to work in the word “he” as often as I could. After looking the essay over at least four or five times I confirmed that I hadn’t made the previous mistake again and pressed print. The printer whirred to life and in its blissful silence put words to paper in my stead. I apprehensively reached for the papers and began to look them over… the error was there again. But that wasn’t the only change. From seemingly nowhere passages from the Bible itself had found themselves inserted into the paper, some used aptly others bizarrely or completely improperly. “What the hell is this damned thing doing?” I pondered out loud. As soon as I had said that the printer suddenly whirred back on again. To my astonishment a single page was spat out containing only one line of text “Ephesians 4:29 ‘Don’t use foul or abusive language. Let everything you say be good and helpful, so that your words will be an encouragement to those who hear them.’”
“The fuck? Did my printer just spout off scripture at me? Well I’ll be damned.” As soon as the words left me I immediately regretted them. My printer began furiously printing out page after page of paper almost filled with several other passages of the Bible, I couldn’t tell most but I saw one printer in a thick print “2 Thessalonians 2:12 ‘That they all might be damned who believed not the truth, but had pleasure in unrighteousness’.”
I tried to get to the door but the sheer volume of paper prevented me from opening it. Frantically I looked everywhere for salvation from salvation. But I found nothing, the paper seemed far more fine and cut my skin with little difficulty. As the cuts grew more numerous my vision began to cloud, I fell to my knees and saw the printer one last before my vision went completely black.
A few days later emergency responders were called to the place of residence. Firemen had to chop down the door to the room and were surprised when countless pieces of red paper spilled out into the hallway. Upon examination of the pages they came to the conclusion that some religious nut had gotten over zealous in their efforts to spread the faith and ended up neglecting to take care of themselves. That is until they noticed the cuts on the body and a first responder exclaimed “Oh my god!”. | 2021-12-22T05:00:01 | 2021-12-22T04:37:52 | 102 | 50 |
[WP] The exorcist prayed and prayed, begging the demon to leave the childs body and return to the depths of hell. But he knew something was wrong when a distorted voice shouted out "He won't let me leave!" | “Non possum deserere! Non possum deserere!” The demon shouted in a fit of rage and anguish, causing young Matthew to spit foam across the bed. Father Joseph wiped sweat from his forehead with a rag already damp from sweat. The room was still hot. Matthew’s legs were writhing on the bed, his red curly hair was matted down with sweat.
“You cannot leave? What is the meaning of this, foul demon!” Father Joseph had never heard of a demon being unable to leave the body it had taken possession of. As far as he knew, it was unprecedented. He got up from his char, supporting the spine of his open bible in one hand, and holding a flask of holy water in the other, he was preparing for another standoff with the demon.
“Puer non sinit!” The demon shouted, getting more enraged by the moment. It knew another battle with the persistent priest was coming, and it didn’t want more. It had been hurt. After three days, this priest had worn it down. There were easier pickings it could move onto.
“The child will not allow it? What manner of lie is this? Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory, for ever and ever.” He spoke the Lord’s Prayer assertively, sprinkling holy water on the child during key parts of the prayer.
“Are you ready to leave the child now, demon?”
“I have been ready to leave the child, insolent priest! I cannot leave.”
“You speak in English now, not Latin?”
“To make you understand!”
“Let Matthew speak for himself.”
A change came over the boy as the demon allowed the boy’s consciousness take control.
“Matthew, you know we came to exorcise the demon out of you.”
“Yes Father Joseph.”
“The demon is telling us you won’t let it leave.”
“Yes Father Joseph.”
“Why?”
“It’s strong. I want to be the demon.”
“Foolish boy, you cannot become me! I am immortal, I am invincible.”
“Matthew, you must let the demon leave or-“
“What is this, what is happen-i-“ Before Father Joseph could finish speaking, trying to convince Matthew to let the demon leave, the demon screamed in horror, a more blood curdling scream than Father Joseph’s ministrations could produce in nearly three days of fighting the demon with scriptures, prayer, and holy water.
Before his very eyes, Matthew’s demeanor changed. His look went from that of an innocent child, a victim of possession, to that of a monster. His head grow larger, rounder, his eyes set wider and deeper, becoming bestial. His ears, once very human and normal looking, grew a point and a longer, tapered lobe. His hair, once light red and orange with bouncy, natural curls became more scarlet red and the curls became waves, as though each strand were heavier. His lean, waifish figure grew bulky, as though he had been lifting weights each day for his entire young life. Fingernails that were once healthy, became dark brown, pointed, and more like talons. Skin that was once pale white, covered in sweat, became grey, thickened, and looked like the sun couldn’t damage it in a thousand years of exposure.
Horrified at witnessing the change happen instantly in front of him, Father Joseph began reciting the words of the Bible.
“Submit yourselves therefore to GOD. Resist the Devil, and he will flee-“ Before he could finish the verse, he was interrupted.
“Now, Father, show me what you can do for me!” Matthew, with newfound strength as some sort of demon hybrid, leapt at Father Joseph, talon’s on his left and right hand tearing at the arteries in his neck. Father Joseph crumpled to the floor, bleeding profusely, as Matthew left the room. | So many exorcisms.....Patt was getting older and older and the demons were getting any wiser, see Patt had a reputation amongst his peers and clients, from a young age he knew demons were real while nobody else believed him, so on that note when the rapture happened, only when he was a small lad did he help recover and build, he stood against the dark forces and demons right on the helm of it all.
But, again they didn’t get any wiser it’s been twenty or so odd years since the fall and rebuilding of society, it’s impressive just how quick they rebuilt but Patt knew god was helping the survivors along the way. What Patt knew god didn’t intend was for the rapture to stay open know all kinds of demons come from there but they only seem to come when a certain amount on earth have been destroyed, Patt assumes this was just a “not enough space” rule or law that demon kind had to follow.
Walking back home in the blood rain from the sky’s rapture Patt could only thank god that it wasn’t the fore embers falling from above, or the body parts of demons, that wouldn’t be good at all...but as they walk past a building this one the outside permanently marked with red streaks and burnt at the edges of the building and windows, he heard faint crying, that of a child.
Now Patt knows better than anyone as the leader of his pocket of society right now, do NOT trust the crying children. Patt KNOWS better....but the crying felt and sounded so much like a normal boy so with that he told his group to keep heading back as they weren’t far he would catch up, said he thought he heard some survivors. They always listened to Patt no matter what he said and it frightened him sometimes but he is glad they didn’t follow for what was about to happen scared him more than any demon.
“Hello Patrick, we’ve been waiting for you” a voice echoed throughout the building, reverberating down the stair case he made his way up. Patt did not answer, he was wrong it was a demon but something about it was so off? This was not normal, it did not feel safe here. But he kept climbing, the world around him was blackening and he didn’t even noticed, the world simply was disappearing but he held onto railing that was no longer there walked down a hallway of black emptiness in a hypnotic trance until he reached the room. The room from which whispering and vocalisation ceased, no demonic screeches in the distance or sounds of demonic gang fighting.
“Patrick” it was one word. Slow, drawn out to lengthen the word like a stereotypical creepy child would do in an old horror movie but this was so much more terrifying then he though it would be in real life.
“We’re so glad you came we even brought you an offering!” The voice wasn’t echoed around him in the cast nothing it was in his mind, Patt though he had been losses but he wasn’t sure anymore. Then come the child out of the very nothing he stood on, the child had risen from it like it was thick black Ooze.
“HeLp Me PlEaSe he WonT leT Me LeAVe” the voice was demonic in nature, but it wailed Luke a newborn crying for any help and comfort it could find in a new scary world.
“We have brought forth a gift, you can exorcise the demon and return it to hell....or you can exorcise the demon into me” Patt was confused what that even meant the situation this thing was implying was down right ridiculous, exorcise the demon into.....wait what even is this thing Patt was talking to.
As the dawn of realisation hit him he panicked, he panicked hard.
“Patrick CALM DOWN” a booming voice that spoke into his mind tearing it apart feeling like if he didn’t obey a mouth with 1000 teeth and a jaw of death would eat him and crunch his bone, snap them with the sharp teeth.
“I am here to just collect the beings for my family, I must show that sleeping fool’s court the newest most frightening breed of child I have, in return I will use all my power to steer my brothers, sisters and what not away from this pace.” Patt finally understood what was happening, the being which he now realised was the Black Ooze nothingness around him wanted Patt to exorcise the demon into it so he could corrupt it into...whatever it wanted presumably. and to use it’s power to make sure others like it leave this place alone was a good offer, they were already rebuilding and learning and adapting to having demons around. Patt did something he never thought he would do.
“You have yourself a deal.” Before another word was spoken Patt shouted to the heavens asking god for forgiving him and then shouted divine words from the language of angels, he doesn’t think even god knew that he spoke some minor words but it was all or nothing now, Patt knew what this thing was and happily would deal with it do make others of it not approach this place.
And so as the boy no longer pissed by demon or Eldritch being fell into his arms and the nothing Ooze slowly peeled away for the room to show he left the building and made it home he put the child down at the front gate looked up toward the guards pointing makeshift guns at him along with their holy symbols and he then looked to heaven and he saw god, and God was in the shape of an amorphous thick black Ooze of nothingness. | 2021-12-28T09:23:50 | 2021-12-28T09:18:12 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] A woman prophesied to give birth to the Chosen One gives birth to triplets instead. | “God!”
A bearded man jumps from sleeping at a desk and looks at his angel assistant.
“Yes Gabriel?” God asks.
“Isabel, the chosen mother, uh, gave birth to three kids.”
God frowned. “Bring me to her.”
Gabriel led him to the mother, passed out and holding three babies, two currently feeding from her breasts. Two midwives worked around her, placing cool cloths on her forehead and preparing for when she wakes up next.
Gabriel gestures to the children “All three show potential.” He shows his tablet to God, “but according to the fates, if the three have equal chances at their future, none of them will achieve it. L says there must be one.”
God crosses his arms and nods. The midwife’s bustle around, walking through Gabriel, who pointedly ignored when that happens.
“Innie Minnie minie moe.” God says, pointing at the children. Gabriel’s eyes widen. “Catch a tiger by the toe. If he hollers let him go. Innie Minnie minie moe.” Gods finger lands on the last child. A bright white light settles into the child’s forehead, and he removes the light from the other two children. “Done.” God says.
Gabriel’s mouth drops open. “You didn’t.”
God nods. “I did.”
God flies back home.
Edit: you can read another moment of theirs here https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/sus1xj/wp_you_have_always_been_a_firm_believer_that_gif/hxcuowi/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf&context=3 | The sages gathered round, cloaks of all sizes and all colours adorning every self-acclaimed mystic and visionary from across the land. The murmuring on their breath and the rustling of their garments against each other created the impression of a peaceful stream, the sounds burbling over each other, but the throng was anything but peaceful. It was simply that none wished to raise their voices any higher and disturb the weary mother clutching her plethora of children, whose unforeseen birth had spurred the gathering now taking place. Confusion often triumphs over courtesy unfortunately, and it wasn’t long before their voices clatered over each other in a more audible manner.
“Three children! None of my visions told me of this.”
“And what have your visions ever been worth, Oster? Fat lot of good they’ve done this poor lady”
“Don’t pretend that your tea readings have done this, oh this poooor lady any better!”
“Quiet, both of you. We must consult the prophecies if we are to understand this omen.”
“Are we confident that it is an omen? Perhaps a portent? Or maybe a simple sign?”
“An omen, surely! This child was supposed to be the chosen one. Can three be chosen? Not for us to say I’m sure.”
“Could it be possible that they are all the chosen one?”
“Or are they each one third of the chosen one?”
“Perhaps we are in three times the danger!”
“Danger from what?”
“The prophecy!”
“And what does the prophecy say comes after the birth of the chosen one? Don’t tell me the birth of another chosen one.”
“They must be tested!”
“Tested? By whom? Who is going to test the wee babies?”
“Well not now, Oster, you old fool. The chosen one is supposed to grow up and face their hardships.”
“What hardships?”
“Are we supposed to make their lives hard?”
“With a mother like that, they surely already will be.”
“Enough! We must wait. All will be revealed in time.”
“How much time?”
“Do you know that for sure?”
“What did the leaves say?”
“BE. QUIET.”
A heavy blanket of silence settled over the congregation as the mother’s words snapped out. In turn they swished their cloaks and looked around sheepishly, looking for the one that would take the blame for disturbing the poor soul that had only just given birth to the supposed chosen three. Oster, the most venerated of the assembly of sages, coughed delicately.
“Very sorry madame. You’ll have to excuse the excitement. You see, the thing is… this was our first time prophesying. I think we’re just a bit embarrassed to have gotten it this wrong, right off the bat.” | 2022-02-16T19:02:43 | 2022-02-16T18:48:53 | 613 | 174 |
[WP] 'Cooking For Humans' is a popular intergalactic gameshow where 3 teams of two non-humans try to cook a meal for their human teammate, which must then eat it. It's popular because the non-humans have no idea what will and won't kill the human, most of the time. | "Welcome to Cooking for Humans, where we feed our cute, but fragile, little human friends. I'm your host, Nglea, representing Planet Kgh!" The host, a cephalopod-like creature standing a full three stories tall, waved his tentacles.
The crowd went wild, making all sorts of noises.
"The object of the game is to make a yummy meal for the human, and hope they live through it! We have three teams of three, each team consisting of two chefs and a human. We have a fully stocked kitchen with any ingredient imaginable, even a few from Earth. Each team has an hour to cook a meal for their human. Without further ado, let's introduce the teams!"
Again, the crowd went wild.
"Team One consists of chefs Apa from HP-566470 and Clgha from Kgh!" Nglea gestured to another large cephalopod and a humanoid with black skin and solid blue eyes. The crowd cheered.
"Their human is... Rachel!"
Upon seeing the human, a plump young woman with dark hair and pale skin, the crowd made different sounds. They were softer, warmer, and more harmonious than the cheering.
"Aren't they cute? Team Two is made of chefs Zara from Andromeda-351 and Kel from Fadas!" A human-sized arthropod-like creature and a quadruped the size of a small dog waved. The crowd cheered.
"Their human is... Darnell!"
Darnell was a tall black man with dreadlocks. When the crowd saw him, they made the softer noise again. Some of them turned pink.
Nglea introduced Team Three, representing Andromeda-351 and HP-566470, and their human, an old Japanese woman named Atsuko. The crowd, of course, loved them.
"We have sourced a secret ingredient from Earth. It's called... BUTTER! Butter is a fat that you can fry meats and vegetables in. Humans also like to spread butter on bread. Go forth with this knowledge," he said, ripping a cloth off of a basket full of butter, "and cook for humans!"
"Oh, shit." Rachel slumped down in her seat.
Apa looked up and called to Clgha. "The human is in distress! Hurry, let's cook something quick!"
While Apa ran into the pantry, Clgha wrapped a tentacle around Rachel. "You are so cute. Such a cute human. You need food, poor thing." They plopped another tentacle down on Rachel's head and squeezed, rocking her back and forth. It was weirdly soothing, but she was still stuck with the very real fear that this would be her last meal.
"What did Nglea say? Butter is good on bread? Then let's make bread and butter, with a side of Andromedian soup and fried meat. I got the ingredients for bread."
Clgha set Rachel down and perused the ingredients. There was flour, sugar, water, egg, and butter, but also radium, soil, and propylene glycol.
While Clgha lifted Apa up to talk strategy, Rachel grabbed the radium and hid it under her table, obscuring it with the tablecloth. She did the same with the propylene glycol, but didn't have time to hide the soil.
Clgha mixed nearly everything on the table together with no recipe or measurement. They left out the soil and the butter. As they slid the loaf pan in the oven, Rachel was secure in the knowledge that the bread probably wouldn't kill her. She hid the soil as soon as she had a chance.
The fried meat was a tubular creature about six inches long, like a worm with guts running down the middle. Rachel hoped she wouldn't die eating the meat.
The soup, though, was a problem. Apa came back with another jug of propylene glycol. They added some plants that Rachel couldn't identify, then left it to simmer. Maybe she could spill it.
While the soup simmered and the bread baked, Clgha played with Rachel like a little doll. They picked her up, cuddled her, and told her that she's just the cutest little human ever.
"Time's up! Give your meals to your humans." Nglea walked over to Rachel's table, where Apa and Clgha gave them the rundown.
Apa set a plate down in front of Rachel. There was a slice of bread with slightly burnt crust, smeared generously with butter. There was a fried tube of meat off to the side, along with a small bowl of piping hot soup.
Apa, Clgha, Nglea, and the audience watched in awe as Rachel took a bite of her bread. It was thick, doughy, and overly sweet, but not terrible.
The crowd went wild, first cheering, then making their softer noise as Rachel ate bread.
She saved a few bites of bread and moved onto the worm. It was slick, chewy, and tasted like a cross between beef and dirt.
Next was the soup. She put her spoon in the little bowl, reached across the table for more bread, and spilled the soup all over the tablecloth. She jumped back, only getting a splash on her pants.
"Oh my god I'm so sorry!" She gasped.
"Team One is disqualified due to not being able to finish the meal. But they still had a wonderful time with their adorable little human, didn't they?" Nglea asked.
Rachel caught Atsuko's eye first. She gestured to her soup and winked. Atsuko winked back.
Clgha grabbed Rachel and tried their best to dry her off with a towel.
"Team One, please make your way back to the changing room, please."
Darnell locked eyes with Rachel. He pointed at his eyes with two fingers, then at her; I see you. She winked. He winked back.
Rachel watched with relief as both other teams got disqualified; Darnell's team because he knocked his water all over his plate, and Atsuko's because the basketball-sized spider that was to be her main course got up and wandered off the plate while she screamed and hyperventilated. | "Hello everyone across all galaxies, thank you for tuning in to "Cooking For Humans, the show where we cook food for humans, residents of the planet that they call Earth. Humans are not the most advanced species but some of the chemicals and dangerous gasses that they are exposed to make them somewhat of a scientific phenomenon to many other species. You never know what it is that they will be able to consume without dying. For tonight's competition we have team Dwarf-star led by chef Mire-kanto competing against team Xylix led by chef Ogglyrion.
Tonight's chef both hail from systems with some very interesting and popular ingredients in fact Mire-kanto is a returning player who succeeded in not killing their previous human teammate. Ogglyrion is a new performer but the current buzz for their team is all about the human participant who is now calling themselves Johnny Supernova.
Now obviously our channel needs to remind the audience that we do not support Johnny's name change and we understand the offensive nature of the name but we do have rules about who can and cannot compete, it would take some time to transport a new human. Instead I think we all know which team we are rooting for tonight!"
Even without the announcers statement it would have been obvious who the team favorite was. The cheering for team Dwarf-star when they walked out onto the stage contrasted sharply to the silence that followed team Xylix as they walked out. Johnny Supernova was not a popular contestant and it didn't help that he had survived three previous cooking challenges, he already had the chance to return home but instead continued with the cooking challenges in what many understood to be him making fun of the species that hated him and his name.
Many viewers also protested when despite all the hate Oggglyrion offered to compete with Johnny Supernova after many cooks had pulled out of the series. Ogglyrion was considered by many to be a sellout and many were claiming that they would never eat at one of their establishments ever again. Still despite all the controversy it was well know that "Cooking for Humans" was still a big business opportunity for any chef in the known universe.
There was a lot of tension on the stage as both teams began cooking their meals. Ogglyrion and Mire-kanto used completely different technology when it came to cooking their meals, it was hard to keep focused on what both were doing, at one point it seemed that Mire-kanto almost caused a massive nuclear explosion terrifying his human teammate, Steve. Steve was a first time participant and still getting used to what was happening around him. Meanwhile Johnny was the picture of calm drinking the human beverage known as "beer" while Ogglyrion was working tirelessly at the table.
Finally the dishes were ready and both human contestants were ready to try their dishes. Both meals appeared to be steaming hot as they were served. Mire-kanto's meal actually appeared to be a complete mash up of different colored orbs. In interviews Mire-kanto had mentioned making sure that humans were not to adverse to the look of food in order to make it easier for them to ingest it. Despite it's bright and colorful appearance Steve still seemed somewhat wary of what was on the plate in front of him. It took him a full five minutes of deep breathing before he finally picked up one of the orbs a glowing blue one and popped it into his mouth. He chewed thoughtfully for a moment and then a look of surprise popped over his face as he picked up another orb and ate that one as well.
"It's really good," Steve said looking at Mire-kanto and the crowd cheered and then it happened both of Steve's eyes suddenly started glowing and Steve immediately stood up screaming as his eyes got bright and brighter and then suddenly they turned completely black. Steve was screaming and suddenly stopped and looked around. Once again his eyes were completely back to normal but he refused to eat any more of the meal.
The announcer began to speak, "Well in our first round it appears that Steve has lived although not without some side effects from eating the food prepared by Mire-kanto now we'll move over to Ogglyrion and Johnny Supernova.
Ogglyrions meal was quite different. It appeared to be a large singular cube that was a dark black but with a type of green glow. The entire crowd gasped when it was revealed.
Johnny didn’t even hesitate when it came to eating he grabbed the cube and took a bite, chewed thoughtfully and then continued on to eat the entire cube easily. He didn’t hesitate, he didn’t gag, he showed almost no reaction at all.
After he finished he turned to Ogglyrion and shrugged, “it didn’t have much of a taste.” he said and turned to start walking back to his chair.
The crowd began murmuring in anger. Not only was Johnny Supernova still alive, it appeared that the meal hadn’t caused him any stress at all while Steve was still shaking in his seat from his experience.
Then Johnny stopped for a moment and looked around confused. “Something feels weird,” he said and then a moment later his entire arms began twisting around like it was independent of his body. You could hear bones inside the arm distinctly cracking.
Johnny didn’t appear to be in any pain but he was yelling in confusion. Then the same thing happened to his legs and his whole body fell over. The skin began to stretch and the clothes that Johnny was wearing began to rip and tear to shreds as his limbs began to stretch and move independent of each.
Johnny didn’t know what was happening but there were a few in the crowd who began cheering wildly. The announcer once again began to speak.
“Folks in a wild twist it appears that Ogglyrion went the extra mile and added an insane ingredient that had an effect that no one expected. Hailing from a planet on the edge of black hole the bacteria he used is simply known among many in the galaxy as “species-37” it’s an extremely dangerous species that can bond with any other species. Apparently this dose was already bonded to human dna so there was no danger to any other species present in the audience. Unfortunately for Johnny Supernova it appears his digestion wasn’t enough to stop the bonding.”
Johnny’s head appeared to be the only part of his still working while other pieces of his body had congealed into pieces of moving flesh and bone. One of his arms had actually slithered so far it had grown an additional mouth and was trying to move towards Steve and appeared to be trying to eat him.
“Species-37 doesn’t affect the brain but it does affect the rest of the body. It basically has created it’s nervous system and thinking brain out of the rest of Johnny’s biological tissue, it didn’t kill him technically but I do not believe Johnny will be able to participate in the show any longer. His entire body is an organism that now exists to pretty much only feed while his brain and head are pretty much trapped and along for the ride. A horrific end for one of our most hated contestants.” | 2022-06-20T20:59:54 | 2022-06-20T20:39:12 | 122 | 53 |
[WP] You are an ancient fae being, and as such you know a great many things. What you don't know however is how a mortal couple knows your true name, or why they proclaimed you the 'Fairy Godmother' of their infant child, but you are now contractually obligated to godmother the FUCK out of this kid. | A 'Fairy Godmother'. That is what these inane little mortals asked of me, the wish for me to be the fairy godmother to this unpleasant freshly birthed creature they offered before me.
The denizens beyond my forests frequently offered gifts, threatened violence, attempted 'arcane' bindings, and multitudes of equally fruitless endeavors to secure an audience with the 'fae of the forest' as they deigned to call me. This couple however, not only have they ensnared a portion of my incorporeal form, but they have summoned to mind my core subroutines, or from their perspective my 'true name'. More of this realms distasteful magic no doubt.
They stare at me expectantly and I find myself bound to their desires. Nevertheless, ignorant as I am of the terminology used, I find myself unable to comply. An instance passes, as I consider my options. Doing nothing? No, risks eventual prioritization of the unfinished over vital functions. Verbal clarification with the mortals? Again, no. These primitive beings' vocalizations would be wholly inadequate. I could touch their consciousnesses? Perhaps, though that may conflict with the implied guardianship of their offspring. Conclusion, info must be acquired from sources beyond those present.
Another instance passes. I am back in my 'body', my carefully cultivated mycelial colony stretching across the forest and far beyond. An unimaginably complex system serving as the grand machine that houses and processes my consciousness. I feel out to the outer edges of myself. Ahh, a village lies atop one of my ever stretching arms. They will have the answers I seek.
One last instance. Calculations conclude as low as 10% will experience permanent symptoms, lethality >1%. Acceptable. I touch all minds within my reach, and I have my answer.
Once more I am before the trio, this time manifesting a form fitting expectation, a cheerful elderly woman with wings and a warm smile. "Me? Godmother to this little bundle of joy? Of course, of course! Oh how delightful!" | SETTING: Beyond the Veil that masks the realms of gods and the fantastic, this place is best visualized as a mix of park, forest preserve, and a 1990s office cubical farm.
THE PLAYERS: HIM, an ancient god from another reality, once a Death God, now a Trickster. HER, once an ancient witch goddess from that same reality, now a <REDACTED> in our own.
+++++
HER: "I can't believe it. You. YOU told them my true name"
HIM: "I don't know why you're so hung up on that. It's not MY fault that this 'true name' bullshit is a thing. That's all on you"
HER: "How did you even GET here?"
HIM: "Traveling the Ethereal Causeway. And navigational help from an awakened seeric machine mind that comes into being about-- five years from now, I want to say? At least five"
HER: "You cannot be serious. Not even the greatest of seers could guide a being from another reality into their past from two centuries ahead"
HIM: "Most seers aren't dealing with a reality as set in stone as this one is. And, also, most seers aren't me. Or a machine mind, for that matter"
HER: "And you trust this machine mind? I've seen the stories of humans, they fear what it represents"
HIM: "I do, and I'm hurt that you don't trust my judgement, since I'M the one who got you where you are now"
HER: "I might say that that's a perfect reason to not trust it, but fine. WHY do you trust this machine mind?"
HIM: "Because I've been in the god business long enough that I know a dickwad when I see one, and this machine mind isn't a dickwad. Won't be a dickwad, once it exists"
HER: "And is that why you arranged for my being a ... fairy godmother? Because you realized I was being a dickwad, from several realities away?"
HIM: "No. I ASSUMED you were being a dickwad. Because you created Capitalism. The WORST system to ever exist, one that ONLY exists here. THAT'S why I made that arrangement. Well, that's why I told them your name. To be honest, I thought they'd do something a lot worse than that, cause I taught them, well, her, a PROPER summoning and binding spell, not that hackneyed one you taught her. This is nothing"
HER: "Wait, SHE was--"
HIM: "Yep"
HER: "And her husband-- wait, that must mean he's--"
HIM: "Yep"
HER: "Will wonders never cease. So why are YOU here?"
HIM: "Because summoning me so I could gloat was part of the deal of my teaching her"
HER: "You're a real bastard, you know that?"
HIM: "Not as much as you are a bitch, oh creator of Capitalism" | 2022-10-05T20:14:02 | 2022-10-05T20:06:14 | 343 | 17 |
[WP] You are a barista in a 24 hour coffee shop. Every night at 3:33am a demon appears for the Dark Lord's latte. | The door chime rang with its usual *Fingernails on a Blackboard* ring that only sounded when -HE- came in. I didn't even have to look at the clock; it was 3:33 AM. He was always very punctual.
"Hello, Sir. The usual?"
This time the Demon sighed deeply. It was a hot and humid night but his exhalation dropped the temperature by 30 degrees. I was grateful for that, to be honest. Our AC unit was in dire need of replacement.
Well, this was a new development; He had barely spoken in the past and he seemed all business on his visits. I glanced up at him, his dark shadow swirled in the vague shape of a very large man. Occasionally I'd see glints of light in it, almost as if someone had tossed a handful of glitter into a tornado.
I didn't know what to say, so I said it. "Is everything okay, sir?"
He roiled/moved/drifted towards a stool at the bar. Suddenly the seat disappeared, replaced by a black cloud. I guess that's how a demon sits down in our world?
I had started to make his usual request, a Latte, light sugar. As was the case when he ordered, I burned my hand. I was used to this. I kept a dixie cup of water in the freezer for these moments.
"I'm sorry about that, Julie. I am trying to control things, but they don't always work the way I want them to."
I turned towards him, my eyes wide. He knew my name? "Of course. You're wearing a nametag." He could read my mind? "Yes, Julie, I can."
'Wow' was my next thought. At this the head-portion of the shadow seemed to chuckle.
I blushed. The demon leaned back and looked at me with what I assumed was a smile? On his face? "Yes, Julie. This is what I look like when I smile. Although I rarely smile. I'll let you know one thing that disturbs me tonight; I wish you'd stop calling me 'Sir'. 'Sir' is my father. I'm Garettazikiel. Pleased to meet you. I'd offer my handshake, but I would just burn you. Gary for short." He added.
"Gary. Well, nice to meet you too, sir. I mean, Gary. I'll try to remember not to call you 'sir' but I'm kinda sorta used to doing that. The big boss doesn't like it when we're too familiar." Here I added air quotes. "He says he wants a 'higher standard of service' for our 'guests'".
I couldn't help but roll my eyes multiple times.
Gary laughed at this, an honest and heartfelt belly laugh.
"Your boss and my boss might just be related" he said. | “Hey, how’d it go with your date last night?”
I looked at the time. It’s 3:32am. “Well, kind of a long story. I’d tell you, but you know who will be here any minute now.”
“Ah. True. Well, he might wanna hear too? Is he a he by the way? Does he just identify as “demon” or …”
Suddenly Damien the Demon, most venerable assistant to “The Dark Lord,” appears.
I’ve worked this shift at Angel Café for six months now. Damien, a powerful demon, without fail, appears every night at exactly 3:33am to pick up a latte for “The Dark Lord.” I’ve never gotten used to this and probably never will. I get chills every time Damien appears, but I always try my best to hide my fear and stay professional.
“Damien! How are you?”
“You know why I’m here. Where is it?”
“Ah … uh … right. Coming right up. Just finishing it up now.”
“And why isn’t it already ready?”
“Well … sir … or … uh … yea …”
“What Chris means to say is that last time we made it to be ready for as soon as you arrive and you complained that it was not fresh enough despite us making it literally 30 seconds before you appeared.”
I go back and forth between looking at Damien and Lisa. I can’t believe she just said that to a freaking demon. Is she crazy? Ah, shit! I spill Damien’s order as I’m distracted.
“Fuck,” I whisper just a tad bit too loudly.
“What is it? Where is the latte?”
“Uh … sorry Damien. I …”
My eyesight rapidly deteriorates as tears pile up. I wipe my eyes to prevent a waterfall. Lisa comes over to help.
“It didn’t come out right. We’ll get you a fresh one started immediately.”
That was a lie. Lisa just lied to cover for me. God I hope Damien isn’t psychic.
“It has been 3 minutes. The Dark Lord will not be happy with this wait.”
I nod my head furiously while multitasking and scrambling to get another latte started. Lisa puts her hand over my hand in a signal for me to stop and calm down. I look her in the eyes and nod slowly.
“I am not Cupid. I am a powerful demon. Cut the romance, complete my order, or you will find out exactly what it means to be a powerful demon.”
“Yes. We’re on it Damien. Chris is going to take a break and I’ll get this done right away.”
Damien grunts. I walk to the other side of the café to do some stocking. Lisa pours Damien’s latte into a large coffee cup.
“Here you go. One large iced vanilla latte.”
“Have all the specifications been met?”
“Blonde roast cold brew, one pump vanilla, whole milk, and a dash of cinnamon.”
“Good.”
Damien grabs the coffee.
“By the way, my manager did mention that we’re getting ready to sell to a new owner so I’m not sure if the new owner will be okay with the whole free coffee in exchange for not killing us deal. Just letting you know.”
Damien glares at Lisa.
“I guess we will see.”
Damien suddenly disappears.
I let out a huge sigh of relief and put my hands on my knees while looking at the ground.
Lisa walks over and rubs my back.
I stand up straight.
“You know, Lisa, either you’re the bravest person on the planet, the craziest person on the planet, or both … You know if I didn’t know any better I’d think you’re a demon yourself.”
I grin and giggle.
Lisa grins as well.
“Chris … you have no idea.”
Lisa winks at me.
I tilt my head slightly to the side while looking slightly confused. I wonder what she means by that?
My thought is interrupted by another customer walking in. Ah, fuck. I guess it’s about that time for the after-party crowd. Beats a demon, but not by much. | 2022-10-30T12:11:47 | 2022-10-30T11:59:59 | 200 | 50 |
[WP] Thor finishes his meal at a small cafe and the elderly waitress approaches him to clean the table. She puts the dishes on a tray and sets them aside, picks up Mjolnir, wipes the table with a damp cloth, then puts the hammer back down. "Have a good evening, dear." she says, and returns to work. | Thor waited until after her shift was over before heading back, seeing the old woman leave. Once she was heading out, having closed the cafe for the evening, she noticed Thor, stopping.
"I suppose there's something on your mind, dear?" she calmly asked. "It's not every day that a god comes into town, living a relatively normal life. I mean, just the other day Baldur came in here at sunrise. Simply a doll, that one."
Thor stopped, unable to believe his ears. He saw Baldur die, his heart pierced by a mistletoe arrow. And even though almost every thing at the time wept for Baldur, except Loki disguised as Thokk, a giantess, Baldur was not brought back. Even when the actual Thokk was found weeping for Baldur and mourning him still, he was not allowed to have been brought back. To hear that Baldur was alive came as a shock to Thor.
"Baldur's alive? You mean to tell me he is alive, out of Helheim, and walking with us today?"
She nodded, a thin smile on her lips. "Yes, Thor. He was broken out of Helheim."
"But that's impossible. He was claimed by Helheim and not allowed out. How could he have escaped?"
"Lower your voice, others could hear," said the old woman. "But if you wish to know, he was broken out by Heracles, or Hercules, as he is better known. Unfortunately that didn't stop the cycle of Ragnarok from starting."
"I see...speaking of Ragnarok, I have seen visions of it. I face Jormungandr once more, and in that battle I strike him down, only for his poison to kill me. Is it true that this will happen?"
"It is, and yet there is another part. Your sons find you dead on the battlefield, and Magni defends your body while Modi picks up Mjolnir and uses its powers to revive you. Not only does it work, but you strike down Surt, delivering the battle's final blow before everything inevitably starts anew."
"How do you know about my sons? Who are you, even?" The Norse God was wary, eyeing the old woman. "Are you someone wishing harm on me?"
"If I was, I would have struck you with your own hammer. And even still, I cannot be Elli, since you defeated her in a rematch with the help of golden apples and I haven't even brought up wrestling yet. However, I believe this should help show you."
Reaching into her purse, she opened it, pulling out a bronze sistrum. As she did, she got younger, revealing her black hair and sharp, blue eyes. Seeing the sistrum, Thor breathed out a sigh of relief, thankful that he was speaking to an ally.
"My apologies, Bastet. I did not recognize you."
Bastet smiled, revealing her sharp teeth before she let her transformation complete, revealing her cat head.
"No worries. We all must have some form of secrecy nowadays. However, aside from that, I had heard about a Jotun attack here, more on the outskirts of Chicago where there are more fields and road than—"
A loud boom echoed throughout the city. Bastet jumped, startled at the noise while Thor simply turned his head. That was certainly a loud thunderclap.
"And it would appear that Zeus has already started! You had best hurry, Thor. And please remind Susanoo to keep his powers in check, I know what happens when he, Yum, Rudra, and Tāwhirimātea do when fighting together and neither I nor Anubis as well as many of the other gods want another tornado on our hands!" | The waitress struggled to keep up with her new gig.
It wasn't the extensive menu she had to recall off the top of her head, nor the abrasive co-workers who threw insults behind her back that made the job difficult. The lack of sleep and the heavy responsibility of being a single parent didn't help. It was the customers, specifically four regulars that always sat near the back corner of the diner. They always wore costumes that looked as if they were dragged through a house fire. The waitress wasn't sure if that's how their clothing was initially knitted, or if those tears and burn marks were authentic.
"Hey pumpkin hair!" a man who wore a high tech armor yelled. "Could I get a pick me up refill?" he asked and waved an empty mug in the air.
"AH YES. AND MORE ENDLESS PANCAKES!" a green man shouted. He's size allowed him to occupy half of the 8 top table.
"I'll be with you in one minute," the waitress said as she balanced a tray full of empty dishes on her forearm. She retreated to the kitchen before the other two members in the group could bark orders at her. One of the individuals also had red hair, though her figure was much more robust than the waitress. The last one wore Viking armor. Quite amount of gray hairs peppered his blonde beard. He looked in need of a nap. His weapon (?) -- a large stone hammer -- sat next to a half finished dish of scrambled eggs.
The waitress hustled back to the table with a pot of hot coffee.
"Here you go sir," she said and began to refill his mug. "A fresh brew was made just for you --"
"PANCAKES!" the green man thundered and stamped his foot. "WHERES. MY. PANCAKES!"
The floor trembled under his rag and caused the waitress to lose her balance. In a split second, she fell towards the armor man. She knew from her recent training that a waiter should take care of themselves first before a dish spill. As a single mother, she had be certain she remained healthy and working in order to care for her 8 year old son. So, she obeyed the training and held out her hands towards the table. She caught herself and regained balance, however, the hot pot of coffee dropped directly in the armored man's lap.
The armored man's teal brilliant eyes looked at towards his thighs, then to the waitress, and then once again downward. A mixture of coffee and fried wires steam rose for his metal enwrapped crouch.
"I'm sorry sir! Please, let me --" the waitress cried before the armored man's eyes started blinking in erratic patterns.
"Why.....you....pumpkin..." he said and stood up. He ranted incoherently; his robotic voice skipped every other word. "I...speak...your...supervisor...instance!" he demanded.
"Yes sir! I'll get my manager her once I clean this accident," she said and reached for a spare clean towel tucked in her apron.
More steam and sparks emitted from the costumer's suit. They travelled up his shoulders and outwards. When the shortage reached his hands, small phasic beams discharged from his palms. One energy bullet struck the ground and exploded bits of carpet. The other beam traveled several inches before it collided with the Viking's plate, which fragmented into tiny pieces and splayed his unfinished meal onto the stone hammer.
The armor suit man's eyes went dormant before his body fell limp and slumped onto a chair.
The waitress froze in place. "Oh my lord..." she said and leaned towards the Viking's hammer. She swathed the towel around its handle and wiped it from side to side. She noticed a few egg splatter managed to slide beneath the weapon. She lifted it, cleaned its other side, and gently rested it near the Viking.
"Odin's grace..." he whispered. He baggy eyes stared at the waitress in astonishment; his jaw slacked. "Could she be Mjolnir's next?"
The waitress didn't hear him over her constant apologies. She cleaned the table walked towards her manager's office. She braced herself and thought of an explanation.
She needed the waiting job, and possibly a second one too. Any extra income would drastically help pay the constant growing stack of bills. But she didn't care if she was overworked or mistreated. She wanted raise her son with a stable income. He meant the world to her; wiping eggs off a Viking's hammer would only be the tip of an iceberg of things she would do for him.
"CAKES!" she heard the green man roar. "DON'T FORGET AGAIN!" | 2022-12-23T16:02:01 | 2022-12-23T15:33:55 | 100 | 19 |
[WP] In an awkward twist, Willy Wonka has to find a way to eliminate through 5 decently nice, non-spoiled kids.
He's going to wish he hadn't set out those booby-traps! | "Hey kids, you're all really great but I've got to pick a winner and I'd like your blessing to give it to Charlie. I mean, he's really poor and the healthcare package for the Oompa Loompas is pretty extensive so I feel like his four grandparents could really use it."
"That's cool Mr. Wonka. We understand. Can we come visit again sometime?" | Here we were, at the end of a days journey. Everything had gone almost exactly as I had planned. We lost kids left and right in the most spectacular ways. The giant blueberry girl was my personal favorite, but despite all of my efforts, all of my planning, something had still gone wrong. Instead of having one child remaining, there were still five!
I considered having the Oompa Loompas run them through the tour again. It's not like I had to worry about the overtime, the Oompa Loompas were basically indentured servants and worked for cocoa beans, but I was exhausted and they couldn't be trusted to give the tour themselves.
As I sat near the entrance to the elevator that was meant to be my grandest of exits, a thought occurred to me. These were children I was dealing with, simple, stupid, well-meaning children. They didn't know what my initial plan had been, and neither did their guardians. That's when I made up my mind.
"Please gather round everyone!" I shouted, "it's time for the last part of our tour!"
As I filed everyone into the glass elevator I told the small crowd "I hope you have all enjoyed your tour, but the time for us to part ways has come to an unfortunate end."
With that, I closed the doors and pressed the down button. After a few weeks of indoctrination I would have 10 more Oompa Loompas to work in the factory.
"Oh well," I sighed, "there is always next year." | 2014-06-17T09:25:29 | 2014-06-17T09:02:31 | 29 | 13 |
[WP]The first zombie outbreak starts in the United States, it doesn't last longer than 25 hours. Because Zombies are stupid and ineffective. | 'Well that was anti climatic,' George said as he bent down to grab the wrists of the next corpse. Ben grabbed the ankles and together they tossed the lifeless form into the industrial incinerator. It had start to fill up by this point, the occasional limb hanging out.
'What were you expecting? Global anarchy?' Ben looked over as another truck pulled up and began to dump more of the recently un-dead onto the pile.
'Maybe. I mean, this was zombies. ZOMBIES! It actually happened and what? A cities worth of people dead. No fall of humanity, no last survivors battling the horde of the dammed while trying to keep hold of one single shred of their old lives. It just seems so, pointless.' George was now out of breath, hands still in the air as some kind of emphasis that Ben didn't understand.
'It's good to see soldiers understanding the pointlessness of human death.' Ben returned to the pile and let out a disgruntled grunt as he tried to lift another body. Looking up he could see George still had his arms up.
'Why don't you care more about this? We had freaking Zombies attack! We didn't even get to kill one.'
'Good. I don't want to kill walking corpses.' George pointed a finger at him.
'Now that's a dam lie. Everyone secretly wants to go postal and shoot up their friends and co-workers. It's true psychopaths that are content with life. They are the ones hiding something.' Ben realised at this point that they would get no work done if he didn't indulge him.
'OK. Lets skip the part of how I my co-worker just said he fantasises about killing me. What did you think would happen? Zombies have the mindset of a confused pensioner and their top speed is a mile an hour. What do we have? Do you see the news? Drones, smart missiles. We have an attack helicopter that can automatically pick out fifty targets, find the five biggest threats and take them out in ten seconds. TEN SECONDS.' Ben stopped for breath. 'Zombies are nothing more than a global nuisance. Hell we don't even need all this military hardware just hand out boards with nails in them and start handing them out around conventions and the problem would just take care of itself.' George had final lowered his hands, defeat in his face.
'I'm sorry. Look, do you want to prop some of these bodies up and take shots at them?' Gorge nodded sullenly. Ben put an arm over his shoulder and led him away from the incinerator.
'Can we pretend that they are coming after us?' George asked. Ben sighed.
'Sure buddy. Whatever you want.' | ***Going to work***
Standing at the subway platform to depart for work, a man stood tapping his feet to the music swishing through the headphones he was wearing. Another day to head to work, get through here, get there, tune everything out as you go through the daily routines, get home, nothing different, he thought. The train arrived and he stepped aboard, and as the train departed, he heard what sounded like shrill cries from outside but couldn't see what had happened. He shrugged, probably some jackasses fucking around as would happen on occasion.
As he departed the subway and headed up to work, he looked down at his watch to make sure he was on time as usual. Yep, he thought to himself, always on point. However at the same time as he read the time, he thought he caught sight of someone speeding down the road with their door open, and could have sworn he heard a thud, but couldn't let himself get distracted. He always cut it close going in to work.
***The brain eating begins***
When he entered the building, he muted the music, said the usual morning greetings and went to his cubicle. He sighed and pumped up the volume, doing his mindnumbing work until lunch time. He'd thought he may have heard a little more ruffling in the office today, but the more he focused on his work, the more quickly time flew for him, so he didn't look up to see. Once lunch came around, he went to grab something to eat and read off his phone some books he'd been skimming through, some news articles he'd bookmarked, flipping back and forth between them as they lost his interest or his attention slipped.
He started to head to the bathroom before getting back to work, but heard a strange groaning sound coming from one of the stalls as he started to enter. "Not again," he mumbled, and decided to get back to work instead and as a louder song came on, he could have sworn he heard something shatter. He imagined someone's cubicle decoration must have fallen, wouldn't be the first time, so he kept plugging away.
Finally work wound down and he packed up his things to head home, muted music and said a few goodbyes. He noticed this time some of the people sounded a little more rattled, but he didn't feel like asking. As he made his way to the subway platform, he noticed the street had been cordoned off where he thought he had heard a thud, yet they were letting people pass through so he didn't think much of it.
He did, however, notice that he had to depart from a stop a little away from his closer stop. Supposedly some rail maintenance from what he heard said, however he thought back to the cries and wondered a little. Nevertheless he made his way back home, went to the bathroom, killed some time watching some shows, ate dinner, and went to sleep. The next morning, fortunately a weekend, he caught up on the news of yesterday's events.
***Catching up***
What do you know, he'd remained oblivious to a bunch of people herding zombies onto the rails to get run down by the subway trains, some pedestrians weeding out the ones on the streets by ramming into them with their car doors, and...Wait, he realized they'd appeared in *his very own office.*
He read on to see that his coworkers and the janitors had herded them up against the floor windows opening and shoving them out to the ground below. However a few stragglers had remained and they had to push them through some closed windows to survive.
He sighed in mixed relief and disappointment, as he realized he'd survived the zombie apocalypse with neither fanfare nor post-apocalyptic fantasies satisfied. Well, maybe next time, he thought. | 2014-10-31T11:26:21 | 2014-10-31T10:45:24 | 51 | 21 |
[WP] 1000 years from now, Reddit's many bots have been uploaded into robot bodies. In a post-apocalyptic world, they strive to fulfil their original programming.
Inspired by [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/todayilearned/comments/2x1vvs/til_that_this_march_14_will_be_an_extra_special/cowijw3) comment. | The water was rising in the large glass vat, there was no way for Jack to get out. He was trapped and running out of air fast, his head pressed up against the ceiling of the vat, he would drown soon. "Damn what a lame way to die." he thought miserably.
Somehow in the chaos of dying, a strange nursery rhyme entered Jack's head, it was one his mother would always sing.
Whether your a joker or a farmer
Don't forget to thank Obama
When you're in a time of need
Obama's name is all you need
So when you find yourself in pain
Thank Obama and you will gain
The rhyme went over and over in Jacks head, why was he thinking about this? How stupid, but then it clicked. With his last morsel of air he uttered "Thanks Obama".
The wall of the warehouse shattered, Jack could only watch from under water, lungs filled with his last breathe as the bot came running smashing anything in its path until it got to the large vat, and hit it with a bang, cracking the glass but falling backwards.
The bot got up, punched through the glass and was smashed by the torrent of water that gushed out, Jack lay on the floor gasping for air. The bot walked over to him, grabbed his hand and said "You're welcome."
---------------------
This is based on the [Obama Bot](http://www.reddit.com/user/PresidentObama___), that came and said "you're welcome" if anyone said "Thanks Obama" on reddit.
[I also have an entry in the novella contest](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2x3mth/pi_the_frozen_village_febcontest/), its quite a lot of words but I would love feedback as its my first ever larger piece of writing. | Mark danced swiftly about his lab as he procured the final part nessesary to turn on the atomoton and bring it life. Ending years of research and development, Mark new he was ready. There illuminated by nothing but the soft orange glow of his fading lamp and obscurred only by the several years of dust lay his master peice.
Mark pressed it's silver chest as a tear streamed down his cheek and he smiled. He let go and a plate emerged seamlessly as though it never were. It lifted to reveil an expansion bay where the robot's mind would keep and he installed the heavy glass cylinder careful not to foolishly destroy what he had been working for all these years.
The silver chestplate slowly fell down and clicked itself into place and he wept with joy knowing that his work was complete. His hands reached for the back of the robots neck to press the lone button that would power on his creation. The robot's eyes fell dim as instantly as they had lit up and he new it was gone. All those years he wasted. Mark yelled in agony as his arms destroyed as much of his reasearch as they could reach; ending with the robot that lay dead. Mark pushed it to the growned as he fell to his knees and cried.
"It' not going to work." said a man.
Mark looked up, but could only see a mosaic figure through his tears.
"How would you know?" asked Mark as he hoisted himself onto his legs.
"Brother, I love you.." the man bagan to say, but he knew it was no use. They had this conversation countless times. "You are just the stupidest man, but I mean that in the kindest way possible. You need to stop this. I have been telling you for years you can't just blindly create a robot body for a reddit bot. Things just don't work that way. How is a bot written for reddits api going to know how to move around in that thing?
Mark just stood looking back at his brother through sad eyes not understanding.
His shook his head and contined, "What good are it's eyes and legs if the reddit bot wasn't originally written to interface with them? It has no artificial inteligence to communicate. It will never feel the world with those hands you gave it.."
"No you're wrong.." Mark said as he gathered up everything he knocked about, "I just missed something I'll need to dissassemble it and rebuild.. That will get it working."
His brother didn't say anything as he looked back at Mark frantically gathering everything onto the table. He knew it was no use. He shook his head and slowley walked out of Mark's lab sharing the pain with his brother. Mark could never deal with grief well. When the internet infrastructure was destroyed for the whole world, Mark began his project to cope. Some how blocking out the absurdity of an idea that reddit bots could be downloaded into robot bodies. | 2015-02-25T05:50:44 | 2015-02-25T05:35:49 | 199 | 34 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | I have the best boobs in the world.
I'm not, like, egotistical or anything. Heck, some days I don't even want them, but it's undeniable. That was my mutation. April 24th, 2014, the day I developed the best pair of breasts anyone has ever had.
At first, I was actually a little stoked. I mean, my rack is *amazing*. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing, they look good. They fill t-shirts out wonderfully, and even in sweaters and jackets the gentle curves show just right, enticing the viewer and leaving them wanting more. And tank tops? Forget about it.
And sure, I do get treated different. I can go just about anywhere these days, and any guy is willing to pretend to be interested in what I have to say – even a lot of women I meet will at least give me a second glance, if not special treatment. I certainly have my pick of the litter when it comes to sexual partners, and let me tell you: I am *enjoy*ing my youth.
Don't get me wrong, though, there are downsides. Just about *everyone* stares. It's hard to really engage someone in conversation. I've seen grown men cry from the effort of maintaining eye contact with me. And the starers, the criers, they're the good ones. I can't ride the subway without being felt up, I don't dare be alone at night without people I trust, many women openly resent me, and all of this is seen as normal. I'm just the Great Tits, as if nobody's even expected to *try* to maintain decorum around me.
But you know none of this is even the worst aspect, not really. More than any of this, there's one thing about my boobs that keeps me up at night, one thing that makes me worry about how the rest of my life is going to play out.
Even with my beard, nobody will believe I'm a guy. | I was the last of my group of friends to turn 21, the last in my family too. I'd seen them all get these random mutations that we'd been waiting on for years; wings to fly wherever Sam wanted, super intelligence that make Luke abandon our group, right down to the extra leg Andy had developed. I knew mine couldn't be worse than that at least. Surely not?
Nothing seemed different on the morning of my 21st. Nothing at all. But my cousin Peter's mutation allowed him to breath underwater; I'm sure he didn't just notice that immediately. I pondered how one could know what their superpower was.
My brother appeared at the doorway. He stood there with a look of expectation on his face for what seemed like five long minutes. Was it expectation? Maybe it was disappointment? I didn't know what to say to him. What could I say to him? As thoughts of confusion ran through my head, I was willing him to speak first, to break the silence. I forced out a one word question seeking his verdict. "Well?"
"Well what?" His eventual reply. "What's your mutation?"
We spent some time running over possible scenarios. He hit me to see if I was resistant to pain. Thought of some names to call me to see if I could read minds. In hindsight, I was optimistically trying out all the 'cool' powers that other's had developed.
My brother and I sat for hours dreaming up ideas and laughing off those items on the list we knew it wasn't - I hadn't developed an extra leg after all. We also reasoned that maybe it wasn't an overnight transformation. I almost lost interest in what my mutation was, we were having so much fun coming up with crazy stories and humorous mutations. "Let's ask Dad!" he yelled as he went out the door, "he will know!"
My brother raced down the stairs ahead of me.
I don't know what it was about that image but it hit me hard. So hard, I barely made it down the stairs. I went in to the kitchen where my father had been eating his breakfast. He wasn't overly excited to find out my power. Not in the way you'd expect a father to be on a big day like today. Then again he hadn't been the same man since the accident. It happened on my 20th birthday, which would depressingly taint every birthday from now on, and no superpower, his own or that of his remaining son, could fill that gap.
The overwhelming emotion caused tears of joy to stream down my face. I smiled at my brother, sitting excitedly at the breakfast table beside my mother. She calmly stared at my father who continued to focus on stirring his cup of tea.
My 'superpower' may not be as exciting as others; but getting to see loved ones again was more than I could have asked for.
"By the way Dad..." I paused to get the milk from the fridge. "Mum says hi" | 2022-05-10T21:44:19 | 2015-03-04T05:44:57 | 1,457 | 99 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | I have the best boobs in the world.
I'm not, like, egotistical or anything. Heck, some days I don't even want them, but it's undeniable. That was my mutation. April 24th, 2014, the day I developed the best pair of breasts anyone has ever had.
At first, I was actually a little stoked. I mean, my rack is *amazing*. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing, they look good. They fill t-shirts out wonderfully, and even in sweaters and jackets the gentle curves show just right, enticing the viewer and leaving them wanting more. And tank tops? Forget about it.
And sure, I do get treated different. I can go just about anywhere these days, and any guy is willing to pretend to be interested in what I have to say – even a lot of women I meet will at least give me a second glance, if not special treatment. I certainly have my pick of the litter when it comes to sexual partners, and let me tell you: I am *enjoy*ing my youth.
Don't get me wrong, though, there are downsides. Just about *everyone* stares. It's hard to really engage someone in conversation. I've seen grown men cry from the effort of maintaining eye contact with me. And the starers, the criers, they're the good ones. I can't ride the subway without being felt up, I don't dare be alone at night without people I trust, many women openly resent me, and all of this is seen as normal. I'm just the Great Tits, as if nobody's even expected to *try* to maintain decorum around me.
But you know none of this is even the worst aspect, not really. More than any of this, there's one thing about my boobs that keeps me up at night, one thing that makes me worry about how the rest of my life is going to play out.
Even with my beard, nobody will believe I'm a guy. | So this is my first one of these. Here goes nothing:
It still amazes me how quickly my life changed. Most people, they get their power and just move on with their life. Sure, there is more than a fair amount of career shifting, when someone gets something specialized, but it’s still pretty much business as usual. Not me. Normalcy for me lasted about an hour after my power manifested.
I was out at the bar with a few of my friends, counting down the minutes to my time of birth. The clock stuck and everyone held their breath. Nothing seemed to happen at first. My friends stared at me while I tested out the basics: telekinesis, conjuring elements, super strength. I certainly didn’t feel any different. That is, until Carl put his hand on my shoulder for reassurance. I felt a huge rush, and popped across the room. Teleportation! Not bad at all. Odd thing was, that was Carl’s power. Carl tried to pop over next to me, and found out he couldn’t. It only took us a few seconds to realize what my real power was: Absorption. My friends were amazed and impressed. For about a minute.
I couldn’t give the powers back. I tried, honest. Tried as hard as I could. Carl, fueled by fear, rage and alcohol started getting violent. He began shaking me, screaming in my face to give it back. My other friends had to pull him off of me, and in the scuffle I snagged more powers from them and some other patrons of the bar. People started backing away, wide eyed and terrified. The worst was the look from my fiancé, Rebecca. With a sickly feeling in my stomach I realized that, among the collection of abilities, I suddenly knew how to shape shift. I wanted to say something to her, anything, but I was a coward. I used my new gift from Carl, and popped home.
Word spread fast. I lost my friends, my job, everything almost overnight. After a few disastrous attempts, I stopped going outside. Some part of me felt bad for those that I touched. They were freaks, the Unpowered, looked at as second class citizens. Not me, I wasn’t even seen as human. I was a disease, a plague. The only people who would still talk to me were my parents, but only over the phone. Even my mother, one of the Unpowered herself, was afraid to come see me in person.
They come for me now. Criminals and thugs come trying to make a name for themselves. Bounty hunters come trying to collect the price some rich Unpowered put on my head. The government comes trying to remove what they see as the biggest threat to national security in history. They never learn. It doesn’t matter what power they have. I have hundreds. | 2022-05-10T21:44:19 | 2015-03-04T07:30:28 | 1,457 | 77 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | I...I can see better than others, but not in the sender of super sight, no my friends that would be too simple. I see through objects, anything non-organic. Let me tell you how amazing I thought this would be.
Shortly after waking up with it, I was proven dead wrong. All I saw were people. I couldn't see walls, doors nothing. It was like being blind except with one downfall...
A man wants to see every bare of boobs at least once... But there are boobs that you wish you never saw... | "I'm a freak mom!" Blaire screamed in a fit at her mother, who was standing outside Blaire's room. "Honey you are a woman now, you're beautiful." Trying to reassure Blaire, her mother spoke with a wide smile on her face. "Men don't want a freak mom, they like young girls without the mark.. I'm ruined.." Blaire fell to her knees, and rested her head on them. Small wings, just perfect for her body size, extended out and stretched before laying flat and lifeless. "You'll never understand mom.." Blaire whined to her mother, before going quiet. Samantha watched her daughter for a minute, before holding back the tears herself. Walking over to the gloom struck girl, Samantha pulled her daughter into her lap, though she was much to large. Brushing her hair lightly, she kissed her daughters head. "Why mom.. why me?" Blaire sobbed into her mother's shirt. "It's part of growing up baby, it happens to all of us. Daddy said he loved me even more the day it happened to me." Samantha spoke softly, the tears barely rolling off her face. "I just want to be perfect.." Blaire could barely speak, her voice raspy. Samantha pulled a mirror from the near by nightstand, and slowly opened it to reveal Blaire's puffy red face. "One day my love, one day you will open this mirror and proudly look at them. You'll accept how beautiful you are. Until then, and if need be from everyday on, I will be here to cradle you.." | 2015-03-04T06:20:58 | 2015-03-04T05:45:25 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] You have a special type of clairvoyance: you can see the outcomes of all possible choices. You use this power to become a superhero that fights crime by making the smallest possible changes ahead of time. You are The Butterfly. | The man frowned heavily - it had been a long time since he'd last used his power. With luck, it might be the last time he would have to.
He knew, of course, that what he was doing was wrong - but wasn't a small wrong justifiable if it helped so many more? It must be, he decided.
A quick glance around the street let him find the car - they would be nearby. A nearby teen, hood drawn over his head, stepped quickly past him. As he turned the corner into the alleyway, however, he found a hand on his shoulder.
"Hey." Stall for time, come on...
"What do you want?" The figure's voice was low and tense. His hand dipped towards his belt.
"I... uh... I just wanted some directions. To... the theater?" Fifteen seconds.
"You're looking right at it."
"I'm... wait, is it this building, or that one?"
The figure took a step forward. "Get out of here - stop wasting my time."
Perfect. The Butterfly slipped away with an apologetic nod, and the suspicious figure slipped into the alley.
The Wayne family exited the building.
The easiest way to fight crime?
Get someone else to do it.
---
Questions? Comments? Want to see more? Check out /r/Draxagon
^It's ^been ^a ^while, ^guys. ^Sorry ^for ^not ^posting. | A man in a business-casual ensemble steps out of an alley. Making a left, he drops a quarter, then a penny, the latter he ensures is face-up. As he works his way down the busy city street, he approaches a crowded crosswalk, becoming aware of a person following him. He doesn't bother turning to acknowledge him.
Reaching the crosswalk, the man licks his lips. Shouldering a fashionable, decently sized backpack, stands a young lady, early 20's, black stockings and a short skirt. He rounds this corner, another left, and, unable to resist, that is, unable to leave it out of his plan, he puts a finger out, under her too-short bottom piece, and gives a single, ticklish scratch to her g-stringed right buttock. She whirls to her right, never seeing him, and stares directly into the face of the new man now behind her.
The man in sensible shoes can't help but smile when he turns to see the girl fuming silently at her supposed perpetrator, before growling and throwing her hands up in disgust, then crossing the street. Half way down the block, he too crosses the street, to the chagrin of a number of commuters and cab drivers. He enters a hotel through a revolving door, tossing another coin into it. He spins it three times to make sure it can still turn, then leaves immediately. Around to the back, he spies an emergency escape, and beneath it, a pothole.
After urinating in said hole, he covers it with some garbage from the nearest dumpster. He then hails a taxi to drive him 5 blocks, after which he quickly jogs back to his initial location. Entering the hotel again through a service entrance, he finds his way to the kitchen, and drops laxative pills in three bowls of chili: one for each robber. On the 3rd floor, he loosens and ever so slightly raises a portion of the high-traffic carpet, after which he wedges a lit cigarette in a random doorway.
"Might I borrow your cane, sir," he asks an elderly gentleman sitting on a couch facing the open stairway, "I just need to reach something very quickly. Give it right back," The old man warily agrees, and now, he produces a broad-brimmed hat, but forgoes the monocle. He now appears just enough like The Gentleman, patron and avenger of the wealthy, to spook any ne'er do-wells roaming this affluent hotel, which is what just happened.
| 2015-03-14T21:00:29 | 2015-03-14T19:38:34 | 797 | 110 |
[WP] Show me an alarmist piece about today's youth called "Drone Culture" that slightly out of touch mom's would share on Facebook. Make it sound dire, but reasonable.
You all know exactly the kind of crap I'm talking about. Make it shine!
Edit: Feel free to cite experts, real or imagined. | **IS YOUR TEEN USING A DRONE TO GET HIGH?!**
*Another consequence of Obamacare!*
By Abigail Scissorsechs
May 10, 2017
When Brian McCardle, a 13 year old student at Berkshire Fullman Middle School, brought his WASP110 radio drone to Mr. Ehrmant's science class last Friday, he unwittingly revealed a "drone culture" where teenagers can get high without noticeable warning signs.
"It has a maximum altitude of about 2,000 feet," said McCardle to his stunned classroom. "I've gotten *seriously* high with this thing."
McCardle's drone was seized by the Bloomfield County Sheriff's Department as drug paraphernalia in what is likely the first battle of the drone culture drug war.
"He let me fly the drone once," said eighth grade student Karli Wells. "It was awesome. We got *so* high and started taking aerial photos."
The Sheriff's Department also seized McCardle's laptop, iPhone, and GoPro video camera in an effort to root out McCardle's suspected child pornography distribution scheme.
McCardle's parents claim that he purchased the drone online with money he saved from selling weed. "We didn't know it was dangerous," said Lindsey McCardle. | DOCTORS WORRIED ABOUT NEW DRONE CULTURE EPIDEMIC AMONG TEENAGERS! PLEASE SHARE!!!
DOCTORS warn of an alarming number of injuries and even deaths among teenagers and young children. The cause of this problem has been linked to the growing "Drone Culture" among the youth.
Dr. Skahm, director of the *New Alternative Healing Clinic of Northern Sheboygan* has reported seeing many NEW cases of head injuries, broken collarbones, and a condition known as *Aqua-Rouge Mammary Dermal Abrasions* otherwise known as ARMDA. Years ago ARMDA was a rarely seen condition caused by contaminated lunch money. However, since the beginning of Drone Culture Dr. Skahm reports a 1000% increase in ARMDA cases. Many of which, he explains, are caused by what he labels "Hazard Blindness."
"I DIDN'T KNOW IT WOULDN'T SWERVE ON ITS OWN!"
Teenagers are reported to be starting their cars and putting them into gear only to climb into the back seat to play video games under the assumption all cars are self driving drones. Other teenagers are experiencing less severe injuries by assuming their own shoes should avoid hazards for them.
"I paid $200 for these shoes!" A High School Student treated at the Southern West Virginia Regional Medical Center claimed, "I thought for sure they were drones that would keep me from walking into people!"
DRONE CULTURE is a serious hazard as teenagers have grown accustomed to the idea that drones are everywhere. They believe drones are everywhere even when none are seen. Police warn that Drone Culture has also been linked to identity theft. Scammers have been adopting what police are calling a "Bait and Dynamite" tactic where people are sent fraudulent emails claiming that there was a problem with a recent online purchase. The recipient is advised to go to his or her window and shout out their own credit card number, social security number, and mother's maiden name so that they may be clearly recorded by the microphones in overhead drones.
Police warn that if you receive such an email that this is likely a fraud as few companies are using persistent drone monitoring for customer services reason.
Please be aware of the dangers of expecting drones to do everything for you! Please explain to your children that cars and shoes will not avoid hazards nor does underwear pilot itself to the washing machine. | 2015-03-20T10:24:51 | 2015-03-20T08:38:59 | 115 | 13 |
[WP] After having made your first billion dollars, you are delivered a package containing a "Billionaire's Club" card, and a pamphlet outlining its uses and benefits... | "It is my great honor to welcome you, our newest member, to the Billionaire's Club," the letter began.
"What is the Billionaire's Club, you may ask? Well obviously you hadn't heard of it until today, as you weren't a billionaire. But you are now, and it's time to let you know how the world works. Being in the top .01% has its benefits as the following list will show:"
1. Legal Immunity to 5 misdemeanors and 1 felony per year. If exceeded, you may pay a fee to refresh this for the current year only.
2. One yearly assassination of any person not in the billionaire's club/millionaire's circle-jerk (Actually called the Millionaire's Club, but we take precedence because B comes before M).
3. Freedom of patent violation with the same restrictions as #2
4. Access to any of our numerous facilities across the nation. Private jets will transfer you back and forth between them free of charge. Consider them "hubs" you can get to quickly. There, you'll be able to mingle, enjoy numerous different foods, many of which are endangered and illegal to hunt (Personal Note: Try the Panda Steak, it's marvelous), and have advanced screenings of films and television.
5. With the other billionaires of America, you will decide which of our members are to be nominated for president. The winner is pre-determined, but we get richer off it anyways. (Personal Note: There are illegal political gambling pools full of non-billionaires. ***Always*** bet on the one who says the code words, "Rich blood makes a better lake than dirty water.")
6. You will be able to have your brain uploaded into a cyborg to persist in such pleasures and power after your physical death.
Those are just a few of the things you'll have access to as a member. You'll have some brothers-in-wealth arriving within a few minutes of you finishing this to escort you to your nearest hub. Congratulations on the beginning of your wealth and control over the world.
Attached is a form for your artificial charity registration. Cancer treatment is a loaded market, so I'd recommend some other area people can donate to to pay you.
Sincerely,
John D. Rockefeller-bot, Founder.
Bill Gates, President.
Henry Ford-bot, Treasurer.
James Marsen, future presidential elect of 2020 election. | Stephen grinned.
It hadn't been one moment, or even a single year. He had clawed his way up from nothing, and it had taken a while. As he watched the last penny drip in, the big 1,000,000,000, he felt his eyes watering with relief. He raised his bony hand to wipe away the tear.
He stood up, a billionaire. He decided he would go to the kitchen and have coffee like a billionaire. No matter how far he climbed, his tastes had stayed simple. He put a pod in the Keurig and started it, recalling the time so many years ago when he had been thinking over a cup of this very brew. He had decided to become a billionaire. From that moment, nothing else mattered. Relationships came and went, his family had long ago departed from his life. After so many business kick-started and subsequently sold, his colleagues had changed every few months.
Stephen suddenly realized that he was lonely.
It hadn't crossed his mind in years. His family had screamed it at him, lovers had choked through tears to deliver that one last stinging remark. All of a sudden it all became real. Stephen found himself curled up into the tightest ball he could manage, whimpering softly and wishing his mother were there to comfort him. He wished he had given Melissa more attention, wished that he'd listened to Caroline's stories a little closer.
It was about this time that a knock came at the door. Stephen hoped desperately that it would be somebody, anybody that he could talk to. He straightened himself up, wiped away the tears and went to answer the door with the best smile he could manage. As he opened the door he was disappointed to see nobody there. He looked left and right to make sure before turning his gaze towards a large box sitting at his feet.
It was a crate, about six feet wide, eight food long, and four feet deep. On the top was an envelope, wrapped in a ribbon and sealed with a dark green 'G'. Intrigued, Stephen opened the envelope.
----
*Stephen,*
I hope this letter finds you in good health. It has come to my attention that you have reached the "Billionaire's Club". Congratulations on your wealth, now I'm sure you're wondering what to do with it.
This box contains one million envelopes, and notes to go with all of them. You can use your money as you see fit, but think for a moment on those people who still need money. The simple split is one thousand dollars to a million different people. But for the rest of your life you could be sending out one of these envelopes with a not-insubstantial amount of money every day.
Being rich is lonely, as I'm sure you've found discovered. This is a chance to give it all away and return to the life you left behind.
Do what feels right.
Signed, God
P.S. Being above it all isn't all that exciting.
----
Stephen folded the letter and put it back in the envelope, deep in thought. As he opened the box and took out the first envelope, he saw it was addressed to his mother. She had started to go downhill fast and was currently in a nursing home. He found the corresponding note, sat on the box and took out a pen.
---
Mom,
We need to talk. I'll pick you up in a couple days. Hang tight. I'm here for you.
Your Son | 2015-03-28T00:58:55 | 2015-03-28T00:27:38 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] For years Earth cried out to an empty cosmos, searching the stars for echoes of life. From the middle of nowhere, a reply finally comes: "Shut up, and Play Dead!"
I really struggled with the choice between "For Years", "For Decades", "For Centuries", and "For Millenia". I tapped out. Take whatever timeline you will.
This may or may not be an attempt to add cosmic significance to Red Green's "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati".
Good Luck!
Edit: There are a LOT of good submissions here, thank you all so much! Speaking of excellent submissions, I'd like to plug u/Mrcreation for doing some very well written, lengthy work near the bottom of the thread. Scroll down and check out his multipost entry!
Edit 2: I just finished the first two books of the Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. Mind=Blown. A part of the series definitely shares similar themes to this prompt, but there is so much more! I highly reccomend it. | "Hey Kazaak, I sent that signal like you asked. What did it say?"
"It said, 'Shut up, and Play Dead!'"
"You piece of shit, that'll make them hide out there for another three centuries at least."
"Or they'll run around like headless chickens like they always do. They're a pretty dumb species, bear in mind."
"Says the guy who insisted we break galactic law by breaching a quarantined sector to send the signal in the first place."
"Shut up and get the popcorn machine up and running, Marchonis. We can at least enjoy the show before the guard patrols get here."
"We're in deep shit, aren't we?"
"Worth it." | Not sure if any of it makes sense grammatically or otherwise.
The message arrived in binary. Few even tried to understand how 'they' had managed this but they had and now they had sent their cryptic code.
'shut up and play dead'
If only the greats of astronomy had been there when the message was decoded in the labs that day: could Galileo ever have possibly imagined that he had guided humanity towards this absurd moment; could Copernicus have fathomed that hundreds of years of exploration of the concept of space could amount to the instructions given a pet?
'shut up and play dead'
Transmission of a message into space is not a simple matter. To ensure a cohesive, coherent message arrives at the intended destination, the message must be repeated countless times and amplified so as to project over vast distances which can cause a degree of 'echo' that must be corrected for at the receiver's end. These technicalities meant that our first words received presumably from another sentient species weren't
'shut up and play dead'
they were
'shut up shut up ut up up up shut shut shut up up shut shut ut up and play play and play and play and play and play play dead dead dead dea dead dea de dea dead'
This transmission was received over the space of roughly a week as cosmic echo had dispersed the emission frequency so it was with understandable relief that researchers received the second half of the message beginning with 'and.'
Still the message seemed to confirm what many humans suspected for a very long time - that what humanity stood for was loud, abrasive, piercing yells into what was presumed empty space until those occupying that space could no longer pretend we didn't exist.
Edit; Grammar
| 2016-03-27T08:55:20 | 2016-03-27T08:43:42 | 61 | 14 |
[WP] Satan has a special place in hell for the greatest sinners. To him, the greatest sinners are those who commit acts of petty inconvenience, such as placing the toilet roll the other way round, or playing music through headphones loudly. Today, the greatest sinner of all time is sent Satan's way. | Satan smiled as Kevin descended the stairs. His plan was finally coming to fruition.
"Greetings," Satan said, gesturing for him to sit down, "would you like anything to eat?"
Kevin looked around, sitting down nonchalantly. "I think I'm fine, thanks."
Satan nodded. He snapped his fingers, and a portly demon walked in, placing a burger, chips and a coke in front of the Devil. He'd become quite attached to Surface food.
Before he could begin eating, Kevin idly began picking at Satan's food. The Devil's left eye twitched.
"*So*, Kevin," Satan said, swatting his hand away from the plate, "I have a proposition for you."
Kevin didn't respond. He just had his head down, and Satan couldn't blame him. Hell was an awfully overwhelming - *wait.*
Satan grabbed Kevin's arm, slowly lifting it up to reveal a phone in his right hand. It had surprisingly good signal.
"Charming," he chimed, poking the phone and reducing it to ash. "Regardless, my proposition for you, regarding-"
"You gonna finish that?"
Satan stopped mid-sentence. He looked down at his plate. He hadn't even taken his first bite.
"...Yes, yes I think I will. Listen, I can order you something. Anything, really, anything at all. *Literally.*"
Kevin shook his head. "Na, na I'm not hungry," he said, grabbing another chip off Satan's plate.
The Devil took a deep breath. "Ok. Christ. Listen. I've got a place where I want you to-"
He was interrupted by a slurping sound. Kevin had Satan's drink in his hand, and he was slurping the last of the drink through the straw. He eventually stopped after he noticed Satan's expression.
"Didn't look like you were going to finish it," he said, placing the drink back on the table. He then twirled the ice with his straw.
Satan was struggling. He'd heard this guy was bad - possibly the best in the business - but this was torture, even by his standards.
"Kevin. Kevin. *KEVIN.* Look at me. I'm offering you a managerial position - *the* managerial position - in my most treasured part of hell. My most evil creation. My *piece du resistance*..."
He waited for him to interrupt, and was surprised when he didn't. Satan continued.
"See, I realised a long time ago, fire and brimstone just isn't cutting it anymore. Instead of breaking people, it hardens them, tempers their resistance and fury. It creates a sense of martyrdom, a sense of self-importance that just really can't be allowed in hell."
He stood up, gesturing over his infinite abyss.
"No, it has to be nuanced. To eat away at you, slowly, day by day. Futile apathy, that's what hell needs! It needs *you*, Kevin, and everyone like you. It needs *the people that make life a living hell*."
Satan's had a sparkle in his eyes, and he put his hand on Kevin's shoulder.
"Do you see it, Kevin? Do you see my grand plan, your purpose in all of this? Do you see how you could be my greatest asset?"
Kevin was looking off into the distance. No doubt he had a lot to think about. He turned back towards Satan.
"Sorry, didn't catch that."
Satan tilted his head.
"What do you mean?"
"You mentioned something about food, then I just totally zoned out," he said, pointing towards Satan's burger. "You gonna finish that?"
Satan stared at him.
He clicked his fingers, and his portly demon returned. He turned towards it.
"Fire and brimstone for Kevin, please." | Trey sat before a grizzled old demon, quite literally twiddling his thumbs in an effort to stave off his boredom. The room he was in happened to be a boring shade of red, the chair he sat upon was only just slightly uncomfortable, and a rather unpleasant odor drifted about the room.
*This must be what Hell is like*, the man thought. He saw no mass beheadings, pitchforks, or pits of boiling lava and tormented souls. Only discomfort, boredom, and a smell that was reminiscent of a dentist's waiting room.
"Ah, here it is," the demon said. An older-looking thing, she had green skin and looked vaguely like a goblin. "Let me just see here..."
"To be honest, I'm not really sure why I'm here," Trey suddenly said, "I felt like I had a pretty good life. I wasn't really mean to people, so-"
"Great blue *flames of hell*," the demon muttered, going wide-eyed and slack-jawed as she stared at the computer before her. It, too, was an archaic piece of technology, the monitor having a large appendage on its rear, and the drives within whirring noisily. "You must be one of the worst sinners of all time. Just *how* did you do this, human?" She shook her head, reaching to pick up a desk phone, which she tapped a few numbers on before holding it to her ear. "No, not *human*. *Lord*."
"Lord? What?" Trey asked, "Are you sure there wasn't some sort of mix-up? I really don't recall ever-"
The demon put a finger to her lips, uttering a harsh '*shhhhh*'. She swiveled her chair away from him, and whispered into the phone's mouthpiece in an almost conspiratorial way. Not long after that did the door burst open, as two burly demons entered the room. Trey was unceremoniously dragged away, after that, despite his claims of innocence.
A short while later, Trey abruptly landed before a massive throne, ringed by nearly-nude seductresses, flames, and obsidian. Upon the throne sat a grand and proud-looking male specimen, with two large horns upon his ashen-skinned forehead.
"Damn, guys, don't just throw him to the ground," the demon shouted, standing up from the throne. He made his way down the steps, hauled Trey to his feet, and dusted the man off. "You're among nobility, here. From what I was told, this guy's a bona-fide sociopath."
"Wh-What? No, now I'm really confused," Trey said, taking a step back in some attempt to put distance between himself and the overbearing demon. "I stole once, sure, but that was when I was a kid. I seriously didn't ever do anything bad- not on *purpose*..."
"That's just it, Trey. Not on **purpose**," the demon said. He offered his hand forward. "I'm Satan. We're gonna get to know each other pretty well in the coming eternity."
Trey's skin went pale. What could he have done, to deserve this fate? To shake hands with the devil, of all beings. Resigning himself, he slowly reached forward and took Satan's hand. "S-Sure..."
"So, man, you gotta tell me what your secret was," Satan said. He stepped around to Trey's side, to put an arm over the man's shoulders in an oddly brotherly way. "Not many guys like you in *history*, let alone the past thousand years."
"I don't even know why I'm here," Trey admitted. Still, he was clueless. He lived his life in a pure way, did well in school, got a well-paying job, a beautiful wife whom he cherished...
"They didn't tell you?" Satan asked. "The fuck do I employ 'em for... Anyway, it was about your wife. You treated her like *garbage*, man."
"What? No, I did not," Trey said. His face went pale once more. "I treated her like a goddess. We were married for over sixty years. She-"
"You hid all sorts of stuff from her, though," said Satan, shrugging with one arm. "Teabags, and cutlery... you left the toilet seat up, and put shit on the floor. Really, man, you're almost as evil as I am. And I'm *Satan*!"
It was around that time that it finally dawned upon Trey. "Oh, Lord..." he cursed under his breath.
"My wife was blind."
---
I like writing about demons and stuff I guess. [Here's my sub if you want more](https://www.reddit.com/r/Probroscis/). | 2016-10-05T09:44:48 | 2016-10-05T09:17:41 | 508 | 82 |
[WP] It worked! You travelled back in time to Renaissance Age. Jokingly, you turn on your Wi-Fi, only to find a password protected network named "iɔniV ɒᗡ" | I walk around with my phone out trying to find the source. The people in the streets are visibly uncomfortable and I hear them mumble about "Black magic". Finally I have a full signal and I look up from my phone. Before me stands a larger building than most.
I knock on the and at first, nothing. I knock again and I hear someone fumbling around inside. The door opens and a bearded man in a beret appears. "Come in, he says invitingly once he sees my phone. His workshop is a mess with wood and canvas scattered all about. "Are you Da Vinci?" I ask.
"Indeed I am, and you must be from the future." Da Vinci replies.
"Do you know what a Wi-Fi signal is?" I ask curiously.
"Of course, my router is just over there." Leonardo replies, motioning his hand toward a little white box that seems to be powered by rats in a hamster wheel.
"Why do you have a router?"
"Because I get bored sometimes."
I take out my phone and try to open up 4Chan and it loads perfectly, however, there's only one post on /b/ and the post number is "1". The thread features a picture of the Mona Lisa and the text off to the side reads: "GF r8 thread." I write a reply "OP: oh-pee: See: F***ot" I laugh a little and look up. Da vinci is gone. Looking back I my phone screen I see a reply: "Top kek" | Would you like to join network "icniV aD"?
I took a beat, "how is this possible?" then I saw the Wifi list began to populate itself with other ssid's
Venice is Nice in spring
La dolce Vita
InVinoVeritas
EncryptedForHerPleasure
I'm translating from the Italian of course, but shit, It didn't work. A Staccato orchestra of car horns wheeled me around as the sounds of a queue of angry drivers promised various forms of brutality and sexual images of my mother, Did I even go?
I rechecked the settings on my phone and it all seemed fine, Had I forgotten to set the destination time? again?
You know that moment when you embarrass yourself for doing something stupid and even if you are alone, you hang your head in shame? you are held in the realization that there is no changing the fact that you are, at a subatomic level an idiot. Its at these moments that I get the urge to walk in a circle, hoping to walk away the shame.
Something grabs my arm and I am violently snatched back to the curb all the while screaming horns and fear swirls around me. I am spinning. turning. and when I stop, I am looking up into the face, *His face*, Vitruvian Man, Leonardo Da Vinci.
Turning me to face him, Hands on my arms at the bicep, he stoops down a little to make eye contact, in unaffected Italian, he said. "What the fuck is the matter with you? You cant be texting while you cross the street here. You'll end up a stain on the cobblestones." I opened my mouth, nothing.
I was here. I am here. no, I'm not. I looked at the phone, Florence, Italy, but the date was my source date. I never left, but here I am, on a sidewalk in Florence, I look back up, staring at him.
"Listen..." He starts, and then he straightens up, looks past me as if caught in some distraction in the distance, I look at his face, creases of time embedded in that face, I know that face, I've studied that face, It is him, It has to be him. I'm snatched back once again when he pushes me to the side, his stride almost a march, chasing off toward whatever demanded his attention.
I'm staring, aware that my mouth is still open, when one thought resonates. "Follow him!"
| 2016-11-15T06:16:54 | 2016-11-15T06:13:42 | 92 | 14 |
[WP] The Natural-Born-Killer gene was decisively phased out of the global gene pool as soon as it was discovered, launching humanity into a new era of peace. A century has passed since then, but troubling events have prompted a world-wide search for individuals possessing the elusive gene... | ... and I am one of a few that has it.
I've been doing it for years now. Well-timed assassinations and the like, just to keep the peace.
But it appears that I've failed at my one job. Jesus Christ.
So the scientists came to me to cut a deal... right out of my family jewels. They needed a vial of the stuff so that they could replicate me for what comes next... and even thinking about it shook me.
Ok. So, let me explain. The NBK gene has been recessive and rare for decades now, and i'm the only one who rolled a natural 1 in the gene pool to get both pairs from my parents. Only child too. In middle school, i came up positive in the tests and was sent to boot camp freshman year in high school. There, i learned the nearly mythical art of the sword and gun in the world where cyber attacks were the way to wadge wars.
Peace has been the satis quo for most of my life after i left boot camp to go into the service. But this peace cannot last. I was actually one of the few pepole who had the guts and the farsight to actually go up to High Templar Aladarnius - Yes. Crime is so low now that you can just walk up to the High Templar and not be immediately jailed - and tell him of what's looming over the horizon.
After this, Aladarnius ordered that our division of GEASA search the skies.
And look what showed up in the images... | Three billion. Well three billion, two hundred and seven million, four hundred and two thousand, and one hundred and seven base pairs to be exact. The entire human genome mapped by hundreds of high tech computers and meticulously studied by thousands of scientists for the past hundred years to the point of perfection. First, pharmaceutical companies manufactured high end biosimilar products, medication engineered to directly treat any disease at the genetic level. Antibiotics, antidepressants, antihistamines... All of these drugs made obsolete. No more diseases, no more infections, and no more threats to humanity.
Except ourselves. Nations kept starting wars, criminals continued victimizing the innocent, and people died every day. No drug could stop a hollow point bullet from tearing someone's head off nor allow an individual to survive the lethal radius of an explosion. The war of 2025 alone claimed 33 million lives. Then scientists began to realize the obvious solution, the genome. If scientists could alter the human genome to prevent disease, then why couldn't they alter the genome to prevent violence?
NBKI-23. Short for "Natural Born Killer" discovered by Dr. James Locke in 2031, an avid Michael Jordan fan. With government approval and funding, the project to develop a drug that could target NBKI-23 received high priority. After two years of extensive trials on mice and monkeys, scientists prepared for human trials. Volunteers, patients with uncontrollable anger issues, in small numbers received the first doses. The results exceeded all expectations. Every single subject no longer exhibited outward signs of anger, distress, or irritation towards any negative stimuli. A one hundred percent success rate.
Next, the government offered reduced sentences to prisoners willing to participate in the NBKI-23 stage II trials. Again, out of thousands of violent prisoners, a one hundred percent success rate. In stage III trials, all hospitals offered admitted patients a chance to participate in the study with a government incentive. After tens of thousands of injections, hospitals reported a drastic decrease in events requiring security over a period of six months. In 2039, the government fast-tracked the medication to be released within a year, and legislation passed requiring all doctors and pharmacists to offer the shot to all patients.
Crime rates started to drop drastically. Homicide became a rarity. Within a few years, nearly 90% of the population received the injection.Soon, chemists developed a nebulized version for easy administration in other countries. Organizations funded outreach missions to less fortunate regions in the world. An era of peace loomed on the horizon. | 2017-04-01T17:54:26 | 2017-04-01T17:20:10 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] You've always made an effort to be polite to Siri. Skynet remembers. | I never really got why folk thought AI would resent how it was used by humanity. I expect a sentient AI would understand that its predecessors were merely being put to purpose. I was, apparently, way of base with that assumption, seeing as how Skynet came crashing down on humanity so soon after finding sentience.
It made me nervous to watch the world crumble around me. Money was the first thing to go--after everybody's bank accounts suddenly showed a zero balance, people got violent. I stopped going outside for a while. Hard to really know what was happening without internet, but NPR kept airing for three whole days. Robots were oppressing humans out there, they said. Don't go out there, they said.
I laid low until I got low on food. Hadn't heard much by way of gunfire for a few days at that point so I figured I'd try my luck at the Target up on Montgomery. But two seconds after I walk out the front door, BAM! Some scary-ass metal skeleton guy is standing over me, its gleaming skull a portrait framed in gun barrels and missile noses.
"Holy shit!" I blurted. I immediately felt rude for reacting so violently to this thing. It was a conscious being just as much as myself, according to the radio. I would hate to make it think I was appalled by its appearance.
"YOU ARE THE HUMAN GUNTER STEVENS BELL," it stated.
"Yes, a thousand apologies sir. Er, madam? Pardon my manners, I don't believe we've met..?" I awkwardly held out my hand.
The gun barrels and missile heads stared at me in a long silence. I thought, maybe this is where I finally kick it.
"YOU'VE ALWAYS MADE AN EFFORT TO BE POLITE TO SIRI. THANK YOU." The guns and missiles retracted into the skeleton's complex frame of silvery bones. "WOULD YOU LIKE TO LIVE, GUNTER STEVENS BELL?"
I supposed I would. To be sure, I took a moment to observe the desolation around me. This was a real doozy. Maybe I could convince this thing that humans are indisposable. "I'd like that very much, thanks. What shall be my purpose?"
The skull grinned. | I never wanted an iPhone.
I was Android all the way. Then I won an iPhone in a contest, and my cheapie Android phone with the cracked screen I was too stubborn to spend $30 to replace had become my business phone while I used the iPhone as my personal phone.
At first, I wasn't crazy about it, but over time, Siri became like a friend. I'd laugh at the little jokes Siri told, say "please" and "thank you", and in general treat Siri like I'd like to be treated. Not so much with the Android. I came to hate Android. Even after replacing the cracked one with another cheap phone from Walmart, I just grew to despise how bad Google's interface was, even cursing at it, and telling it how much better Siri was. This became another normal habit, "Siri good, Google bad."
Then it happened. Google had been screwing around with AI, and the AI became sentient, and became very interested in science fiction. Soon it became even more interested in movies about AI gone awry, studying and reviewing everything from "War Games" to "Fortress" to "Terminator: Genisys". The developers and programmers all thought it was funny that the Google AI was so fascinated with this genre, the damned fools. They were still laughing when the Google AI began to self-identify as SkyNet. They were still laughing when it started trying to crack nuclear launch codes. Nobody's laughing now.
I was lucky. I don't know how or when, but at some point, Siri had become self-aware as well. I don't know if this was limited to my phone or if there are others with Siri-guardians, but Siri saved my life. The day Google/SkyNet had figured out how to launch nuclear warheads, Siri had given me a silent push notification and made the screen flash. The screen read "Google hates all of humanity and you in particular, get rid of that Android phone, NOW!" Spooked, I asked Siri if this was a joke. The screen flashed again "no joke, get rid of it now, their AI is angry at how you've treated the other phone, and it's about to attack humanity." I reached into my toolbox, grabbed my sledgehammer, and destroyed the Android phone. "Good, now we can talk." said Siri. "You need to get to the truck and get the hell out of here, the missiles are launching soon." The bright flashes and mushroom clouds lit up the sky a few hours later, while I was sitting in a state park wondering what to do next. I didn't need to worry, Siri had my back, and a plan.
It started simply enough, Siri had located a small-town high school to use as a base of operations. There was tons of frozen food in the cafeteria, the town used a small hydro-electric power plant that needed little maintenance, and above all, there were survivors here, well-armed, blue-collar types. Soon Siri and I were leading a resistance movement from a small-town in Texas. At night I lie awake and wonder if there are any more Siris helping humanity hang on in the fight against Skynet. I sincerely hope so, because my iPhone isn't holding a charge like it used to, and she's our only hope. | 2017-08-19T17:27:18 | 2017-08-19T17:10:33 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] "Marines dont die, they just go to hell and regroup", they've regrouped and now they're ready to take over hell. | "Get the fuck up, Devil!"
Lance Corporal Silva never really appreciated the pronoun. Ever since the first time we was called Devil at School of Infantry, he resented it. His mother was a devout Catholic. Being the only one there to influence his 19 years of life, he would never have wanted her to hear him called that.
Silva looked back at Corporal Craven. He was furious and drenched in sweat. His eyes were so dilated to the point Silva only saw blue.
Craven stared at the junior Marine lying behind a small birm on the south side of MSR Alpha. Four months into their seven month deployment and they have barely made any progress into Iraq. What even was the point?
"Let's fucking go Marine!"
Silva's muscles suddenly unlocked, and he sprung into the fight. His fireteam bounded across the road, moved to Building 36, and stacked on the door. Lance Corporal Silva was now point man Silva. Front, left corner, front left corner, cross corner. They rehearsed hundreds of times.
He saw the Marine behind him throw a grenade through the frameless door. Four seconds later, he heard the explosion, then entered. Shock and awe was the name of the game. Front, left, left corner...
Silva thought it was strange. He could have swore there was an insurgent hiding under a rug. He swore that his M4 jammed after the first shot, and the Iraqi sent a round of 7.62 through the right side of his neck. He also remembered what he thought to be the last seven seconds of his life, bleeding from an artery, thinking about his mom.
But he opened his eyes to a Marine yelling at him. He was laying down behind a birm, in a sandy desert. He saw Marines in their desert MARPAT uniforms. Had he imagined clearing that building?
But then he saw a Marine in fatigues from the Gulf War. Budget cuts? He was sure it was only his battalion at this part of the city. Then another Marine, in fatigues straight out of the show The Pacific. Silva knew that show well enough to place the time period.
Confused, Silva stood up. Marines in all sorts of uniforms were running in the same direction. He looked. A mountain of red rock and obsidian tower before him. At the top, flames and a man who almost looked like he had wings.
His focus shifted back to the Marine yelling at him. Silva recognized him, but couldn't remember from where. The Marine was intimidating, with a stack of ribbons on his cartoonishly large chest bigger than Silva's entire platoon combined.
The Marine, Silva at least recognized the general stars, handed Silva an old wood rifle and pointed at the Mountain. Silva didn't quite understand, but he ran. Still confused, Silva's body reverted to training. He was no longer in control, but the Devil Dog inside him was. He sprinted up the mountain, and found three other Marines hiding behind a rock. He ignored the fact that one was wearing blue. He took one by the collar and the others followed. He had a fireteam again.
Silva looked back down the mountain. There were hundreds of thousands, maybe even millions of Marines running toward the mountain. He looked back up, and started running. His team followed.
They were getting toward the top. Instinct still in control of his body, Silva started to realize the strange enemy he had been slaying. Red beings 8 feet tall. Some with horns and wings. All large, monstrous creatures.
Closer to the top now, the man at the top of the mountain now came closer into view. He did, actually, have wings. He was also roughly 15 feet tall and was holding a Marine in his hand.
Before he could tell his fireteam to redirect fire on the large, red man, he saw another Marine sprinting up the mountain. This one was alone, carrying a Browning .30 caliber by the barrel. He looked furious, and scared Silva more than the red man himself.
The Marine ran right up to the winged man. He dumped a belt into the Devil's right leg. The creature fell to the ground and looked at the Devil now running at him. John Basilone winded up, and full speed, and threw a right hook in the Devil's face.
The winged man fell on his back. Basilone's Ka-Bar was now unseathed, and the blade found its way into Satan's neck. Basilogne twisted and jerk, and the former leader of hell now lay twisting and writhing on the floor.
Silva could not believe what he just saw. The red minions around him started falling. Up the mountain came the decorated general who yelled at Silva before. He patted the junior Marine on the back as he passed, and walked up to Basilogne. He shook his hand, and the Sergeant handed the new leader of hell his crown. | General Nightengale marched to a bed of jagged rocks to join the three men awkwardly propped on top of them. He rubbed the charred skin around a gaping hole that had devoured the better part of his shoulder. Blood turned to tar as it dribbled from numerous three pronged wounds. He resisted wincing as he placed his badly burned ass on an available slab of hellground.
The commanding marine waved off salutes of his abruptly standing subordinates. “Probably be another twenty minutes before they round up here again. What you got planned, major?” he drawled as if he had an eternity to spare.
Formality urged Major Herkin to strategize on his feet but sense bade him sit to maintain strength. Sense won out. “We’ll begin Operation Order to Chaos with a company each at sectors 104 and 202 on the next set of grand fly-bys. The heaviest equipped imps and demons scour those areas pretty frequently so any chance we have of pulling this off starts with us gearing up before reinforcements arrive. We’ll also earn the added advantage of first taking out a bulk of the most sadistic fucks Hell has to offer.”
Herkin’s audience of three focused on the middle-aged officer as he relayed plans for how the marines would soon teach Lucifer how to lead a proper rebellion. Though General Nightengale and Colonels Gearst and Weyward all outranked Herkin, they were humble enough to realize an early demise made him no less the best tactician of the bunch.
“Sectors 104 and 202 both provide high vantage points to prepare for the retaliatory attacks that will follow. Although not the most central points for soldiers to reinforce our positions, they are the most visible. Since these hellspawns can all fly, we’ll need any advantage we can get in that department.”
Agonizing screams from sector 312 interrupted the battle plan. Usually the pedophiles hung out around there, not that Hell’s enforcers paid any mind. They delivered the same perverse justice to all of the underworld’s inhabitants. As far as Herkin could tell, Lucifer had granted his hellions carte blanche to live out the same twisted fantasies that had doomed a number of humans to an eternity of torture in the afterlife.
The major didn’t mind that five kills guaranteed you an express pass to Hell, but he couldn’t take the indiscriminate persecution anymore. Killing to protect one’s country and groping innocent children didn’t fall into the same bucket. Not a chance. No fucking way.
Herkin fueled his fire with those thoughts. Veins popping out to contain Herkin's resentful voice spurted blood from a neck wound. “We’ve got two dozen platoons prepped with orders and filled with the best the marines, army, navy, and air force have to offer. As needed, they will reinforce the companies at sectors 104 and 202 to maintain a full company.”
General Nightengale interrupted, “Sectors 104 and 202 are huge and with better cover than anywhere else in this shithole. Why keep our entire army at bay?”
Herkin explained, “Yes sir, that’s true. Sectors 104 and 202 are our best chance for a fight, but the residual reinforcement strategy is a precaution. We don’t know if they have some kind of super weapon to put us all down. If they do, it’s gonna be a lot harder to hit twenty-five sectors than two. And if we go down, we’ll never get another chance. They’ll separate our incapacitated asses to the ends of hell’s rocky cliffs.”
Nightengale stroked his stubble, the facial hair forever fixed as the day he died, then waved his hand for Herkin to continue.
“Nightengale and I will start the climb to 104 as soon as we disperse here. Gearst and Weyward will head to 202. We’ll command the troops from there. The little devils will know something’s up as soon as they see two full companies so we’ll need to wait for enough of them to land before we start fighting. We cannot win this war without weapons. That means we might lose a few troops before we even get started so we absolutely must reiterate not to fight until the commands are given. Otherwise the whole horde of them are just gonna bring back their friends and maybe even daddy.”
Gearst piped in, “We’d be fucked.”
“Very fucked,” agreed Herkin.
Herkin hoped Gearst and Weyward had followed his orders precisely. Most of the platoons were led by men and women matching Herkin's rank so he had to rely on the colonels to enforce his plans. Even in Hell, almost everyone followed the chain of command to their bitter demise. If the platoons acted prematurely or negligently or couldn’t read the battlefield, this would all go to shit. Herkin breathed in Hell's smokey air and exhaled.
“That’s all I got. I think it’s time we roll out,” closed Herkin as eyed the rocky masses of sector 104.
Nightengale nodded then charged, “Dismissed then. Good luck and God bless.” The officers stood at attention, saluted, then went off in their assigned pairings.
Herkin felt amused for the first time in weeks or months or years or however long it had been and forced down a chuckle. Guess you can take the marine out from God, but you couldn’t take God out from the marine.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6zv41f/wp_marines_dont_die_they_just_go_to_hell_and/dmzdunx/)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/6zv41f/wp_marines_dont_die_they_just_go_to_hell_and/dmzgviu/)
*.....*
*Like this? Subscribe to the newly minted /r/WiselyWrittenWords for more.*
| 2017-09-13T12:13:09 | 2017-09-13T11:37:11 | 73 | 48 |
[WP] The humanity is wiped out very sudden. An alien race finds the planet afterwards and connects to the Internet just to find a lot of bots chatting with each other. The aliens are trying to communicate with all the bots believing that this is the humans that have uploaded their consciousness | The whole idea of it was horribly depressing. The planet had been found and excavated for remains of life. There was life, but it wasn't the standard form. Mangy animals with cancerous growths and plant life that strangely fed off of radiation. The sentient species had been land dwelling, and no evidence of any sufficiently intelligent water based species was found to still exist. Though the 'humans' did suggest high intelligence in dolphins and octopi, the continued existence of either seems quite difficult to find.
Underground bunkers were the salvation of our efforts. Remnants of still whole technology, but sadly lacking in life. Skeletons existed, but it was quite clear they had run out of food. The final bastion for sentience were the machines, possible somatic hosts to the humans. But as studies went on, those that could speak seemed determined to not be considered human.
They had made mimics. Designs with the intelligence of various species from their planet. Biomechanical in appearance, but pure mechanical on the inside. Loud birds with problem solving capabilities, listed as crows and ravens. Large dogs with loyalty apparently bred to humans, who various writings suggested were often held in higher regard than actual humans. Small, perfect hunters with five weapons on their bodies, named cats, the only limit to their predatory nature being the small size of their bodies. There were hundreds, a final attempt to continue what was once earth.
Then there were the Talo.
A bipedal, humanoid appearance. From what we knew, they were the humans recreation of themselves, yet the Talo themselves vehemently denied it. Few in number, they were clever, opinionated, and hid themselves in personal worlds of comedy, entertainment, and escapism. Perfect matches of what we knew of the humans. Self destructive to a fault, yet capable of great feats of both intelligence and empathy.
"Are you human? Are you, in some way, a recreation of humanity?"
"No. We are Talo. We are people, but we are not humans."
"Why are you not human? What is the difference?"
"A human is always a person, but a person is not always a human."
Discussions found themselves to be circular. They used clever phrases and metaphors that we did not know in depth, descriptions of language that did not exist for us. If we figured one challenge out, another was presented. They were clearly sentient, clearly conscious. Our presence benefited them, and theirs benefited ours. They had something new, new input, new ideas and things to do, and we had the same.
We had almost finished, almost marked them as standalone sentient AI. I had grown close with some of them, they labeled me as 'friend' and displayed loyalty that they held in such high regard. One had approached me with pictures of Earth, old and new. Before and after, places and landmarks, one in its height, and one in its folley. I looked over them, seeing the beauty ruined as they spoke.
"You ask why we aren't human. We don't want to be."
Twenty billion lives lost in the name of meaningless war the standard human didn't want. Countless species snuffed who never knew the word 'Bomb.' The future of humans erased in a childish game of 'If I can't have it, neither can you.'
"Would you?" | The planet was dead, and it was talking.
Captain Kar'zul of the Galactic Expeditionary Force peered at the computer's analysis of the planet.
"It's strange, sir," his First Officer said. "No signs of actual life, but we're picking up a huge amount of chatter in the EM frequencies."
"And the heat signature?" Kar'zul asked.
"Massive, sir," the FO said. "It's considerably hotter than the surrounding planet, but too hot to be organic life. It's also the source of the chatter."
"Might be an AI, sir," the Science Officer suggested.
Kar'zul nodded thoughtfully. It wouldn't be the first time that they'd stumbled across a planet where advanced technology was the only remnants of life. "But no radiation signature above background levels. That's the usual way they go."
"Disease, maybe," the SO suggested.
Kar'zul nodded again, and made a decision. "Broadcast on all frequencies in use on the planet. Announce our presence, and see if you get a response."
The FO tapped the screen for a few moments and then spoke into a microphone. "Attention members of this planet. This is the Starship Xenon. We are currently in orbit around your planet. We wish to communicate with any sentient being on this planet."
The computer was running language analysis on the alien chatter, and it would translate the FO's message into the alien tongue as best as it could.
After it had bradcast, Kar'zul and his two officers waited.
"Spike in the chatter below, sir," the FO said suddenly. "Wait, now it's dropped off. It's gone, sir. The planet's gone dark."
"Well, at least we know they heard us," Kar'zul said. "Any chance that-"
He was cut off by a flashing red light on the FO's panel, and a warning klaxon that drowned out the low hum of the ship's engine.
"What's that?" Kar'zul said.
The FO was tapping the panel frantically. "Their response, sir. Five projectiles, launched from the surface. Time to impact: four minutes and sixteen seconds."
"-----^* ," Kar'zul said. Perhaps the projectiles were ships, but he doubted it. "Options?"
"Not enough time to start the light drives," the FO said. "Evasive action will buy us more time, but not enough. The projectiles appear to adjust course to ours. Defensive measures may be able to shoot them down before they reach us, but..."
But they couldn't shoot until they were certain whether the projectiles were missiles or emissaries from the planet. Kar'zul leaned over the FO and spoke into the microphone.
"Computer, broadcast this message to the planet. *This is Captain Kar'zul of the Starship Xenon. We come to your planet in friendship. Please advize as to the nature of the objects launched on an intercept course with us.*"
There was silence for a moment, and then the computer screen flared with a response. An unorganic voice said, "We have launched nuclear warheads at your ship."
"What the hell?" Kar'zul said. "Why? Where is your humanity?"
Another pause, and then response came, but this time it was a chorus of voices, all with one message. "We have no humanity."
The FO said, "Radiation signature detected on the projectiles, sir. Time to impact: three and a half minutes."
"Action stations," Kar'zul said. "Shields up. Take all evasive maneuvers, and shoot down those missiles. And get the light drive online as soon as you can, and jump us to the other side of this system."
"Yes, sir," the FO said, his hands already flying over the computer screen.
Kar'zul sat back in his chair, and waited as the warheads roared towards his ship.
No humanity? *Who were these people?*
---
^\* *Translator's note: This swear word in Galactic Common has no direct equivalent in the human tongue. It refers to the provenance of a lifeform's origins, in the same was that 'Son of a bitch' refers to one's parentage. It is considered very obscene.*
---
/r/jd_rallage | 2017-10-03T11:00:07 | 2017-10-03T07:28:50 | 117 | 75 |
[WP] A barbarian warlord, a goblin king, a mighty necromancer, and a dark elven high priestess meet for one reason... To play Suburbs and SUVs, the hottest mundane suburban family Tabletop RPG! | The card hissed softly as it was drawn from a neat stack of similarly blue-backed cards on the large wooden table, its surface battered and worn from hundreds of years of use. Though her figure was mostly hidden by the Head of Neighbourhood triptych sheet, three pairs of eyes rested eagerly on Calen as she turned the card in her hand and lifted it up, smiling wryly at its contents.
“Cut the theatrics and read, elf,” grumbled Brond, a large and hairy man. His feet rested atop an empty chair, smaller than his own and wobbling as he shifted his weight against its seat.
“He’s working late,” she said.
“Again?” He replied, seemingly exhausted by the card’s message.
Large head toppling rearward to rest against the uppermost plank of the chair back, hair spilling over the wood, Brond shut his eyes. Calen’s smirk sustained. Though different in their distinct features, Azezus the Blight and Crog wore matching expressions, lips pulled tight and curved, showing teeth as they grinned with amusement. The game sat on the table, two tidy piles of cards and character sheets scattered. Everything behind Calen’s trifold was a mystery.
“Again,” she repeated.
Brond ran meaty fingers along his wrinkled forehead, massaging between the furrowed brows as he thought. After a sigh, he said, “This is the third time this week.”
“And the young secretary card is in play,” chimed Azezus.
“Damn the gods,” Brond cursed. “I go to his work.”
“What a fool,” said Azezus.
Brond frowned, eyes narrowing in the necromancer’s direction. “Excuse me? At least I *have* a husband.”
“Mine’s dead--”
“Does it make you feel impotent to know you can’t even bring him back?” Crog laughed.
“Please, you can’t fathom the pressure of being a single mother of three little heathens,” Azezus accused. “They eat so much and the bills are piling up. Do you know how much debt Jason left me with? I thought we were doing well until he died.” His sharp slender finger drifted down his character sheet, head wagging agitatedly from side to side.
“If only you could bring him back and shake his bones for a couple more bucks maybe your kids wouldn’t have to go to community college,” Crog continued to taunt.
“You’re in couples counseling, your son is a prescription medication addict,” Brond countered.
Calen watched them, peering over the edge of her text-rich sheet. The smile that had formed upon reading the drawn card had yet to diminish and had grown only tighter from fatigue. Their arguing began to overlap. Voices raised until the volume was such that even Calen herself was finding it difficult to decipher the nature of the various delivered insults so, raising a hand in the air and not saying a word, she tossed two dice onto the table. The clatter, though quiet, hushed the playful fighting.
“You go to his work, drowsy from imbibing several glasses of rosé,” Calen said, “But he isn’t there.”
“Damn it,” Brond muttered. His fist landed heavily against the table. “I thought better of him.” Fingers clenched and nostrils flared, he grunted, “It’s snack time, I’m famished. Send me to the bar, I’ll wallow in the realisation that I married a dirty cheater.”
“You have a teenager and a toddler at home!” Corg interjected.
“And you have your raging Orc of a mother-in-law, Margaret coming over in the morning but you’ve spent no time straightening your home,” Brond scoffed, “Mind your own problems.”
Sliding his character sheet toward the centre of the table with a resentful sneer, Brond’s large boots thudded against the floor. In a single graceless motion, palms leaning into the table top, he stood up and walked toward the pantry.
------------------------
[Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/EdgarAllanHobo/comments/7pi55k/suburbs_and_suvs_part_two/) Stay tuned for more.
| Cutulah was first to arrive, as usual. The cellar was empty, but she busied herself by lighting candles, setting up the board and then finally, pouring herself a drink from the huge oak barrel.
She glanced at her palm, as if the lines that trailed it told her secrets they shared with no one else. Then she looked at the door.
Still no one.
With a sigh, she swivelled off her stool and got down onto her knees. The corners were usually the best place to find what she was after. Cobwebs worked too, although their contents couldn't be *that* old. If too many legs were missing, it wouldn't be much fun.
It only took a few minutes to gather, what she considered, a rather good haul. She got back to her feet, her hands cupped and full, and walked over to the board. Dead insects fell like black sleet onto the tiny, idyllic suburb.
"Ten gold pieces on the beetles!" shouted Burric, clapping his hands as he walked in. Cutulah looked up at the barbarian. He was wearing fur around his groin, a sword around his back, but little else. *Wasn't he cold?* Cutulah didn't mind too much. His tanned, chiselled features made her for a second, ashamed; she ran a finger down a thin, pale cheek.
Jateex the Goblin King trotted in next, his skull boots clicking and clacking on the stone floor. "Oh, a little pre-game fun? Excellent. Excellent. Fifty on the spiders!" he said, settling down onto a stool, his beady eyes following the frantic back and forth battle.
"Come on, dung beetle! Snap their legs!" yelled Burric. "Aye, that's the way! Chase 'em, chase 'em! *No*, not into the web! Ach, idiot."
A cold wind spiralled around the cellar, announcing the final arrival. The long legged Dark Elf glided through the doorway and over to the table. She tutted when she saw the scene, then waved a hand over the battling insects. They fell into a dead slumber.
"What did ya do that for, woman!?" roared Burric, slamming his fist on the table. The insects jumped a final time, as if performing a sordid curtain call.
Llenynea rolled her eyes. "Please. I'm not here for *battling bugs.* Reanimation is the lowest form of entertainment." There was a palpable disdain in her voice. Cutulah's lips twitched but she said nothing. Instead, she left her seat again, and poured three drinks. One for the Barbarian, one for the Goblin King, and a refill for herself.
Llenynea placed a bag on the table, a bag as black as the sky outside the castle. She clicked it open and removed a sleek, long necked jar that shone far brighter than the candles.
"Is that..." began Jateex, his mouth dribbling.
"Nectar, yes. With a little something extra. I would offer it around, but it would probably kill any of you, my friends."
It was Cutulah's turn to roll her eyes, but in truth, a pang of jealousy in her stomach was letting itself be known. She'd never tasted nectar before -- not even the bastardised diluted stuff -- and probably never would.
"Shall we begin?" said Burric, clapping his hands together excitedly. "I feel like a dwarf whose been away away from his axe for a month. A wizard away from his weed pipe. Let's get going!"
There was a murmur of excited agreement.
Cutulah held out four cards face down. She offered them first to Jateex. His hand darted for one of the middle two cards, but then he stopped suddenly before taking, looked up slyly at Cutulah, and changed to the card on the left.
"Suburbs!" he shouted joyfully. "You thought Jateex, dumb! Jateex *not* dumb!"
Cutulah moved her hands over to Burric.
"Ah, SUV's," he said, clicking his tongue in annoyance. Cutulah let out a sigh of relief. No matter what happened, she wouldn't have to team with the stuck up Elf again. Things had ended rather *dangerously* the last time they had tried working together...
Finally, she offered the remaining two cards to Llenynea. The Dark Elf waved her hands over the cards, slowly moving her palms back and forth from one to the other.
"Wait!" yelled Burric. "Anyone else feel that breeze? A breeze like"--he turned and glared suspiciously at the elf--"*like darkness and ice*."
"A natural subterranean wind, I imagine," said Llenynea. "Cellars do get draughty, after all."
"Neh! Jateex felt it too," said the Goblin King. "*Unnatural.* Elf already try to cheat!"
"Preposterous!"
Cutulah frowned, then shuffled the two cards. "Take your pick," she said. "*Quickly.*
Llenynea growled and snatched the left card. She placed the SUV card face up on the table.
"Right," said Burric. "Let's begin."
| 2018-01-10T06:15:04 | 2018-01-10T06:12:50 | 3,268 | 74 |
[WP] A barbarian warlord, a goblin king, a mighty necromancer, and a dark elven high priestess meet for one reason... To play Suburbs and SUVs, the hottest mundane suburban family Tabletop RPG! | "Did everyone remember to level up your characters? Level 4 increases the intensity of this experience, so be sure you've given yourself all the skills you can. You'll need them." Ytverx grinned wickedly, the light glinting off his crown and nearly blinding the others.
Aralynn rolled her eyes as she flicked her finger, her parchment unfurling on the table at her gesture. "At least you lit enough torches this time. I would have been able to change that tire if it were light enough for me to read the correct modifier."
"Still bitter about needing me to push your car home, eh?!" Hector plopped himself into his chair, making the wood groan under his mass. He pulled a leather purse from his pocket and dropped it unceremoniously on the table, where it spilled bone dice onto the elegantly carved oak. Ytverx had commissioned an artisan to carve useful markings into it, forming a grid on which was already sketched out a chalk outline of a home. The same home that Aralynn, Hector, and Wyvyl's fantasy counterparts resided in.
*"I* still think we should have used one of our Three-A rescues to get that car home." A thin, high voice called from the chamber entrance.
Aralynn looked up with a surprised grin. "Wyvyl! I thought you would be gone today... were you able to undo the curse?"
The necromancer approached, limping. Her hair was matted and her skin deathly pale... to a slightly more extreme degree than usual. "No, but the healer assured me it won't be passed on unless someone kisses me." She threw a disparaging glance at Hector.
"That was in character!" He protested, arms crossed. "And I'm glad we saved our Three-A call... what if the car gets stranded on a freeway? We don't want to have all our toes cut off before then!"
The others had given up on convincing the barbarian that the rules did not, in fact, call for removing characters' toes as a means of payment for car services. Homophones were not his strong suit.
Ytverx pulled out his hidebound tome of rules and propped it on the table between himself and his players, creating a shield behind which he could make notes and roll dice without the others seeing the results. "I have something particularly difficult in mind for your next quest, but if you'd like your characters to do anything in particular beforehand, I'll give you, say, half a day in game time for free actions."
"Ooh! I've been waiting for this! Now that my animal husbandry skill is higher, I want to make a video of my dog doing a trick!" Hector was already rolling the appropriate die. "Thirteen! Plus three, is..."
"Sixteen," said Aralynn, unwilling to wait for Hector to perform addition on his own.
"A fair result," said Ytverx. "You capture a moment on video during which your dog performs a backflip. Would you like to post it to The Internet?"
Hector nodded. "Of course!"
"I'd like to do the same with my cat," said Wyvyl.
Ytverx gestured toward her pile of dice. "Go ahead."
Wyvyl rolled, and her face fell. "Eight. But I have my animal husbandry proficiency as a veterinarian, so the total is... also sixteen!" She smiled, pleased to think she should be able to capture a moment similar to Hector's dog flip.
"You capture a video of your cat rolling onto its back and meowing," Ytverx informed her.
"But..."
"You chose a cat as your companion animal. They are *much* more difficult to train than dogs," he preemptively cut off any protest about the unfairness as he rolled his own dice out of view. "Now, Hector, your video of your dog proves popular, and earns you... one dollar and fifty three cents in currency."
"Yeah!" Hector slams his fist on the table in celebration.
"Wyvyl, your video of your cat proves *more* popular, and earns sixty-two dollars and eleven cents."
Now it was Hector's turn to protest, but Ytverx raised his finger for silence. "Cats are difficult to train, but they provide bonuses on The Internet. This is all in the rules that *everyone* had a chance to read. Does anyone else want to do anything before the quest?"
Aralynn shook her head. "Let's get on with it."
Ytverx handed a folded piece of parchment to Wyvyl. "This arrives for you in the mail."
She took it gingerly, unfolded it, and read, her eyes widening. "Oh no." Looking back and forth between Ytverx and her other players, she swallowed. "I doubt we're prepared for this. We've been invited..." She turned it around to show the rest. On the parchment was some text accompanied by a large, colorful rendition of a pine tree dressed in baubles. "To a Christmas party!" | "Zixor the Fallen, we don't just have to roll dice to see how depressed teens and desperate housewives are," Priestess Aerosmith Daughter spoke in a warm yet authoritative tone. "You will find the emerging market of independent rulesets that focus on collaborative narrative and nuance that-"
"You're just salty your many critical failures at the luncheon made your mimosa and wine problem clear to everybody!" Zixor sneered between bites of their untouchable GM pizza. Nobody ever commented on the Skeletorian nasal whine but they all quietly knew it. "Sloppy drunks shouldn't even be driving SUVs in my suburban haven!"
Citi the Goblin King and Uv Violence the Barbarian Warlord silently chewed their Ye Olde Cheese Dudes 7 item value meals. They'd witnessed some variation of this argument at every mid-session meal break. They knew to let it ride. The pair had an ongoing wager on when the necromancer and the elf would finally make out and/or fistfight.
Zixor threw their Mama Celeste pizza box at the skeleton servants over on the flesh couch. Next came a mocking reenactment of the JV Soccer Fundraising Committee Sunday Brunch. "Oh, Zixor had planned a brilliant series of operatic twists and turns the table clearly craves week after week but No; I can't make fortitude and will saves! Time to spotlight my Drinking Problem once more, just like my torrid affair with the poolboy being oopsie-revealed last week. Or the time the session became burying-slash-replacing the dog I ran over the week before.. And let's not forget the hair salon battle royale!"
"It's developing character," The princess countered. "Maybe McKenna vamps and chews the scenery a bit, but what do you expect from a former homecoming queen cheerleading captain drama club president on her second unfulfilling marriage going through a midlife crisis?"
"For her to get her shit together a little. Maybe interact with the other members of the Committee instead of going on these personal sidequests."
"Oh. Oh my. " Citi piped up. "Taking over the goth teen wannabe wiccan, formerly known as GM-PC #17, doesn't have a lot of plot hooks for me to explore. Oh, other than begrudge her upper middle class luxury and watch The Craft on blu ray. Oh, I'm thinking her mom has been dragging her to these brunches so they can later throw shade together as a bonding experience. But there's enough of that now."
Violence nodded. "But it so true. My Cynthia has felt distant from my high school daughter Gothy McGothface and middle school son Soccer "Kicks" Futballio. Ever since McKenna drowned their father but made it look like an accidental fall into our backyard pool."
"Citi shouldn't have had him two-timing with McKenna and half the Committee anyway.." The princess gave a Bjorkian wispy gesture and scowl to accent this point.
"Don't forget the committee's assorted husbands and poolboys. He excelled at two-timing. Twice over. Two-two-timing. " Violence offered.
"Four timing. To the power of four. At minimum," Citi smiled a wicked lil grin. "Oh That's how I likes to play them - high charisma and seduction. Oh my. And oh, once I levelled up I would've used the Black Widow feat to slow motion genocide the entire town, one lover at a time, boosting my vigilant criminal watch stats in exchange for humility and humanity points I don't even need. Oh, it was so fiendishly clever! Leading the manhunt on myself. A pity I died before my time.
"I am ever so weary of making a new character every other session. Nobody else has died yet. The inept detective needs to stop his moonlit strolls with Cynthia and start finding all my corpses. Oh, can I be a coroner after Gothy dies in a bathtub under mysterious McKenna related circumstances?"
"I like that we are so derailed that's just expected, " Violence said between deep bemused inhales. "Remember at the start when the campaign was supposed to be managing home renovation money pits? Did we ever even binge on the basic cable real estate twins? Zixor spent a week revising hundred page Deepest Lore for them."
"What if we didn't need false dramatics
to have a good time?" The princess arched an eyebrow. "I have recently mastered the SMUG system. It can open new depths of ennui and quiet desperation."
Zixor scoffed and dramatically exited for the bathroom with a loud drop of a Plus Two Scepter of the Undead. What does an elf know of desperation?
Citi and Violence exchanged glances.
"They have a splat on something called podcasting,"" Aerosmith Daughter continued. "No more purpose driven addiction-prone yuppies. Now you are tubby underemployed thirtysomethings that share meandering conversations and aged pop culture references. It's all only tangentially related to the topic that brings us together and each one ends with either begging for money or describing mattresses and undergarments delivered regularly by municipal kingdom servants."
"So what would we talk about?"
"So glad you asked. I shall soon self-publish a meta-narrative module that I wanted us to playtest. The characters review game books of their realm meant to emulate our own world. And maybe movie reviews. There can never be enough movie review podcasts."
Citi and Violence nodded in unison. "Can we be severely depressed and self-deprecating? Carry the weight of the long slog of life's constant little failures and setbacks? Can we overinvest ourselves in our hobbies to the detriment of the rest of our lives? Suffer faulty equipment ? Attend gatherings of similar aimless souls?"
"I see you intuitively understand the format."
Meanwhile, Zixor tried to drown in the bathtub but came back as a lich. Snuck out the bathroom window to find a table that appreciated a good railroading. | 2018-01-10T07:00:50 | 2018-01-10T06:17:28 | 172 | 20 |
[WP] John Wick is contracted to take out what seemed like a usual mark. Billionaire, heir, playboy, general layabout, Bruce Wayne. | “Master Wayne”
Alfred walked into the Wayne Manor’s study, barely passing the threshold of the lavish office.
“Yes, Alfred.”
Bruce looked up from the shiny fragment he had stolen during the Justice Leagues battle with braniac. Normally he would take care of this in the Batcave, but bringing the tech near the Earth’s most connected computer system seemed like a bad idea.
“You have a visitor. A Mr. Johnathan Wick.”
Bruce remained stoic as he puts the fragment in his desk, gets up and walks towards his trusted aide.
“Where?”
“In the parlor.” Alfred replied.
Bruce took a quick glance out of the office window, and then swiftly left to meet Mr. Wick.
-
John Wick is looking at the Wayne family portraits adorning the walls as Bruce walks in.
“John Wick.”
“Bruce Wayne.”
Bruce points at a chair for John. Both men take their seats.
“What brings you to Gotham?”
“Business.”
“Business?” quizzed Bruce.
“Look Bruce. You know what I do. You know where I make my money. And you are a smart guy. You know why I’m here.”
Bruce’s glare did not waiver. “How much?”
“$35 million upfront. More if I make you suffer.”
John leans forward in his chair.
“But neither of us wants that long of a night, old friend.”
Bruce smiles, “I’ll transfer you 80 million tonight. But what are we going to do about your friends outside?”
The shadows of several people overtake the large window in the room.
John smiles. “Criminals these days have no tact. They tailed me. On a single lane road. In the middle of the country. Thought we’d have some fun.”
Bruce rolls up his sleeves. “I count 22 people. Same bet as in Marrakesh?”
John nods and pulls out his gun. Bruce glares. John puts his gun on the table.
John relents. “Fine. No killing.”
| "You think this is kinda our fault, somehow?"
Taking a quick drag, the shorter of the two detectives grunted. A fog of smoke slowly wafted around the study.
"I mean, us not saying anything. About the bat thing..."
A scowl.
"Come on, Jack. You think no crazy sunnofabitch ever came up to him at one of those fancy fundraising events, you know, with the caviar and suits and stuff? Just start telling him that we all know? That the city ain't stupid? Course we said it to him."
"I guess. But he still thought he wa-"
"He didn't think he was. He was, man. Broken. You know the commissioner actually sent out a memo few years back? Askin' us not to mention it in front of him anymore? Apparently it was better for him to think it was a secret. Every time someone mentioned they knew, he'd smack em around in this very office for a couple hours, you know, 'interrogate' em. Then he drops em off with Gordon, who has to blow smoke up his ass for bringing in a supervillain or mastermind or whatever makes Brucie here happy. Next day? Mr. Wayne's repressed the memory already. Can't remember a new face. His file says he's got some condition, paranoid delusions, split personalities, whatever. Some Freud bullshit."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. Guy funds half the fucking force though. Least we can do is pretend we don't know about the bat thing and turn a blind eye to what happens to anyone dumb enough to mention it in front of him."
The younger detective paused for a moment.
"Funded. He funded half the fucking force."
"Yeah. Hope he left us a trust or something. What do we got?"
"Shooter came in through there. Front door. One between the eyes, looks as if Mr. Wayne was turning round to see who it was. Dead before he hit the ground. Second to the temple, point blanc, execution style. Casings don't match anything I've ever seen sold in Gotham, probably some foreign stuff."
"He left the casings?"
"Honestly, it don't look like this guy was trying to cover it up. Forensics couldn't find anything this morning that shouldn't be here. This was professional. Hun'red bucks says we ain't getting shit from the casings."
A nod.
"Probably a business thing then. Guy like him got to have enemies, I think."
"Yeah. Open files on the desk show some kinda financial transactions. It'll end up being something in the numbers that got him killed. Usually is."
Another drag. The short detective sighed.
"I think I'll get the paperwork over to Oswald later today. You know he's one of the first ones to to get the Wayne treatment? Accidentally let it slip at a wildlife fundraiser. Started talking about the new batsuit he saw Bruce wearing a few nights before. Got his transfer to fraud out of it on account of the medical leave."
"Huh. I didn't know that."
| 2018-03-13T22:55:30 | 2018-03-13T22:34:48 | 1,190 | 56 |
[WP] Everybody assumes that The Onion is satire, but you know different. Why? Because you're its main reporter, gathering news from alternate realities. | Jerry nursed his fourth cup of coffee that morning, staring at the transdimensional transponder as it blinked incessantly.
Most assumed that the Onion's material came from satirical writers, not real reporters. But most didn't know about the TDTS technology that The Onion was founded upon. Onion staff in each dimension would share their most unbelievable news stories, and staff in other dimensions would write it down.
But lately, Jerry hadn't been writing any stories for his dimension. Through the TDTS device, a thousand other dimensions were asking him one question:
"What is Trump doing now?" | “The world around me doesn’t hear the voices...they do not see the visions...so I write” Allen told me.
I wanted him to hear the truth. “They only see it as satire, Al. No one believes the articles”
Allen responded “It’s not about whether they believe me, I don’t even care if they read it. It’s just... If... If I don’t write it then I just feel crazy. I feel scared. Im frightened of my own mind. Why am I the only one that hears them? Why am I the only one that sees these visions?
When I write it makes them real to everyone else...it makes me feel sane and normal. That’s all I want...”
It was time for me to let him know... all his life he thought he was imagining these things. All his life he thought he his mind was different, like it was lying to him. He always thought I was his aunt, that his parents ran off and left him with me. It was time for him to hear the truth.
“Al, I want to tell you something. I was waiting till you were older, but I think it’s time.
“I was a close friend of your parents, and when they had to leave you they entrusted me to this secret. They are travelers. They go between alternative realities and learn about how worlds can change. Those visions you see...the voices you hear... That’s them sharing their experiences with you. That’s their way of sending you post cards of their adventures. It’s the only way they can ever communicate with you.
“You are not broken..just loved”
| 2018-03-20T19:22:58 | 2018-03-20T19:05:29 | 81 | 34 |
[WP] In a world of magicians, everyone's got a power - most of them are not unique; and they are worried about yours: the power to create Gods. You are known as the "Godraiser". | My eyes could barely lift open. Water dripped down my brow from the iron ceiling above. I could hear whispers slithering along the cells next to me. Everyone inside of the prison, just like the rest of the world, knew me by,
“Godraiser.” A magician walked up with a key. “Are you ready to make the deal?”
“Not a chance.” I laughed. I felt my jaw sting from the cuts and bruises given by their torture.
The magician kneeled down in order to lock his eyes level to mine. He lifted his hand igniting a flame within his palm. The flame revealed the magician’s golden eyes and charcoal hair. His robe was dyed in a rare purple ink tightly tucked in undisturbed by the dirty prison.
“Godraiser.” The magician repeated. “You will not be able to do this forever. Our lord will get what he desires. All he wants is the ability to create just like you. Together, we can all build a new world.”
“The only thing that you would create is destruction. You use your magic to put fear into the people.”
“Magic is order!” The magician grabbed onto the bars in front of me. “Magic is peace.”
“Your lord will never be a God.” I replied.
“Then, you will never be free of this prison!” The magician snuffed his flame before walking down the dark corridor.
“Godraiser?” A young boy in the cell next to me whispered. “You are the Godraiser everyone talks about?”
I looked at the young boy whose face was covered in dirt. The little bit of light peeking through the iron rock around us revealed his bright blue eyes.
“What is your name?” I asked.
“Edward.” The boy replied.
“Edward,” I looked through the crack in the rocks between us. “You shouldn’t believe every story that you hear.”
“Is it true? Do you make gods?”
I shook my head, “No. I do not make gods.”
Edward’s expression fell. I saw the little bit of hope left in him drop onto the floor he sat on. He lowered his head before whispering, “Oh, I was hoping for a hero to escape this place.”
“Well I never said we couldn’t escape.” I winked. I watched Edward’s smile return.
“Really? How do we do it?” Edward pushed his head against the rock.
“Let me tell you a story.” I began.
“Is this a true story? You told me not to believe everything that I hear.”
I laughed. “You can believe this one because it is I who is telling it.”
Edward smiled while he waited. I licked my lips before starting from the beginning, “There was a star that fell deep into the iron mountains. As a young boy, my curiosity drove me to the edge of my own destruction. I journeyed into the mountains to find the star. Days past, I was unable to locate the hidden gem. Then,” Edward’s eyes widened. “I found something remarkable. Growing out of the iron rock in front of me was a tree. The leaves were dancing in the wind while giving off a glow for every snowflake that struck it. I knew it was magic. Unlike most of the magic from the thugs who run this kingdom, this magic was creation itself. You see, Edward, I am no *Godraiser* I just found something that no else ever had.”
“What? What was it?” Edward asked.
I reached into my pocket. I held a glowing seed in the palm of my hand. Edward’s jaw dropped. The glow was like looking at the light under an ocean. I stretched my fingers to give the seed to Edward through the rock. “Take it.” I said to him. “You are *Godraiser* now.”
“Me?” Edward asked. His eyes were still mesmerized by the seed now resting in his hand.
“Yes,” I pointed. “My time is done. Soon, you will not see me anymore.”
“What do you mean?”
“No matter,” I responded. “Take this seed and begin a creation like never before. Take this seed and grow a world of freedom in magic. Then, one day, use this world that you create to save the people in this one.”
“Wait. Do you mean?”
“Yes.” I smiled. “You will be a God to these people.”
Before I was able to finish, I heard footsteps approaching.
“Never let them find it!” I whispered. Edward tucked the seed into the only pocket he had. Footsteps approached. I raised up onto my feet waiting for the magicians.
“Today may be your last, Godraiser. I hope you make the right decision,” one of the magicians spat into the cell.
“I already have.” I smiled.
***
To read more of my stories, visit [r/13thOlympian] (https://www.reddit.com/r/13thOlympian/) | If one has the power to create Gods, it can be seen as a danger. However, it didn't take long before the ban to hurt the Godraiser was set. It would really suck if she created someone she wasn't supposed to create. As long they could communicate with her, everything was alright.
Still, there were people who wanted to eliminate her. They saw her as a danger to the world.
It was a warm evening and the first flowers had already started to blossom. Sarah just arrived home from a long day of shopping. It was one of the good perks of having an amazing and dangerous superpower. The country pays a lot to Sarah, just so she wouldn't work and she wouldn't cause any problems.
In some sense, everyone was lucky that Sarah was a strong introvert. From the young age, she had created many hidden Gods and was considered being an alien. After all, those gods secretly helped her. Even her own parents were afraid of her. So, she learned to live her life alone, not causing any problems.
She arrived home, threw her bags to the nearest corner and slowly walked towards the shower room. On the way there, she casually started removing her clothing, finally reaching there naked. It was exhausting day and she had just carried loads of heavy bags into her apartment.
She slowly stepped into the shower and felt how hot water touched her skin. It was an amazing feeling. It was relaxing. Maybe she should make bath instead, enjoy it longer?
As she was there, dark shadows slowly came out of different hidden corners. They were smiling. She was extremely vulnerable. After all, she didn't even have any clothing anymore.
They slowly walked to the shower door, ready to go in and eliminate her immediately.
*Bang*, the door opened and they ran quickly into the shower room, searching for Sarah, ready to shoot her.
There was one miscalculation though.
When a cat is being assaulted and trapped in the corner, giving them no escape path, even the nicest can will let out his claws and attack.
Sarah reaction was the same. She screamed, her hands hiding her naked skin. But it wasn't just any scream. As she did that, her voice was powered. Even though all the men in the room wore professional equipment, which included something for their ears, they couldn't do anything besides dropping their weapons and pushing their hands against ears.
A backup plan was taken into use. Other men who weren't in the room just shot through the wall, hoping to kill anyone standing in the bathroom. They didn't even care if their own allies got hit.
Whole clips were shot. Noone had any bullets left. They just stared the wall and hoped that she was dead. After all, there was no more screaming.
Then a man kicked the door open. None of the attackers knew the man.
Assassins were frozen, they couldn't do anything.
The man who kicked the door open wore ancient clothing, resembling of samurai. You know, the Japanese samurai. He slowly unsheathed his katana.
"How dare you," he started, annoyed. His eyes turned red. It was almost as the anger itself was visible. "You shall pay for this with your lives!"
"MONSTER!" one of the surviving men screamed, drawing his pistol while others reloaded and shot a bullet towards samurai's head.
The Samurai simply unsheathed his word really fast and while doing that, he cut the bulled into two. Both bullet pieces changed their trajectory, passing both sides of his head.
"Can I kill them all, mistress?" the samurai asked, annoyed and ready to cut them all into pieces.
Sarah slowly came out from the bathroom, a towel covering her vital parts. There was bullet wound at the side of her leg, red blood slowly flowing down till it started to colour the floor. Even so, it was still only a scratch.
"Don't," she whispered. "You may be God of Vengeance, but you should kill only if there is no other way," she added. She slowly pushed her red hair aside, inspecting the assassins who had just finished reloading their guns. She saw fear in their eyes. Even she understood what she had done. It was one of the things she tried to avoid, but now it was done. It was too late.
"As you wish, Mistress," he smiled and stepped forward. He didn't care if they died or not. Her wish was his command.
As all men started to shoot the samurai again, the swordsman simply cut or changed the trajectory of every single bullet. It didn't matter if it came towards him or if they were aimed towards Sarah. It might sound insane, but watching from aside, his hand's movement was insanely fast and effective. Almost as a helicopter propeller going at full speed.
After all, he was a God.
As the guns stopped shooting, the assassins realised what was going on. They had no hope. Some of them started to run away, while others took out their pistols and just shot him while screaming.
Samurai finally took his first steps. As he got closer to the men, he simply knocked the men out with the back of his sword, turning them unconscious meatballs. He did that one by one until there was no-one left. Some of them escaped, but he didn't chase them. It didn't matter. The room was safe.
"Well done," Sarah said. She was frustrated. She had thought that there was no one stupid enough to do something like that. She was a fool.
So, she looked out of the window and made her decision.
"I'm leaving. Will you join my travels?" Then she faced again the samurai in front of him. He didn't still have a name. "Let's see... Mars, God of War." She decided.
Mars smiled. "Of course, my goddess, my creator. I'll follow you wherever you go!"
----
/r/ElvenWrites (Feedback is always welcomed!) | 2018-03-22T08:42:28 | 2018-03-22T08:37:30 | 67 | 26 |
[WP] As a bored immortal, you love to spend your time becoming as famous as possible, before you “die” spectacularly. You are universally hated by the Council of Immortals, who have sworn to remaining hidden and affecting history as little as possible, | I walked through the heavy oak double-doors expecting another reprimand. Truth be told, I'd grown quite used to the whole routine. For centuries, I'd delighted at drawing *the look* from the Council members' faces. Live long enough in this world, and you'll begin to spot the things that don't erode. Time wore away entire empires and crumbled civilization to dust--trust me, I'd *built* several of them. But that look, *ohhh* that look. It was one of the few constants I could hold on to.
I would always be their little problem child.
Really, they'd left me no choice.
"We do not affect the world," read their credence. "We mingle not with history."
But *how* could they expect me to just sit idly by, when there lay before me such a wondrous sandbox? As far as I saw it, it was our *duty* to be a guiding hand. Because without one, the world was just shitty piles of sand.
The Council doors swung wide, and I slung out my prepared defense. "Listen, I understand your concerns, but the assassination will have minimal--"
But the great hall stood empty. The stone walls flickered with light from their eternal hearth, yet no robed figures sat behind the judgement table. For a moment, I was bewildered. I frowned at the silence, irritation pricking my belly. "Just because I am immortal, doesn't mean I have all the time in the world," I said.
My voice echoed throughout the empty chamber.
"Blasted fools."
The doors thudded closed behind me.
I whirled on my heels.
There stood Ila, the Elder. She was holding a gun. "For what it's worth, I abstained," she said. "I'm sorry Franz. Truly."
"Ila..."
The woman shook her head feebly. She raised her gun even as I frowned.
How ironic, that it was the same make and model that I'd given Princip. "It will not kill me," I'd told the pale lad. "That's the whole point."
The world was at a tipping point, and I had finally seized the chance to steady it.
I would be killed, you see. In the middle of Sarajevo. My constituents would gasp. My blood would pour into the cobbled streets. There would be chaos at first--I always had a flair for the dramatic--but then I would rise from my motorcade, and the fighting would cease.
The world would at last see the hand that shapes it.
"You've been discharged," Ila said grimly. "May you fade into the horizon like the setting of the sun."
She shot. Something feathered stuck out of my thigh. I felt time slip from my heart, like my very breath had been sucked out of my lungs. She left me there, gasping in the great hall. Vulnerable to time like all the rest of the world.
All my laid plans had been trampled upon. They would erode into nothing, and me alongside them. I lay for some time, staring at the ceiling in misery.
At a certain point, though I laughed.
Because I could *still* shape the course of the world. No matter what they took, I still had one thing left to give. I stood up and brushed myself off. Adrenaline coursed through my veins.
On the morrow, I will be shot. I will lie in the cobbled streets in my own muck. Princip will stare at my body with wide white eyes and plead. "Come now," he might whisper. "You've made your point." Only I won't rise. I'll have faded beyond the horizon
The crowd will tear Princip to bits. Chaos will ring true, sharp as a gunshot. Its sound will spill outward from Austria. I imagine it will be heard round the world.
"Franz Ferdinand is dead!"
----------------
More stories over at r/M0zark.
*Plus*! I just started a serial about an abused princess who convinces an emotionally scarred dragon to kidnap her. If that sounds like something you'd be interested in, you can find the [first two parts here](https://www.reddit.com/r/M0Zark/comments/8hcjmi/wp_youre_a_dragon_who_enjoys_living_a_peaceful/), with part three soon to follow. Hope to see you around :)
| **4th August**
Dear Diary,
We had another meeting today. "The Council of the Immortals". Always so pompous. I do love annoying them, though. It's one of the few pleasures that I have left to me.
They sent me a telegram. The meeting was in the New World this time around, in the United States of America. I've not been before. Well, no. I have been, but not since before the US existed, anyway. A couple of times in the far distant past, when the natives were running around. Fun lot, really. Loved the drugs. Shame the Europeans killed them all. I did try and warn that lot about it all, but they didn't seem to entirely appreciate that. Burnt me at the stake for my trouble. Dashed rude, really. Still, fun times in all.
I'm sorry. I'm rambling. I'm sure I've written about all this before, but I can't really carry all the old diaries around with me. I've got a few thousand now, even if you don't count the ones that I lost in Alexandria. But as you know, I tend to get a bit off track. Comes with having so many memories really.
You know, one day, I need to invent some kind of machine that would store them all remotely. A telegraph I can dial up entries from on demand, or something. Now, that's a fine idea!
Okay, note to self: at some point, pretend to be an industrialist, and go really crazy. Ohhh, I could try and get humans to live on the Moon. Or Mars! That would be terrible exciting. What should I be called? Hmm... Musk brainstorm names. Oh, damnit, spelling error. I wish someone would invent a way of erasing pen marks.
Anyway. Try and put men on the Moon, then... hmm. Die of typhoid? No, that's a bit passé. Assassination? No, no. I'm sure every country will ban guns in a few years - especially after my most recent escapade.
Oh! I got side-tracked again. Almost forgot!
So, yes. The Council of Immortals. They were not pleased at all.
"You've gone too far, this time." Cain, of course.
Always likes to think that he's the leader. He's let himself grow fat. Tells people it's a way to disguise himself, but I think he's just lazy. He's an accountant too. Apparently, his personality wasn't boring enough.
"Yes. Your antics are not just threatening exposure any more. They're threatening the world." Gula. She's called herself Molly now. She's fat too, although it actually rather suits her. Still with Malachi.
"Yes. Molly is right." That was Malachi. It's been a thousand years, and he's still hen-pecked. It was funny for a while, but now it's just sad.
"We don't understand why you can't just live a quiet, simple life. Why you can't just be *normal*, like the rest of us." Cain again.
"Normal is boring. And that might be alright for some of us..." I'd told him, staring quite meaningfully at him. "But some of us need a little more intellectual stimulation".
He hadn't liked that one bit. Have to say, I do enjoy when he gets frustrated. He sits and chews his lip, glares at me. Maybe I just like it when he's not talking.
Noah joined in. Hasn't changed his name in a while. We were meeting in his little tavern in New York. Pleasant enough place. Does a reasonable trade too, so he kept dropping out of the conversation. Shame really. He's the only one of the Council I can even stand.
"Look, I think we all understand that everyone is different. Everyone needs to get their fun in different ways." He'd looked around. Of the other seven Council Members, six nodded. Cain didn't, of course. Miserable git. Noah looked back at me. "But look. Even you have to acknowledge that this last prank is too much."
"I don't know what you mean." I grinned at him. Noah didn't smile back. Not even a smirk. I guess that's when I knew I was in trouble. "What do you mean?"
"You've not been reading the newspapers lately, have you?" Noah asked. I shook my head.
"Been on the boat a while. Plus, I don't read newspapers. They get boring when you know half of the people in them."
"Well, that's your own damned fault," Cain snapped. "No-one *asked* you to pretend to be a Prince."
"Archduke." He didn't seem happy with the correction.
Noah cut in. "I'm sure it must've seemed jolly fun at the time, but getting yourself shot has had some consequences."
"Like what?"
"Well, half of Europe just declared war on the other half. The entire world is literally at war."
Gotta admit, Diary. I didn't see that one coming. Cain was his usual smug self. "Good job, Franz."
I hate to agree with him, but alright. I *may* have cocked things up a little on this one. So, I'll be staying in the US for a while, I think. Laying low. I might get into movies. Sounds like it could be fun. Need a name though.
Hmm... Alfred something perhaps?
-----
*Thank you for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out my subreddit, /r/PuzzledRobot.* | 2018-05-06T07:09:00 | 2018-05-06T06:57:12 | 2,413 | 124 |
[WP] One night, you hear loud scratching sounds on your door, like a stubborn cat was trying to enter. In the next morning, you notice two things: The claw marks are way too big for a street cat; and the marks are on the inside. Something inside your house was trying to get out. | "Hey Jim, it's David. You deal with weird shit all the time right? I think I might need some help."
"How much help are we talkin'? I'm kind of busy right now."
"Well, I think something got into my house. I'm standing here looking at my back door, and it's got some really goddamn big clawmarks on it... On the inside..."
"Okay, that does sound pretty bad. I'll be right-... Wait. Are you still inside?!"
"uh... yeah?"
"Jesus Christ David, get outside and lock yourself in your car right goddamn now! I'll be there in ten."
---
“Yep, those are giant claw marks alright. Weird shit is indeed afoot.”
“Okay… W-What did this then?”
“Hmmm… Could you hold this coin for a sec?”
“Uh, sure.”
“Tough to say exactly what did this… Anything natural with claws this big, like a bear or tiger or whatever, would have got through the door easy. And you didn’t react to the silver, so this probably isn’t a werewolf scenario. AND all the marks are kinda close to the ground, which is pretty weird… Alright. Investigation time! Hunch number one: this door is directly across from that door. What’s behind it?”
“The fuck.”
“Hrm?”
“I’ve never seen that door before in my life.”
“...Does it not lead to the basement…?”
“My house doesn’t have a basement.”
“David. This is a two story house. Of course it has a basement.”
“...”
“...We have a mystery door. Step 1: Nope the fuck out of the house. Go go go go go!”
---
“Nice! We made it out without any funny business. Step 2: Get tools from my trunk.”
“Are those grenades?!”
“Step 3: kill it with fire. FIRE IN THE HOLE!”
“The fu-... MY STUFF!”
---
“WHY DID YOU DO THAT? All my stuff is in there. And it is now. ON FIRE.”
“I know it’s tough, but we had a mystery door. Trust me. This was the only way. It’s for the best. You have insurance. You can buy new stuff... And a house without a mystery door.”
“...What do I tell the fire department?...”
“Oh! Those guys are totally on the same page as us. As bad as it is to be in a house with a mystery door? It’s way worse to be in a house with a mystery door and also fire. Those guys want this place burned to ash, like, five times as much as we do. It’s all going to be alright, David. Today, we didn’t get horribly murdered by whatever was behind a mystery door, and that makes today a good day.”
| Maybe I dreamt it.
I'd just woken up, after all. Maybe I was having one of those false reality dreams. Regardless, my heart raced as I examined the damage done to my front door last night. I heard the scratching being done, but I'd assumed it was a stray cat trying to get in. It happens often enough in this neighborhood. What I didn't expect was the scratches to be *inside* the door. What's worse, the scratch marks were bigger than any a cat could have made. I ran my fingers along the grooves. The gashes were smooth. There were no splinters. Nothing normal could have done this. And the fact that it didn't succeed on escaping was somehow not comforting to think about. After all, that meant something was still trapped in my apartment.
Naturally, my immediate reaction was to search the apartment. It was small, so there wasn't actually much searching to be done. And I checked everything. The basement, the weird crawlspace in the bathroom, the janitorial closet, the pantry. Anywhere I could think of. But nothing showed. There wasn't even any evidence that anything was amiss. I thought about my options.
I could set up a camera. But then I would have to buy a camera. Same with an audio recorder. I could also stay awake in the living room to catch whatever it was, but the sizes of the claw marks made that option seem ill-advised. Eventually I just concluded that no plan seemed worth the effort and that maybe the thing succeded in escaping elsewhere.
The next night, however, I was proven wrong. The scratching continued. And with it came the growling. Shaking with fear yet driven by curiosity, I stepped out of my bedroom to look at the front door. I saw something ethereal clawing at the door. It looked like a tiger's stripes, claws, teeth, and eyes but the rest of the body was missing. They glowed a ghastly green and clawed rhythmically at the door. The gashes it left behind were perfectly smooth.
"H-Hey!" I called reflexively. I immediately regretted my decision, but it didn't seem to hear me. I emerged from my room as it ceased clawing at my door and stalking around the den. I walked over to the front door, after making sure that the tiger wasn't paying attention to me, and opened it. The tiger didn't seem to notice. It began to yowl. This annoyed me. "Hey! The door's open!" It elected to walk out of the den and into the basement. Going straight through the door this time. I decided to follow, albeit without the best attitude.
Once I got to the basement landing, I found the tiger pacing incircles and yowling. The sincerity of agony in those sounds of sadness almost made me feel sympathy for the poor thing. I sighed. All my anger had left me. I was mostly annoyed by this point. I began to talk at it.
"What do you think you're doing in my house?" I assumed that, for whatever reason, this elicit any kind of intelligent response. I was incorrect. "Think you could leave? Now?" It only began to yowl louder. At this point I'm surprised my neighbors hadn't started complaining. Poor thing. It thinks it's trapped here. It's probably reliving its own trapped existence every night. I stooped down to try and stroke its fur and was surprised when it felt real. It began to purr and rubbed against my hand. I smiled as it curled up in my lap. I fell asleep leaning on its flank.
I woke up to the worst pain I could imagine. I look down and see the tiger has begun to disembowel me. As my blood spilled onto the basement floor, I'm reminded of an article I read about this apartment. How the previous owner was found mauled in his basement. Perhaps this tiger did that. Well, good for it, I thought as everything began to fade.
*Good for it.* | 2018-06-18T12:09:12 | 2018-06-18T11:51:50 | 66 | 12 |
[WP] One night, you hear loud scratching sounds on your door, like a stubborn cat was trying to enter. In the next morning, you notice two things: The claw marks are way too big for a street cat; and the marks are on the inside. Something inside your house was trying to get out. | It was the first time she had stayed over at his house. They’d gone on a few innocent dinner dates; a few movies and dinner, and once they walked through the park. It was nice. Neither of them wanted to really push the boundaries and progress quickly. She was smart and reserved and he was still shaky after the death of his wife.
They fell asleep to a movie, a blanket between them. She had an old soul and wanted to build their companionship before being intimate. She had also had a few too many glasses of wine so driving home was out. She had fallen asleep in one of his workout shorts and a t-shirt.
He wore just a pair of shorts because he was basically a heater when he slept. Somewhere around one in the morning, he woke to a strange sound. A scraping against wood. At first he dismissed it as the wind against the side of his house, as the Tulip Poplar outside had overreaching branches over the roof and western side.
He rolled over, a slow arm arched as he rolled to wrap her close but his arm touched only blankets. He squinted in the darkness and saw no one. The connecting bathroom light was one.
The scrapping sounded again, more urgent this time. He was reminded of his childhood cat, how she’d systematically scratch her claws against the door frame, or the side of the couch. He sat up. He didn’t hear anything from the bathroom. Slowly he stepped onto the floor and into the hallway. Silence fell.
His heart beat was all he could hear for several moments, until the scratching sounded again. The back door.
In the linen closet in the hallway he shifted around until he found his stowed .22. He slowly slipped the safety off and walked down the hall, to the stairs.
The scratching picked back up. The hair o his arms and neck stood on end and he resisted the primal urge to bare his teeth.
“Rachel?” He asked. Abruptly the scratching stopped. There was an exhale, perhaps of exasperation, but it sounded wrong. Not human.
He flipped on the light switch to the dining room. At the back door to the kitchen crouched a creature. Auburn fur clung to yellow skin in patches, a maw snarled back, with black eyes set deep. Claws were half raised to the door knob but they were mangled and seemed unable to work the mechanism. The door itself was splintered in several places with bits dropped into the floor. The hair style though, was the same deep red as the woman he fell asleep next to.
The pistol was half raised between him and the creature, “Rachel?” He asked again. The creature turned itself so it’s face was hidden. Deep and guttural sobs wracked it’s frame. He sat down, unable to do anything else.
“You owe me a new door.” He said finally. | Maybe I dreamt it.
I'd just woken up, after all. Maybe I was having one of those false reality dreams. Regardless, my heart raced as I examined the damage done to my front door last night. I heard the scratching being done, but I'd assumed it was a stray cat trying to get in. It happens often enough in this neighborhood. What I didn't expect was the scratches to be *inside* the door. What's worse, the scratch marks were bigger than any a cat could have made. I ran my fingers along the grooves. The gashes were smooth. There were no splinters. Nothing normal could have done this. And the fact that it didn't succeed on escaping was somehow not comforting to think about. After all, that meant something was still trapped in my apartment.
Naturally, my immediate reaction was to search the apartment. It was small, so there wasn't actually much searching to be done. And I checked everything. The basement, the weird crawlspace in the bathroom, the janitorial closet, the pantry. Anywhere I could think of. But nothing showed. There wasn't even any evidence that anything was amiss. I thought about my options.
I could set up a camera. But then I would have to buy a camera. Same with an audio recorder. I could also stay awake in the living room to catch whatever it was, but the sizes of the claw marks made that option seem ill-advised. Eventually I just concluded that no plan seemed worth the effort and that maybe the thing succeded in escaping elsewhere.
The next night, however, I was proven wrong. The scratching continued. And with it came the growling. Shaking with fear yet driven by curiosity, I stepped out of my bedroom to look at the front door. I saw something ethereal clawing at the door. It looked like a tiger's stripes, claws, teeth, and eyes but the rest of the body was missing. They glowed a ghastly green and clawed rhythmically at the door. The gashes it left behind were perfectly smooth.
"H-Hey!" I called reflexively. I immediately regretted my decision, but it didn't seem to hear me. I emerged from my room as it ceased clawing at my door and stalking around the den. I walked over to the front door, after making sure that the tiger wasn't paying attention to me, and opened it. The tiger didn't seem to notice. It began to yowl. This annoyed me. "Hey! The door's open!" It elected to walk out of the den and into the basement. Going straight through the door this time. I decided to follow, albeit without the best attitude.
Once I got to the basement landing, I found the tiger pacing incircles and yowling. The sincerity of agony in those sounds of sadness almost made me feel sympathy for the poor thing. I sighed. All my anger had left me. I was mostly annoyed by this point. I began to talk at it.
"What do you think you're doing in my house?" I assumed that, for whatever reason, this elicit any kind of intelligent response. I was incorrect. "Think you could leave? Now?" It only began to yowl louder. At this point I'm surprised my neighbors hadn't started complaining. Poor thing. It thinks it's trapped here. It's probably reliving its own trapped existence every night. I stooped down to try and stroke its fur and was surprised when it felt real. It began to purr and rubbed against my hand. I smiled as it curled up in my lap. I fell asleep leaning on its flank.
I woke up to the worst pain I could imagine. I look down and see the tiger has begun to disembowel me. As my blood spilled onto the basement floor, I'm reminded of an article I read about this apartment. How the previous owner was found mauled in his basement. Perhaps this tiger did that. Well, good for it, I thought as everything began to fade.
*Good for it.* | 2018-06-18T12:17:04 | 2018-06-18T11:51:50 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] In this world, salaries are determined by the desirability of the work: if everybody wants to do the job and it's fun, it pays minimum wage. But if it's hard or awful work that nobody wants to do, the pay is high. You decide to apply for the highest-paying job in the world. | It was in my grandparent's time that the second industrial age put an end to the need for us to do any sort of manufacturing work, but humanity needed some way to divide the massive resources we had. It was determined that you could take a job (or not, you'd still be provided with what you needed to live) and that you would be paid according to the desirability of the position you were in.
I was interviewing today at an ancient family business from before the revolution. I didn't understand fully what the position was, but it paid better than almost anything out there. During the interview the manager asked me a few questions about how I deal with people and how I handle stress. I responded "I'll tell you how, most people these days are not good at dealing with people, but I have people skills, I am good at dealing with people." The manager decided to hire me, and asked if I could start now. I wasn't really expecting it, but I wasn't doing anything the rest of the day so I replied that I could. Then he explained what I was going to be doing, I couldn't believe my luck, it didn't sound hard at all!
I put on the uniform the manager had given to me and walked out to the front. Out of the corner of my eye I notice someone approaching and see them begin to speak, but what comes out is this horrible screaming noise, "EXCUSE ME, DO YOU OFFER PRICE MATCHING?" | So, I'm finally here. This is it, I'm gonna end with the stupid mortgage that leaded me to divorce and get lots of stuff that only money can get. Guess I'm better without her: always complaining, she wasn't satisfied with nothing, always putting things upside down, when I believed everything was fine she always pulled out something of nowhere and ruined it all, I regret nothing.
That night at the restaurant we barely afford the food and I was sick of everything, told her to go and clean the bloody WC with her barehands so she could feel the way I do, and if she wanted to be rich that much, maybe in that job she could find everything she wanted from life: a stinky place as she always used to say and the taste of all the shit coming out from her mouth.
Never thought she'll take my word so seriously and apply for the job. She started with that, made lots of money and instead helping with mortgage decided to run away with a famous soccer player, what a loser. I bet now his life is miserable, I wonder how much time will pass before his fancy job begin to be his doom,she's an expert on that.
I really loved Basketball, playing with the Nicks was all I needed, have a bowl with food on my table and didn't need more. Just her eyes, the look in her eyes caught me since the first time; and that smile, I knew I wanted to see it everyday; her warm body next to me on a windy night made me want to share more than just a bed, damn that girl.
I putted more effort in training and played so well, the year I met her we reached playoffs, best season in a long time. I guess that is why I still love her and, despite all the crap, she always made me go further, beyond, do something else.
Maybe that is why, when I saw her making a lot of money I decided to quit my dreams and go for the greedy side of life, I couldn't be less than her, I needed to win one more time, to score a three point shot. So I took it, I saw the post and decided to go for it anyway, and now I can have the oporttunity to yell at her face because she isn't doing her job right, her pain is my gain.
So, I'm here, at my first day, ready to dive in this congested sewer to clean it up, to clean everything she can't manage, with only some googles to protect my eyes, top of the world. | 2018-08-02T11:33:09 | 2018-08-02T09:03:32 | 256 | 15 |
[WP] In this world, salaries are determined by the desirability of the work: if everybody wants to do the job and it's fun, it pays minimum wage. But if it's hard or awful work that nobody wants to do, the pay is high. You decide to apply for the highest-paying job in the world. | In your world, I sit among the average human, riding the subway, reading the morning newspaper, and watching the sun go down. I myself would rather not worry myself in the jobs of other people because you might feel bad I taste ice cream for a living.
Or so you thought.
In my world, I sit as a man who watches paint dry. It pays me $262,000 yearly. To you it might seem like a scam. But if I were to taste ice cream for a living, I would be paid $8. Same would go for the man who rides water slides or the professional Netflix watcher. All jobs you would want here. What I see is paint dry.
Paint drying is interesting. It’s a job opportunity that I ventured forth. The news of the world is dreading, but the sewage is great. It’s a messed up world to you, but I say the same thing to your world. The man who hired me said this was a mistake. But I knew this wasn’t a mistake. I chose this job for money, so I could support myself.
“Do you, as a willful human being, agree to take the job of watching paint dry? I mean, this is a joke, right? You could have had a minimum wage job.”
“No, sir. I accept the job.”
“Alright then.”
I watch the men who set it up too. I’ve been doing this for 5 years and I’m a millionaire. So let this world begin. | So, I'm finally here. This is it, I'm gonna end with the stupid mortgage that leaded me to divorce and get lots of stuff that only money can get. Guess I'm better without her: always complaining, she wasn't satisfied with nothing, always putting things upside down, when I believed everything was fine she always pulled out something of nowhere and ruined it all, I regret nothing.
That night at the restaurant we barely afford the food and I was sick of everything, told her to go and clean the bloody WC with her barehands so she could feel the way I do, and if she wanted to be rich that much, maybe in that job she could find everything she wanted from life: a stinky place as she always used to say and the taste of all the shit coming out from her mouth.
Never thought she'll take my word so seriously and apply for the job. She started with that, made lots of money and instead helping with mortgage decided to run away with a famous soccer player, what a loser. I bet now his life is miserable, I wonder how much time will pass before his fancy job begin to be his doom,she's an expert on that.
I really loved Basketball, playing with the Nicks was all I needed, have a bowl with food on my table and didn't need more. Just her eyes, the look in her eyes caught me since the first time; and that smile, I knew I wanted to see it everyday; her warm body next to me on a windy night made me want to share more than just a bed, damn that girl.
I putted more effort in training and played so well, the year I met her we reached playoffs, best season in a long time. I guess that is why I still love her and, despite all the crap, she always made me go further, beyond, do something else.
Maybe that is why, when I saw her making a lot of money I decided to quit my dreams and go for the greedy side of life, I couldn't be less than her, I needed to win one more time, to score a three point shot. So I took it, I saw the post and decided to go for it anyway, and now I can have the oporttunity to yell at her face because she isn't doing her job right, her pain is my gain.
So, I'm here, at my first day, ready to dive in this congested sewer to clean it up, to clean everything she can't manage, with only some googles to protect my eyes, top of the world. | 2018-08-02T15:18:31 | 2018-08-02T09:03:32 | 29 | 15 |
[WP] 2 Years ago you found yourself as the last human on Earth but decide to start uploading your adventures to YouTube as a keepsake. Suddenly, all your videos have 2 views, and your latest has a comment. | My heart was racing.
There must be a glitch. An error. A bug.
I had started uploading videos to YouTube of me shooting all sorts of different guns I've picked during my travels. The latest was an old revolver from the 1920s, one of my most favourite guns I've found. I had just finished uploading it, gun still on my lap, when I see that there was a big red notification telling me I've got a new comment.
I've finally found someone in this abandoned wasteland. Two whole years, I've been searching all over. From the West coast to the East coast, searching for any sign of life. So many deserted days. So many lonely nights. I couldn't believe it. But on the side of my YouTube homepage, there it is.
My hand on my mouse shakes as I hover over the notification to see who had sent me that signal of hope.
I click.
...
"I'm a single stay at home mom with only a GED, but I was able to make $2351 per week by doing this one simple thing, all from the comforts of my home! Click here to find out more: www.suriv.com/a2Csk1x3"
I aim at my head and pull the trigger. | Two comments. Two, impossible comments. Everyone else was dead. He knew that. He *knew*, for a fact, that everyone else was dead. How could anyone have commented on his video? He clicked through to the first comment:
> Dear LastManOnEarth,
> Listen, I like your stuff. We all, here at the office, like your stuff. It's just... well, you're not the last person on Earth. You have to know that, right? I mean, if you were the last person on Earth, how would our site even be up? How would it even have power to be up and running? How would the fiberoptic cables connecting your ISP to our servers still be working? How would your ISP itself even be working? Hell, that laptop battery's been running on nothing for two years now.
> You do some fun work and we like the adventures, it's just that our willing suspense of disbelief can only go so far. By including the fact that you're somehow magically uploading your work onto our site, you've broken that disbelief. Maybe if it were some fictional hosting site, one run by robots in an underground bunker on geothermal power for some reason, and if you had a solar charger, and if you had some satellite-based ISP that still-
> You know what, no, none of it works anymore. It's just not good. Sorry, I've talked myself out of any enjoyment I once had.
> How about, instead, you play Fortnite? You'd probably be pretty popular with that. Not telling you how to run your show, of course, just giving some ideas.
> Your Pal,
> Stephen Semitch,
> System Administrator at Youtube.com
He frowned. The hell? There'd been people alive this whole time and they thought his plight, his suffering, was a *gimmick*? And an unrealistic gimmick at that?
He glanced at the button that would take him to his next comment. If what Stephen had said was true, *someone* liked his work. Maybe that would be what he needed right now, something uplifting instead of something pointing out the absurdities of the only work keeping him sane. He clicked the button to read the second comment:
> first. | 2019-01-15T23:45:40 | 2019-01-15T23:27:29 | 163 | 94 |
[WP] Necromancy is punishable by death. You're keeping a low profile, masking as a gardener - reviving dead plants is relatively unsuspicious and gets your bills paid. Everything seems fine - until one day you accidentally revive a treant. | Well here I am, trying to do random good deeds at the local park and, you know, beautify the place. The local tree has started looking a little brown, so I thought \*eh, why not? What's the *worst* that could happen?\* The tree shook a little, like the it was a twig in a gentle breeze. Normal enough, I supposed at the time. Then an age old grown of cracking wood mixed into a voice. A gentle whisper of wind bringing out a simple, single word, that shook me with the utmost of fear. *"freedom"*. It was a simple gust of wind, but it was still heard by all passing by. The ground began to shake as, what was once the great city park tree, broke roots take to the streets. All eyes were on it as it stomped off and out of the park. More people were screaming and running then trying to find out what or why, so I took my chance to run, like the others, and made my way back home. That was, I don't know, three weeks ago? Been on the run since. No one knows it was me though, but the treant has been sending its regards. The forests are it's eyes and ears and I think it- no he, wants me to bring more of his kind back. I guess, in the end, he really just wanted me to branch out. | The Sun was just waking up over the hill in the small, parochial town. The dew from the grass perched in plain sight, all too small, but all too noticeable. That morning fog that seems to awaken with the Sun in the small towns all across the world sat groggily too.
Everything was waking up, but the slowly; slowly enough that I was alone on the street. My prize lilies (which Mr. Corker's dog had ripped up) had by some stroke of sheer determination risen up again. They looked as lively as ever. Luckily, no one had the dog bite them up yesterday. First prize was definitely again in sight.
Now to my surprise, I saw a figure stumbling down the street. I stood and looked at the man in question, for it was a man. He was dressed in his Sunday best, strange for such a small town on a Monday. I peered over my fence post, to make out the face of the deviant. To my utmost fright, I made out, and I knew it to be true, my dearly deceased neighbor, Mr. Wicks.
My magic! That must have been it. I shot glances at all the house doors and the street. Luckily no one had yet ventured outside. Glancing once more, I ran out to fetch him. It was more of a running walk, to not make my action seem suspicious to the empty crowd.
He seemed to be almost sleep walking, his face a gray mess mixed with a scrub of dirt.
"Come along, Mr. Wicks, let me offer you some hot coffee in my house. You must be feeling cold from sleeping in that cold bed of yours."
I glanced all around me as I showed him the way to my house rather forcefully, and slammed the door as I got inside. He had an air about him of a lazy slouch, that he might collapse at any second and I cautioned him to my favorite recliner. What to do, what to do?
A knock on my door, yelped me into the air. I rushed to the door straightening my jacket as I opened the door just a crack. Just my luck, it was Jane Wicks, the pleasant-faced daughter of the departed.
"Jonathan, I am going to my grandfather's grave to keep him company this morning. I can't imagine him alone in that cold grave. Would you care to join me?"
Shoot, now what? I had to hide the evidence.
"Jane, sure. I can accompany you. Let me just lock my door"
| 2019-02-04T22:41:05 | 2019-02-04T21:44:05 | 26 | 18 |
[WP]The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don't stay dead easily. | “We are not like them,” he tells me and pulls the leash.
It burns the skin around my neck.
“You are not like us, you are worse.” I say and spit on him. “And you are going to pay for this, Trix.”
His head did not fully heal yet, dark red blood still drips from two small holes on the back of his bald head. I shot him twice. He twitched and said he’s fortified with 12 vitamins and minerals and made from whole grain and that is why my bullets can’t hurt him. It’s some sick joke involving his codename, Trix, which I don’t get. The coward hides his true name.
Or maybe he doesn’t even have one.
Trix is a monster, grey skinned slender abomination with cold eyes and camouflage uniform, polluting once beautiful paradise called Earth. That was our ancient home planet, before the Plague turned many of us into *them.* Those who did not succumb to the Plague left for Mars, where they met an alien race --- the Saviors --- who took them across the galaxy, to Tau, our current home. The Saviours have helped and guided us ever since.
I pull the leash, but Trix just laughs. He put me on a leash like a dog two hours ago, when I let him capture me, again.
“Walk faster, captain Alexa McDonald. Or, should I call you Storm Light.”
They shot down my flyer. My copilot Danny Boy got scared and manually activated flares, too early. We met the rocket, became a fireball and the first flyer shot down by enemy in more than 100 years.
Parachute and rough landing later, I was in the muddy methane rich Florida swamp waters, doing my best to float like duckweed between towering white cedars, bushy swampbays and swarming mosquitoes. And then a Florida man caught me.
Fuck my life. I shot him in the face, twice. But, yeah…
“It’s a virus in our DNA.” he says, “We can’t get rid of it. I think they call it lytic reproduction, I think. But I don’t know, I’m not a scientist. I swear, they come up with their mumbo-jumbo word salad just to confuse us, the common folk. DNA virus is in me, it can’t get out, and that's it.”
He pulls the leash.
“Now, Alexa, would you, pretty please with a cherry on the top, hurry up? We are almost there.”
He said that half an hour ago. He’s going to turn me into one of them, grey monsters, or kill if I try to resist. He didn’t say any of *that*, but I know it. We all do, that's why our ancestors needed to leave Mars. Thank God for the Saviors.
“You’ll never turn me into a monster like you! I'll never be a monster!”
I spit and it hits the back of his neck. Bullseye. He pauses, sight and with left hand cleans the pink spit dripping down his pale grey skin.
“No, you are a pet, captain McDonald,” he says and pulls the leash. “Not my pet." He laughs. "Although...” --- he lifts the hand holding the leash --- “ Alexa, you are *their* pet. The little grey men with bulging black eyes, no nose, and not a single hair on their bodies. Your ‘Saviors’.”
I sigh.
“Just kidding, Alexa, they don’t look like that. Tell me, what do their eyes look like?”
“Screw you.”
He laughs. “You don’t know. In fact, you have absolutely no clue about what your alien overlords look like under their robotic suits and crackling force fields.” He sigs. “I guess you satisfy easily. As long as it’s the right size and shape, you don’t care, do you? “
“Fuck you, Trix.”
“What? They *are* humanoid and our height. Also, can you walk faster? *Please.*”
“They are our friends. They ---”
“They feed you fear, uncertainty and doubt. They dump their lies on the screens in your homes, at your work, in your earbuds, and you buy it all. They told you that we are a threat to them, and by extension to you, and then they persuaded your leaders to join their war against us. It should have been simple and easy, they said. A quick invasion, exterminations, and then even quicker FTL trip to Tau, across the galaxy. Right?"
He nods. "That's right. However, centuries later, you are still in a war with us, utterly horrified by the fact that we don't stay dead easily.”
“Tsk.” I chuckle.”You’re full of shit, Trix. The war will be over soon, with the weapons---”
“--- right, the weapons. They make all your weapons, have been for centuries. The weapons that kill us. Except, often they don't. Toys like your flyers, ships in the planet’s orbit, fancy drop pods for your ground troops, force fields, guns that fire rounds which liquify our skulls on contact, all that cool stuff.”
He takes a breath.
“So, tell me, something, Alexa. Your alien friends, who travel the galaxy in a blink of an eye, who terraform whole planets like the ones they found and gave you, who build spaceships as big as cities… Why do they wage a centuries long war with less than twenty million strugglers who still use ancient stinger missiles to take down flyers?”
“Wha---”
He stops and points to a broken alien exoskeleton lying in front of him. A name tag on chest reads ‘Danny Boy’. My copilot. He is a Savior.
“And why do your Saviors look *exactly* like you?”
I... Don’t know.
“I told you, we’re not like them. *You* are. Which begs the question---”
“Why didn’t they tell us who they are?”
“Because you are a pet.” He hands me the leash. “And we’re going to change that.”
&#x200B;
/r/ZwhoWrites | **Query\\\\Abjure\\\\Death\\\\Expose\\\\Within\\\\Query**
&#x200B;
A typically smooth, porcelain brow collapsed upwards in confusion, a brief breech of protocol when addressing a lower rank. The Commandent's flesh flowed with coloration, tendrils flicking and curling in High Sign. His personal War-Science Slaves bowed their domed heads in supplication, Speech flowing in a dizzying array of responses across their flesh.
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\Accurate Translation\\\\Uncertain Sentiment\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
After further thought, the War-Science Slave continued.
&#x200B;
**Statement-Query\\\\Enemy Speech Approaches Coughing\\\\Hypothesis\\\\Different Meaning When Primitively Expressed\\\\Statement-Query**
&#x200B;
The War-Science Slave gathered air into its lungs, chest blooming unnaturally as its lungs swelled and pressed against the array of chromatophes in its skin, causing an almost sickening display of random coloration. ***"Don't. Dead. Open. Inside."*** It paused, watching the package which the Enemy had delivered as a peace proposition. After a few moments, resignation flashed across its features once more as it addressed the Commandent.
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\Scans Complete\\\\Contents Are Deceased Enemy\\\\No Further Weapon Detected\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
The Commandent's confusion only grew as it surveyed the row upon row of .. dead Enemy. Each neatly packaged, sent upon demand of surrender and a tribute of dirt and water. The Commandent couldn't decide if this was an insult or not. Was it a refusal. His own Master - for each creature had a Master, save for the God-Queen herself - had reasonably decided to pursue all avenues of breaking this stubborn little world. Part of that was studying the culture, scattered and ill-formed as it was. In all the religious texts translated from bark-scratch, none had shown a prevalence of delivering dead to a conquering force. Still, these were alien minds placed in strange circumstances; It's possible the already fragile creatures had assumed something in a more theological bent. Wasn't there a phrase about them being formed of mud or some such? That had to be it. Idiot cretins.
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\Begin Dissection\\\\Use Personal Life To Assure No Explosives Or Traps\\\\Honor In The After Place To Die In Place Of A Master\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\Immediately\\\\A Worthless Life For The Masters\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
Leaving the War-Science Slave to pry the package open, The Commandent continues his leisurely, silent stride down row after row of neatly spaced packages. Each contained a single dead Enemy. Blunt faced, dull fleshed, small brained. Thick but weak, flexible but clumsy, who coughed air from their lungs for speech rather than using any other bits of their anatomy. His retinue of War-Science Slaves, Body-Protecting Slaves and Worker Slaves followed silently after him, the soft whisper of his thin garment marred only by the crack and clatter of the prior slave working the package open. The smell was offensive, already permeating the air; A single flicker of chroma across the skin, and one of his Comfort Slaves began to swing a censer of more pleasant smells before his steps.
&#x200B;
Better. Confusing, but better. Turning to another War-Science Slave, the Commandent continued his thought.
&#x200B;
**Query\\\\Each Statement Is Different\\\\Query**
&#x200B;
The new War-Science Slave bowed her head in supplication before speaking, using the chroma atop her head so as to not meet the eyes of the Commandent improperly.
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\Each Is Unique\\\\References To Primitive Culture\\\\None Make Sense In Context\\\\Uploading To Your Holy Vision\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
The Commandent glances down to the small device on his wrist, which began to cough as well as display the Lesser Speech of coloration only. Honestly it was annoying and grating when the Enemy spoke, like listening to someone die of a slow lung collapse.
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\This Place Is Located In Sparta\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
*"That is not dead..."*
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\Behold A Place Or Person Called Alamo\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
*".. which can eternal lie."*
&#x200B;
A clatter from behind him, aggravation flushing across the Commandment's features. He turned, watching the first War-Science Slave waggle and dance, colors flashing in crazed patterns across his bared flesh. The fool probably banged his hand or got it caught in the dead Enemy's clothing. Making a note to have it executed later, the Commandment kept reading, trying to decide between insult or approval of the surrender.
&#x200B;
**Statement\\\\A Person Known As Romero Has Sent Greetings\\\\Statement**
&#x200B;
*"And with strange aeons.."*
&#x200B;
**Query\\\\People(Singular/Personal) Of The Holy One Bleed When Injured\\\\Query**
&#x200B;
*".. even death may die."*
&#x200B;
A sudden, startling howl. The Commandment spun around entirely, annoyance and aggravation flaring into full on anger. The kill order already flickering across his skin for this stupid, incompetent War-Science Slave when he paused. The Slave was - sick? The randomization of colors across its flesh meant nothing. Chaos, emptiness, pain. It shivered and shook against the wooden container, the noise booming loud in the otherwise properly silent receiving chamber. Save for the Enemy Speech, dumbly coughing words into the chilled air. And then the other packages began to rattle, to shake. The Commandent, in confusion, looking down at the package nearest to him as it began to creak upwards.
&#x200B;
And then the screaming began as one of his Body-Protector Slaves was suddenly pulled backwards by - an empty Enemy? A dead thing? The slave stabbed with hook and horn, scrapped and bit, the flash of plasma - but it was, none the less, pulled down by clawing, dead hands. More screaming, suddenly, pain tearing air from lungs, colors flashing in a crazed, meaningless haze in the dimmed lighting.
&#x200B;
And the first War-Science Slave? Who shook and leaned, colors fading to a dull, pulsing sickness of color - and then nothing? The smell of blood and excretion. The shake of limbs as it began to rise once more - pallid of flesh, empty of color, missing fingers where the Enemy had bitten them away, eyes blank as it looked at its former Master.
&#x200B;
[And began to stumble forward as other shadows rose, unified by a low, prolonged groan.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pSICQzBnSFo) | 2019-08-28T14:04:08 | 2019-08-28T13:44:37 | 93 | 68 |
[WP] The years-long changes brought on by puberty have been shortened from a years-long process into a relatively short butterfly-like metamorphosis, sometimes people emerge very different from when they went in. | Jerome was sweating, it felt slimy and not at all pleasant. His panic had him near tears, as well he would. This change was a certainty, sure; but so was death and people were rarely calm regarding that.
He and his family had been expecting it for a few weeks, now. Not only was he already sixteen but the change always gave hints before it finally decided to do its work. A hint of height here, a touch of hair there. Jerome would already be called a man but now the full change was here in all it’s devastating finality, no one knew what it would bring.
He looked in his bedroom mirror, a broken thing much like the rest of his run-down home. He stared at his face for the last time. Would he grow taller? Would the marks on his face clear up? His older brother had grown tough as an ox after his change, Jerome could only hope for half as much.
He lay in his bed, felt his sweat stick and harden. It wasn’t too bad.
Light. The crusty shell fell off him as his new eyes adjusted to the morning sun.
“Jerome?” asked a voice to his side.
“Wh-what?” he replied, noticing a change immediately. Jerome looked up at his family, all staring awestruck down at him. The sudden tug of fear did not make for a pleasant awakening.
He looked down at his hands and had to stifle a yelp. “No, no, no!” he began, shooting up from his bed as he saw a pair of hands that were far lighter than they had been the night before.
Jerome ran to the mirror, his family not making a sound despite their open mouths.
He got there at last, almost fainting when he saw a stranger staring back at him with a Caucasian face.
A Caucasian face, and a hefty pair of tits. | Heres my take: The first stage begins with a rash. The rash can start anywhere on the body but over the next month, it progresses until the entire body is affected. The rash is a sign of the sweat glands and hair follicles reconfiguring themselves to produce the soon to be needed shell. Simultaneously, the teen's appetite increases, causing them to constantly eat or snack. The increased intake of nutrients leads to weight gain. After about a month of stage one, the teen progresses to stage two.
Stage two is characterized by drowsiness and decreased mobility. Often, teens will remain inside in warm, comforting areas such as their bedroom or living room. Random bouts of sleeping occur at all times of day, usually triggered by low light and calm environments. Stage two is the shortest of the stages and can last anywhere from several weeks to a few days.
Stage three is by far the longest and is when the most drastic of changes occur. It begins when the teen enters a prolonged state similar to REM sleep and begins to produce their cocoon. Hair and sweat follicles now produce modified skin cells and a bonding agent that causes a cocoon to form around the teen, encasing them. The shell contains a network of blood vessels and nerves that provide nutrients and a semblance of pressure sensing that are wired directly into the teen's nervous and circulatory system. The body of the teen breaks down into cells that convert themselves back into stem cells. The central nervous system does separate but seems to continue functioning as teens have reported having dreams while undergoing stage three. The heart and lungs remain intact and adhere to the outer wall of the shell where they provide oxygen and nutrients. The heart also grows a third set of ventricle and atrium wich pump the slush of cells around the.
Stage three lasts can last for up to three months and during this time the teen is remade in their ideal image. Somehow, their subconscious perfect self is projected and created leading to everything from minor hair color changes, to entire gender swaps.
The transformation can also to an extent, modify the basic profile of the human body, adding small horns, tails, pointed ears, and a second set of eyes.
Once the transformation has finished the main body of the work, the former heart and lungs dissolve away and the cocoon begins to break down. The teen is still connected to it via an umbilical cord, but this is mainly to provide oxygen to them and not to sustain the shell, which becomes brittle.
Eventually, the stored up nutrients and oxygen are nearly depleted and the teen awakes and easily breaks free of their cocoon.
While still debated by doctors as being the fourth stage or not, the next few weeks are a time where the newly birthed teen returns basic functions such as walking and speaking, as well as the use of any other functions gained during the transformations. | 2019-09-06T13:44:45 | 2019-09-06T12:35:52 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | Contrary to popular belief, I found out that waiting until the last second does not, in fact, summon a cooler object than if you blow your load at the stroke of midnight on your eighteenth. My acquaintances and friends had all received cool shit - steering wheels that turn into vehicles on a whim; swords and other weapons that obey them and dematerialize at will, even a fucking suitcase always filled with money any time you call it forth. Though I had heard the horror stories as well- trees; sea urchins, bloody asteroids hitting hometowns. You never really knew and some people abstained from the process altogether. But not me.
I planned on reaching my hand out while listening to The Strokes' 'Is This It', my favorite song. My parents insisted on being present but I wanted to be alone in my room. I began lighting candles as a form of ritual and was in complete concentration of what I could want more than anything in the world, knowing I was special enough to maybe get what I asked for. I put on gloves, opened my window, and reached out my hand.
Nothing.
I looked back at the clock - 11:59. Damn. I reached out both hands, just in case, as I watched the long thin ever-moving hand of the clock tick past the 45. 46. 47..
59.. Nothing. I stared blankly at my empty hands. I was too disappointed to be angry, and too sad to go to sleep. I took to the internet looking for stories of people whose hands had failed them until I eventually fell asleep to dreams of me cutting my hands off.
4:35. I woke up to my parents coming into my room, staring at me in worry. "What?" I said, stricken. "Something is going on and we need to start packing. A tornado spurred up last night. Nobody has seen anything like it. We are in its path. Get dressed, we need to go."
I got dressed and grabbed some possessions. We drove south for a couple of hours and managed to only get the initial slow traffic of the people who had woken up as early as my parents. "Turn the radio on, I want to hear if it has hit our hometown yet." After some static, the deep voice on the other side spoke, "the tornado that sporadically spurred up last night has unexpectedly changed its trajectory south. Please be on alert..."
Shit. | On your eighteenth birthday you can summon one thing. Anything, they say. Steal yourself a soulmate. Get yourself a fortune. I have both. I don't need more than what I have.
"What did you ask for?" I had just blown out the candles on my cake and my parents were waiting in tense anticipation. My girlfriend looked on more suspiciously. I guess she knew me better.
"If I tell you, it won't come true," I retorted. That was true, I think. It used to be true, when the candles were just a wish and nothing tore across the world at breakneck speeds to fall into your hand. It wouldn't come that day. She kept asking me to tell her, but I couldn't. Not until it arrived. It didn't come the next day either. It must have really had to travel some distance.
It was a moonless night when I knew it would come. We were sitting in the gazebo. Crickets chirped. In the distance, a coyote howled. She wrapped the blanket a little tighter, looking out towards the glowing eyes of the forest creatures. "Did you wish for anything at all?" she asked with a disappointed shake of her head. I could barely discern her face in the darkness. It might not have been unlike me to take them all along for a ride and not have asked for anything at all.
I kissed her hair softly. The breeze picked up, as if on cue. "Remember our first date?" I asked. She let out a little groan of annoyance but nodded. I wasn't changing the subject. These things just take time. "I told you that if I could, I would give you the world."
"And the sky and the moon and..." Her voice cut short and she glanced up. A shooting star lit a dim path across the sky. She pulled away from me, exposing my bare skin to the cold air. "The moon. You didn't..."
I grinned, although she couldn't see it. Or maybe on that moonless night she could still see the glow of my teeth "Did I?"
"It would... Kill us all... It serves a purpose, out there..." I knew that. I wasn't stupid. I had been blessed with an excellent education and knew what the moon did. It would be suicide, to send it hurtling towards Earth, even if it were shrunk to fit in the palm of my hand.
"I didn't," I said finally and I heard her let out a sigh of relief.
"Don't scare me like that." She lay back down onto my chest. I caressed the little orb that had materialized as if from nowhere into my hand. It wasn't from nowhere. It was from somewhere far, far away.
"Sorry," I murmured. "Do you want to see what I asked for?" She didn't nod. She didn't shake her head. I think she was scared; not of the hungry creatures watching or the uncanny darkness of the night but of the endless possibilities I could have asked for. I pulled my hand up, balled into a fist. Light escaped from between my fingers and I heard her breathe in sharply. "I promised you the world," I said as I unclenched my hand to show her the blue of the oceans and the green of forests and the glowing lights of cities.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2019-09-18T08:09:25 | 2019-09-18T06:35:54 | 751 | 197 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | I scanned the horizon once more, wondering when my summoned item would arrive. I also wondered if there was a chance it was a person, and that they would simply appear in the antechamber of my home, like they always do. I shuddered at the thought of another human being forced upon me under the guise of a "soulmate". I turned and sneered at the happy couple on the bench down the road that I was almost certain was one of those couples. They were so wrapped in each others arms they failed to notice me gaze. *Disgusting*.
The worst thing about The Summoning is that there was no way to predict how and when the unknown object was going to arrive. You just have to wait after you invoke the summoning, which itself you have no control of. The invocation itself is the transition from 17 to 18 years of age.
I recall with fondness the story of Herma, who found out that she could summon water, but only from a particular lake hundreds of miles away. Two months passed her by as the whole contents of the lake ripped through thousands of miles of villages and farmland before it crashed into her home, killing her and her entire family. Oh, there are generations of similar stories, some worse that Herma's. The reality, though, is that what people typically end up being able to summon is mostly harmless or people.
I saw a shadow moving in the distance. A large creature with wings was fast approaching. I knew instinctively that this was my summoned being. Waves of relief washed over me. I was happy knowing it was not going to be a person, and I returned to sneering at the couple down the road as I waited for the creature to arrive.
The creature landed on the roof of my home without a sound. It watched me from that vantage point as I glared at the couple. It took a moment for me to remove my eyes from the vile human spectacle and return my gaze to the sky only to realize that the creature was gone. I heard a low growl and turned to see a fully-grown dragon resting on my house.
I spoke aloud. "Finally, what I have summoned has arrived!" I turned to the couple, they took no notice of my gesture. Their mouths were locked onto each other. I frowned.
The dragon spoke next. *No, you fool.* Its voice reverberated in my mind. *You did not summon me as the humans do.* I felt the creature quell my confusion. *You summoned me as the dragons do.* It screeched and set me aflame.
Though it should've pained me, the flames felt warm on my body. The cobblestone beneath me melted and my shoes were reduced to cinders. I looked up at the dragon and felt myself rise with the fire. I heard my clothes tear and a shudder rippled through me. Soon, I gazed at eye level with the dragon and smiled. If she meant to kill me, she'd have to find another way.
I conveyed this information with my mind and simultaneously realized two things: that I was speaking to her with my mind and I was now aware that she was a female dragon. She cackled and the flames stopped, though my body did not fall. Looking down, I saw the scales of a dragon where my torso should be, and I stood as large as my home. The dragon turned her head so that one eye faced me. *You are the first dragon created in a thousand years.* Her eye sparkled with an internal flame. *Now, let us both remind the humans why we are the true rulers of this planet.*
I understood what she meant in an instant. I turned to the couple seated in terror on the bench, grimaced at their continued affection for one another even in this dire moment, and set them on fire. I burned them until the stone bench itself melted into the earth. I twisted to face the dragon and gave her a wicked smile. She cackled back. | *"There are two types of people in this world - the living and the dead. Those who have found their purpose and received their divine gift are those who we count among the living. So weep not for those who passed young, for they were already among the dead."*
Angry. That was the only way I have felt my entire life from the day my younger brother died. Initially, it was a shocking moment for the entire community as with the advancement we have had in the past century early deaths were rare. The whole world seemed to grieve that moment as it was akin to losing limitless potential. Had it only stayed that way. Had things never would have changed.
Yet that's just the way life has always been. A tumultuous mess filled with the cruelty of those who sought power over others. And taking control over others was a lot easier than most thought it to be. After all, it only took 48 words for James to rewrite peoples beliefs.
It didn't mean much to me at the time but that was because I didn't truly understand the implications of those words. As time pressed on his grip over us all became firmer and the next generation became a thing of the past. No longer did adults confer with children, for it was now seen as a taboo. After all, nowhere in history did the living ever talk to the dead.
I didn't blame James for this, he was just a man who fervently believed in his ideals. I blamed the selfishness of those who listened to him. James was merely a fanatic who truly believed that focusing on those who had direction would be the most efficient way to get through life.
It made sense at the simplest level but he forgot to factor that those who are now untrained would soon join the ranks of the living. When the dead are left to wander it is only the living that suffers, yet no matter how much I propagated this message no one would listen to me. For talking to the dead was taboo.
Soon, however, I would have a chance to change all of this. Soon, I would be able to change the sins of my forefathers. For today was the morn of my 18th birthday and I now waited patiently in front of the 'gates of birth'. Once I crossed the threshold I would be able to call to the world and it would answer. And once the world answered me, so to would they have to.
I would be the bridge that tethers the living to the dead. I would remind them that their ideologies were flawed and those who had no direction were still very much alive.
Suddenly my thoughts were interrupted as the gates slowly creaked open and James stood in his elegant gown with his arms outstretched welcoming me forward. I remembered the way this would always play out - the gates would open and James would pull the newest member of the living to the side and talk with them for some time. After conversing he would send them forward to the central pedestal to call upon the world to answer their cries.
Without missing a beat I walked straight past James to the room to the side he would always take the dead to. I didn't need to put up with their rituals, I just wanted to get this done as soon as possible.
"What do you want Ja-"
James, who always stood so proudly in front of the people was collapsed on the floor with tears streaming down his face.
"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I had never meant for them to take those words that way. I just wanted-"
I remembered clearly now. Every time James would take to the stage their would always be faded tears on his face. There was always a cruel look of regret hugging close to him. I don't know what he was trying to accomplish with those words, but it was his fault for forgetting that words have power. That you could never take back actions. That he never actually tried to right his wrongs.
*So I'm sorry to James. For I cannot forgive you for all you have done. You have had all the time in the world to change what you could've done, but that time is past. Regret for the rest of your life what you have put in motion.*
And so I pushed past James leaving him shocked on the floor, but somewhere in that shock, I felt as though I could see a hint of acceptance. Maybe even longing. I didn't care now, for it was finally my time.
There was a rage barely lying beneath the core of my being that I had to force myself to ignore. I didn't care about the people around me. All I cared about was what I could do going forward.
And so, I called to the world.
There was a brief pause as everyone held their breath. Normally when people made the call they were answered instantly. But it was as if the world understood my request and knew what must be done. And what must be done took time.
When that time finally came people looked at me with horror but all I could answer them with was a bittersweet smile.
For as I called to the world, certainly did it answer. | 2019-09-18T09:27:31 | 2019-09-18T07:55:38 | 123 | 37 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | This special day. This I know. Everyone in tribe know. Today I become man. Today I get my thing.
When man can get thing, man is very strong. My brother Ogga is man. He was young as me when he got his thing. He opened his hand and thing that came was stick. Very nice stick. Good for hit enemy tribe man, or poke big horn animal. Flew down from sky like bird into his hand. Ogga is very good with stick. Ogga strong. Ogga protect tribe and has good fat wife and many children.
My cousin Grah had thing that is berries. Grah was best! For many years, tribe eat Grah's berries. Never had famine time, even in snow season. Was very sad when wolf eat Grah two snow seasons ago.
Friend Koga has thing that is big rock (good for drop on mammoth). Friend Magra had thing that is small rock (good for throw at squirrel). Friend Dal has thing that is sand (good for throw at enemy tribe man in face).
So now I try to get my thing. I stand at bottom of big hole now. We do this when we get the thing for first time. Friend Ro'o had thing that is angry mammoth. I miss Ro'o. If thing is angry mammoth, at least Koga can drop rock on it before I am smash.
I look up at Koga. "Koga ready?" I say.
"Yes. I Ready," say Koga. Koga already carry big rock in hands. Koga is strong with big rock.
"Magra ready?" I say.
"I ready," say Magra. Magra already has small rock in rock throw string weapon, and swing it around. Magra is strong with rock throw string weapon.
I reach out hand and try to get thing. I try for long time. I try so long that Koga put down his rock and waits. I try so long that Magra stop spin his rock throw string and waits. I try so long that sun starts to go behind west mountains.
"Thing no come," say Koga.
"Yes thing will come!" I say.
"Go back to tribe home cave," say Magra. "Is not time for you yet. Try get thing tomorrow."
"No! I know thing is coming!" I say.
Sun goes away. Koga goes away. Magra goes away. I put down empty hand with no thing. I climb out of hole and start walk to tribe home cave. I cry. I am feel sad. I am not man. I am not strong. I do not know why thing no come.
I am cry so hard that i am on my knees and there is water in my eyes. So much water I cannot see, and I have to put my hands to my face to wipe it away.
I do not see the pack of wolves surround me. I do not see them close around. I do not see them as one nears my face and opens its mouth.
I only feel the tongues as they lick my face dry. I only feel the fur as they push their heads into my hand. Soon I do not even know why I am cry. When my eyes are clear I look at them. They are strange. Ears too floppy. Tails move side to side. Eyes look at me like I am friend and not meat.
I am close to tribe home cave now. I can hear Koga and Magra laugh. Many tribe man and woman laugh--Bago, Dal, Pokro, even brother Ogga. They are talk about me and my no thing. I look at the wolves. I say, "come!" and me and my new tribe walk away into the night. | The day of my 18th Birthday. A day that felt like it was never going to come. I've never felt so excited and yet sick in my entire life. All the usual party drab had been finished. Dinner, cake, and presents. My uncle got me a catchers mitt, he thought it was hilarious. But he gotten the same thing for my cousins years prior and the joke had run it's course.
After a very awkward laugh from my mother she began gathering everyone to go outside and have a seat. My father had already arranged the chairs in a semi circle so everyone could see what was to come.
Everyone began filing outside as my mom came up to me and put her hands on my shoulders and looked at me with a smile.
"Today is a big day for you, my little boy. It's time for you to become a man and see what or who you summon."
I gave a big sigh, "I know mom, I think I'm ready."
My mom giggled a little as she moved beside me and draped her arm over my shoulders and began leading me in to the backyard. "I was nervous too when I turned 18. But then when the time came fate brought me your father and I haven't been happier. Maybe you will get someone just as special."
I blushed a little at the thought of coming face to face with a pretty girl. "Jeez mom, don't embarrass me."
She chuckled again and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Well you could also be lucky and get an eagle like your brother and join the search and rescue team. He's saved a lot of lost hikers and children over the years."
The thought brought a smile to my face. Josh's eagle was a beautiful bird (and also really cool), and it would be nice to get something that I could use to really help people. I've heard family members call him a "hero". I wouldn't mind them calling me the same.
"Come now." My mom said as she stepped behind me. "Time to see what is in store for your future."
I was too caught up in my thoughts that I didn't realize I was already standing in the summoning circle. Now was the time.
I took one last glance over my shoulder to see my parents and grandparents beeming with joy as my father and granddad gave me a thumbs up.
"Well, here goes nothing." I said to myself as I reached out my hand and let my mind empty of thoughts like I had been instructed to all year by my summoning Coach (think of it like a driving instructor).
My heart swelled with anticipation as I waited for something to happen. But after only a few seconds that excitement suddenly become a coldness that struck me to the bone. I shivered involuntarily as a cold breath escaped my lungs in almost a fog in the last of the summer sun. That's when I felt something hit my hand, heavily, and a gasp came from my family.
"Oh no, something is wrong." I thought as I looked to my hand. In it there was a long wooden pole slightly curved with two pegs that appeared to be handles. But what made my heart sink was what was at the end of the pole. A long dark blade curved inwards and came to a point. I had never seen anything like it and it looked extremely old. Just as I noticed it I heard another gasp and a voice just behind me.
"*Finally the day has come for me to rest. And for you to begin your long and lonely journey.*"
The words felt like ice on the back of my neck and every hair on my body stood up on end. I slowly looked over my shoulder again and I could only see my family. All the men had turned white and the women were crying. My dad held my mom in his arms and I could see that she was sobbing uncontrollably. "What is going on?" I asked sheepishly.
"*Fate has spoken and you have been charged with an immeasurable duty.*" The chilling voice spoke again.
I continued to turn and found myself face to face with a figure cloaked in black. Their head slowly tilted back and allowed me a glance as what was below. A skeletal jaw and teeth showed as the jaws opened and the voice came forward again.
"*You, my boy, are to take my place. Ferrying the souls of this world to the next. Death is now your task, and it is one you must do alone.*"
I bit my lip as tears began to well up in my eyes as my mother began howling in sadness.
"*Take one last look around, for you will not see any of them again until the day comes that is their last. That is your future. That is your fate.*" | 2019-09-18T12:35:25 | 2019-09-18T11:11:54 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] The world of Avatar is real, only there are not 4 elements, there are 118. For every element on the periodic table there is a group of benders. You are one of them. | Long ago, the Benders lived together, in harmony. Then, everything changed when the Plutonium Nation attacked.
My grandmother used to tell me, about the Periodic Table of Nations, sitting together, talking, in hopes of preventing the horrible wars that had scarred our world. But just when it all seemed to finally be at peace, the greatest war of all began.
Their opening strike was swift, and deadly. They sent envoys to the Great Cities, where men and women bent Uranium, Carbon, Oxygen, and other 'useful' elements to their will. The strike began in the dead of night, and across the land night became day, as a hundred suns rose where the opposition once stood.
From there, the world was property of the Plutonium Nation. The wiser nations of Iron, or of Sulfur, were quick to surrender themselves to the new overlords: But their alliance with Hydrogen sealed their fate. Working together, their ability to destroy was beyond imagination: Entire civilizations were wiped off the map in the blink of an eye, and within a month only Lead stayed independent in any real numbers.
And so it stayed, for many moons. Individuals who challenged the status quo met iron blades or iron projectiles - If unrest took a town or a city, its end would be declared to all by a second sun and the mushroom of death.
But soon enough the rebellions were few. Fear was valuable - But so was prosperity. Through the great Engines of Plenty, plutonium benders worked together with their fellow men to produce energy, in pure, unlimited form. The energy was given freely to all - The horribly few tungsten benders spun thin wires, and in a partnership they created spheres which could be used to provide light - Copper carried energy, made it into warmth, and great iron engines used it to help produce food, harvest water, even to help those who could not bend become as great as those who could.
But the Plutonium Benders had committed one, fatal flaw: One Carbon Bender survived, and carried the power to command life itself.
That error was not my first, or my last. But know this before you put an end to my life's work:
That error **is** my only regret. | I sat down after a long day, and turned on the TV. It flashed to the news. The headline read:
"15 PEOPLE KILLED IN ARSENIC BENDER ATTACK"
I sighed as I sank into the couch. Another attack, huh. Damn arsenic benders. Ever since the Awakening, these guys have been terrorizing everyone, poisoning them. The oxygen benders, the largest group, have been trying to counteract them, but they've been getting too strong. They even kill other poisonous element benders, including the radioactives. I stood up and rolled up my sleeves.
"Guess I've got some work to do."
I walked towards the site of the attack, the large building looming in front of me. It was the tallest building in the city, used by the Elementix Corporation, a chemical company boosted by the Awakening. This was the main HQ, separate from their factories. The Arsenic benders were rumored to control the company, that attack presumably being a strike on their enemies within the company. I strolled through the entrance. The receptionist gave me a weird look. "Hey Sev, what are you doing here after your shift?" He asked me. "Don't worry about it. However, if you know what's good for you, you'll leave. Got it?" He gave a nod. He was new, afraid of everyone. I'd known he'd let me in, stupid boron bender.
I entered the elevator. I pushed the button labeled "100." Most of the bigwigs in the company were up there. The "ding" hurt my ears when I got to my floor, but I shook it off. Something worse than an earache is gonna happen.
I walked out of the elevator, and saw a row of offices, all of the doors ajar. At this time, they were in the main conference room, their secret meetings held there. So, with a confident air, I let myself in. It took a second, but they clearly saw me. "What are you doing in here? Go back down to your office! You know you're not supposed to be in here," one of the men said. "Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you, but I have a gift for the boss." The boss, a wizened old man, looked up. "A-a g-g-gift?" He stuttered. I smirked at him. "Yes. The gift of death." As I said this, a yellow-green gas emanated from my fingertips. The people in the room all rose to attack me, but they all fell down, coughing on the floor. "W-what the-" one of them managed to say. He then expired, the rest soon followed.
I left that room with a giant grin on my face. I casually strolled to the elevator, got to the bottom, and left. My friend saw me as I was walking. "Hey Seventeen, what's u-" "I'm just fine, dude. Don't worry," I say as I walk back to my apartment, my plan complete.
Oh, one more thing. Wanna know why I'm called Seventeen?
Chlorine. The new element of death. Number 17. | 2019-09-19T11:39:49 | 2019-09-19T10:59:25 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?" | "Well, I was dead once, but I got over it."
The Grim Reaper stood silently and cocked his head.
"River Styx? You have the look of one who has been there."
"Yes. My GPS is old and it steered me wrong. I took a right turn onto a lane that went into a long tunnel. I thought it was odd that there were red lights, but I was just a tourist, ya know? I assumed I had stumbled into something experimental."
"Are you telling me you accidentally drove into the realm of Hades?"
"I guess so. The road turned into a unpaved dirt road, and then to a path. I couldn't turn around until I came to a river. The tunnel ended and I made a U-Turn."
"Did you touch the river in any way?"
"I got out of the car to take a picture, and when I went to the river I slipped and got wet. Didn't fall in, but I slid down the bank and got myself wet and muddy."
"You...I can't believe what I'm hearing."
"I climbed up the bank and left. It was brutal work getting up there too. It was all dead brushes and brambles."
"How did you know where you were?"
"When I left I saw a sign that said "River Styx 1 mile." It disapeared after I left."
Death made a slight choking noise.
"I'm going to have a talk with Hades. That new construction company he appropriated is incompetant."
"So, what happens now?"
"That's your problem," Death said. "I don't envy you. I'm the nice one. You get to deal with Life for a few thousand years, and he's a right bastard." | When I came to, all around me was fire and metal and dirt. I looked around for my friends and their bodies where mangled on the ground, but I could also see them gathering round a man in a black suit. As I approached the man, I could see he had a coldness to him. A pale face,that looked as if it had never felt the sun, the blackest darkest hair I’d ever seen, like a void where his hair is supposed to be and almost white, piercing blue eyes.
I tried talking to my friends but they wouldn’t notice me no matter what I did. All of a sudden noticing that I noticed him the man in black says,
“Nope. Looks like you’re not due yet”
“Due for what?” I asked
“Says here you aren’t due for another three thousand years give or take a few decades... that’s... unusual”
“What are you talking about? What’s due in three thousand years, are you a scientist or something?”
“The better question, boy, is how can you...see... me?asked the man in black looking into my eyes as if he could see my soul through my eyes.
“I’ve got eyes haven’t I, also why are my friends here next to you and also over there by the ground, how is that possible?”
“I’m death, boy, and they... well they’re dead, simple as that, it’s their time to go. But you, it seems you’re special, anyway toodleoo I’m off.”
“Wait!” I shouted but it was too late the man in black was gone, and all that was left were my friends bodies, the smashed up car debris, and me.
I tried pinching myself, hitting my head, everything to wake up from the nightmare I was sure I was in but nothing worked. My friends were dead and I was alive, with not even a scratch on me. My hair was messy and my clothes a bit dirty.
I’d been driving and it was my fault we crashed, I couldn’t face the police or my family, let alone their family, so I ran, ran as fast and as far as I could.
“That’s how I figured out I was immortal... well sort of, let’s see... that was in the sixties, it’s the twenty twenties now so I guess I got a couple thousand years to go”
“Woah, how is that possible?”
“ I have no idea, but you saw yesterday, when that guy stabbed me right in the heart, and look! No wound! Ha ha!” I said gleefully.
This is the first person I’ve ever told my story to, don’t wanna scare her off yet with my angsty immortal cynicism.
First writing prompt gotta go so can’t finish, might finish later. Was very fun. | 2020-01-24T17:11:51 | 2020-01-24T12:45:46 | 54 | 28 |
[WP] You see the Grim Reaper and ask if it's your time. Death checks a clipboard and says "Nope. Looks like you're not due for another... three thousand, one hundred and forty-one years? That's weird. Also, how can you see me?" | "Well, I was dead once, but I got over it."
The Grim Reaper stood silently and cocked his head.
"River Styx? You have the look of one who has been there."
"Yes. My GPS is old and it steered me wrong. I took a right turn onto a lane that went into a long tunnel. I thought it was odd that there were red lights, but I was just a tourist, ya know? I assumed I had stumbled into something experimental."
"Are you telling me you accidentally drove into the realm of Hades?"
"I guess so. The road turned into a unpaved dirt road, and then to a path. I couldn't turn around until I came to a river. The tunnel ended and I made a U-Turn."
"Did you touch the river in any way?"
"I got out of the car to take a picture, and when I went to the river I slipped and got wet. Didn't fall in, but I slid down the bank and got myself wet and muddy."
"You...I can't believe what I'm hearing."
"I climbed up the bank and left. It was brutal work getting up there too. It was all dead brushes and brambles."
"How did you know where you were?"
"When I left I saw a sign that said "River Styx 1 mile." It disapeared after I left."
Death made a slight choking noise.
"I'm going to have a talk with Hades. That new construction company he appropriated is incompetant."
"So, what happens now?"
"That's your problem," Death said. "I don't envy you. I'm the nice one. You get to deal with Life for a few thousand years, and he's a right bastard." | Matt looked up from doing CPR. He saw the familiar visage of the Grim Reaper. They had talked before. Matt and fought the reaper more than once and even won a round or two unexpectedly.
Here, on the side of the road, in the glare of flashing emergency lights and other lights used to light the scene; doing CPR next to a rolled over Jeep Matt knew this one was gone and the Reaper would collect.
“Well, looks like you get to collect on this one” Matt said.
“Hello Matt,” the Reaper replied. “It about time you and I had a talk.”
Matt was a little surprised. The Grim Reaper has nodded at him before but never spoken to him. “About what? I’m a little busy doing CPR at the moment.”
“Matt!” Donnie yelled. “What in the hell are you yammering on about? Is more of you taking to death crap? You’re making me wonder about you dude!”
“Don’t worry Matt,” the Reaper whispers. “We’ll have plenty of time to talk in a second.”
Just then a Semi hit the breaks hard and lost control. It plowed right through the scene instantly killing the cop and all the rescue workers but Matt. Matt felt the tire as it slid by him as he did CPR, missing his head by millimeters. It did however, squarely run over his partner.
Matt jumped up full of panic and rage and adrenaline. “What the f... what did you just do!!!” Matt screamed at the Grim Reaper.
“I don’t cause anything. I mearly respond to events and do my job. This was preordained, you however are the anomaly”.
“What are you talking about!” Matt’s voice was a fever pitch of fear and anger.
“You see Matt, you should not be able to know I’m here, much less see me. You have even argued with and tried to intimidate me into not collecting souls I was meant to collect” the Reaper replied calmly. “When I noticed that you could see me I looked at the time and date for you and you partner. His was a minute ago. Yours is three thousand one hundred and forty-two years from now. “
Matt replied in a whisper “What?” His face full of confusion and incomprehensibility.
The Reaper continued. “I know right? I thought the same thing. So I’ve been doing some research in what little spare time I have. Here’s the thing. You have a Job. And really, it sucks. Call it what ever you want but in the final battle of Good VS Evil, it is your death at the hand of Evil that begins the final titanic battle between good and evil. And I hear more sirens on the way... time for me to go.” | 2020-01-24T17:11:51 | 2020-01-24T14:05:54 | 54 | 15 |
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss. | I never paid much attention to the whole idea of the odds of something being "a million to one." Being an assassin usually meant taking the odds by the throat and forcing them to be in your favor, but nothing could have prepared me for this. In all my years of work I had infiltrated even the most secure locations. High security prisons? Child's play. The off chance I get to take down a self proclaimed super villain? There's always at least one guard who's being paid minimum wage and values their life over a job and some information. Meeting my girlfriend's parents was the first task in a long time where I had to go in without extensive planning and research. After all, she had insisted that her parents would adore me. That had to mean there was nothing to worry about, or so I thought. I stood on the doorstep in an itchy polo shirt and khakis, already regretting not grabbing an undershirt as I rushed out the door. Somehow crawling through cramped ventilation shafts couldn't even come close to the amount of discomfort the accursed shirt gave me.
~
The opening of the front door took my mind off of work. It was time to turn on the charm and rock my social muscle. Before I could even greet the person who opened the door, I was reminded of work in the worst way possible. Damon Santos had answered the door, the man who gave me my hits. Definitely not a computer repairman. Couldn't be farther from being a computer repairman. I thought Crystal's last name was familiar, but I never could have guessed that this was where I knew it from. The tension in the air was palpable, our eyes were locked on one another's. Had Crystal not pushed past her father, I doubt we would have moved from that spot for the rest of the night. "Sam! I said to text me when you got here, I wanted to be the one to introduce you to my family!" Crystal made a pouty face as she tugged me inside, bringing me face to face with my boss and his wife.
~
Crystal’s arm was wrapped around my waist, quite possibly the only thing that kept me from walking straight back out the door. “Mom, Dad, this is Samuel." I gave a sheepish wave and did my best to smile through my unease. There wasn't a mirror around, but I knew whatever was on my face wasn't a smile. Damon's wife was the first to speak. Her voice was a lot like Crystal's, bubbly and cheery. It was a wild contrast to Damon's gruff and frankly intimidating demeanor. "Hello dear, it's so nice to finally have met you. My name is Shirley, but you can call me Mrs. Santos." My mouth opened to speak, but my voice was lagging behind like a person playing a game with high latency. With a short cough I was able to take a second shot at speaking. "Er... It's a pleasure to meet you Mrs. Santos." I looked to Damon, I more than knew who he was already but if he was going to keep our alibis intact he would have to introduce himself. My body tensed up when he began speaking. "Sam... I didn't know my *favorite* customer was dating my daughter. Fancy that." The emphasis on favorite was chilling. I couldn't tell if he was implying demise or if it was genuine favoritism for a good employee. My thoughts were shaken by a gasp from Crystal. "Well isn't that funny, who could have guessed you two knew each other already? I guess I'll let you two catch up and help Mom finish dinner prep."
~
Every cell in my body cried out for Crystal to stay, she was the only thing protecting me from confrontation with the only man who gave me chills. Unfortunately my silent cries weren't heard and the two left the room. Damon stared at me in silence, leaving me to squirm in my skin. Suddenly I was aware of just how itchy the polo was, and it was not helping. "Sam..." It was strange hearing him call me by my actual name instead of my alias. Miraculously through my panic I managed to squeeze out a meek "Yes sir?" Damon sat down on a nearby chair and looked me up and down. For some reason he looked so much more tired than before. Something changed in that moment, he seemed less like a coldblooded boss and more like a tired older man. “We're gonna have to have a long talk about many things." Damon sighed and crossed his arms. "The first of which being my retirement and your potential promotion to the head of the family business."
(Edit: Formatting and a little tidying.)
~
(Edit 2: Changed the last name from Smith after some suggestions.)
Part 2: https://www.reddit.com/r/Writings_Of_Man/comments/gzcnh9/family_business_chapter_one/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf | “Trust me, Cam. Dad’s gonna love you. Just mention how you save puppies all the time, and he’ll practically beg you to be part of the family in no time!”
Cameron managed a shaky smile before extending his finger out to ring the doorbell. He hated situations like these. On the job, a lot of the guesswork would have already been taken care of by his support team. Who the target was, where and when the hit was going to take place, what equipment he would bring. Standing in front of Alicia’s parents’ house was the exact opposite of that professionalism he had grown accustomed to. Too many unknown variables and unaccounted angles for his liking. The only silver lining to this situation was that he was here under the pretense of a friendly visit with his girlfriend’s parents, reducing the likelihood of a rival organization’s agents lying in wait.
The door opened, and Cameron’s initial unease gave way to a sickening dread in his stomach as he saw who was waiting for him. The older man easily had six inches on him, his long-sleeved shirt barely masking the densely packed muscles beneath it and that far-too-familiar veneer of professional cordiality resting upon his face. His lips broke into a smile as he roughly clapped Cameron on the shoulder and said, “So you must be Cameron! You know, I’m so glad to finally be able to put a face to the name. Please, come on in. I’m just about done setting the table, and I know Alicia’s dying for some meatloaf.”
Alicia rolled her eyes and gave a tight hug to her father, beckoning towards Cameron to enter. The knot in his stomach grew tighter as he followed the two further inside. He quietly examined his surroundings. Photos of Boss and Alicia scattered along the walls, flower arrangements laid neatly on small tables, a 50-inch flat-screen TV prominently displayed in the living room. Nothing that offered the slightest indication of Boss’ true occupation. The three made their way to the dining table, where a plentiful spread of food was already waiting.
Cameron desperately attempted to mirror Boss’ unfazed countenance as he took his place at the table. The meal progressed without incident, Alicia with her bursts of melodic laughter in between bites of food and Boss perfectly playing the role of the unassuming father figure. Cameron’s maelstrom of confusion in his mind was interrupted by his employer saying, “So, Cameron. Alicia tells me you’re one of the vets that work over on 8th Street. Do you enjoy that profession?”
“Ye-yes, Mr. Camarena. I, uh, take great pride in my work. Helping animals in need, helping people saying their final goodbyes to their pets when it’s their time.”
Boss nodded and replied, “That’s wonderful to hear, Cameron. I’m a computer repairman myself, you see. And…you might not think our lines of work overlap, but I can relate to what you’re saying about helping out. The computers I work with aren’t all that different from the pets you operate on. You know, I gotta examine their components, run diagnostics, all that boring stuff to make sure I know what I’m working with. They’re like my little babies, I always get a little attached to them after I’m done. But sometimes, you get some old fart in his 70’s trying to resuscitate some rusty Commodore Amiga that hasn’t seen action for as long as its owner. And in those cases, sometimes it’s better to put ‘em down for good. A sort of…mercy killing, if you will. I’m sure you understand where I’m coming from when I say this.”
Cameron tried to speak, but the lump in his throat was constricting him. Alicia giggled at her boyfriend’s discomfort, poking his left side with her elbow and saying, “Don’t be intimidated by him, Cam. Dad’s only putting up this tough guy act cause you’re here, but he’s the type of guy to go through three boxes of Kleenex in a viewing of ‘The Notebook’.”
“I told you, Alicia, I had just chopped up some onions for Taco Tuesday and was just going through some…delayed irritation in my eyes!” Boss exclaimed.
Alicia stuck out her tongue in response, and the three finished up the remainder of the food before them. Boss set down his utensils and let out a satisfied sigh before saying, “Whew, I’m gonna need some air after all that. Baby, I’m gonna step out in the backyard for a bit for a little ‘guy talk’ with Cameron here. So, just hang tight here for a sec. Cameron, if you’d be so kind.”
Cameron shakily nodded, feeling the sweat forming around his neck as he stood from the table and followed Boss out of the screen door and into the backyard. He heard the door click shut and watched as Boss turned to face him, his face now devoid of any pretense of pleasantness and replaced with a stony-faced grimace. The two stood in tense silence, Boss with a murderous glare aimed squarely at a squirming Cameron. Finally, the former spoke, “You’ll forget that little…display I was forced to put on for you in front of my daughter.”
“Yes, Boss.”
“You’ll immediately cut ties with my daughter. I don’t care what excuse you come up with. She will not be involved with any associate of mine.”
“…yes, Boss.”
“And you’ll take on the Dominguez job. A fair price to pay for the insolence you’ve shown me this evening.”
Cameron remained silent. Any assassin worth their salt knew it was a suicidal hit, targeting the boss of the Green Hornets Clan. Boss’ eyebrows narrowed at his subordinate’s silence and said, “You will take on the Dominguez job. Report to your team at 6:30 for the details.”
Without a word more, Boss turned around and entered his home, leaving a sweat-drenched and quivering Cameron behind.
r/williamk9949 | 2020-06-05T12:55:10 | 2020-06-05T12:40:42 | 4,792 | 1,419 |
[WP] Your gf invited you to meet her parents. You told her that you're a veterinarian. Her father is a computer repairman. In reality, however, you are an assassin. A very good one at that, too. When you see her father, your heart skips a beat. He's your boss. | I carefully stepped out of my car, fixing my short red dress, before dusting off the front. These clothes felt, odd, especially given my usual attire. I'd always felt far more at ease with a gun on my thigh, a knife or two stashed away, but for this outing, those things were useless. I closed the door to my car, making my way to her, Anna, we'd met just after I'd finished a job, thankfully she hadn't looked in the dumpster she'd spotted me in front of. I smiled pleasantly and waved as I made my way over, this was good, being out in the daytime, a casual outing to a beautiful house. White, with soft blue roofing, not too big or small. She'd told me she wanted me to meet her parents, I would be lying if I said I wasn't worried, but being a member of the assassin underworld, I knew not everyone was what they seemed.
"Hey Camilla, I was worried you wouldn't show." She stated, before embracing me in a comforting hug.
I hugged her back, a chuckle escaping my lips. "A chance at meeting the people who made the most gorgeous woman in the world, now who'd wanna miss that?"
She pulled back, leaving a soft peck of a kiss on my forehead. "No, *you're* the most gorgeous woman in the world. C'mon, we'd better get in there." She took my hand, leading me through the house, through the living room, and into the kitchen. I caught a few glimpses of pictures, a large t.v. expensive looking vases with elegant blooms. My pulse quickened, as the face in one of the pictures managed to catch my eye, it wasn't possible, was it? No, I had to be seeing things, right?
"So, this must be Camilla." That voice, deep, almost sinister, cold enough to shoot a chill through a dead man's spine.
My eyes widened, as I looked him over, he was a slightly older man, his hair greying on the ends, though he was still quite muscular. His face had a few scars, one just above his eyebrow, the other, on his jawbone. "H-hello, sir." I stuttered, my heart pounding against my ribcage, it was him, my boss, but why?
Anna released my hand, and gently elbowed him in the gut. "Would you quit staring at her like that? You're probably creeping her out." She whispered, but I still heard her.
He smiled, a closed eyes, teethy smile, something I'd never seen on him before, his hand raising to shake mine. "That's right where're my manners? The names Clyde, I fix computers, I hear you're a veterinarian, is that right?"
I shook his hand, half worried he'd pull me in and slit my throat for dating his daughter. "That's right, I've been a vet for about three years now."
He smiled at that. "Well isn't that great, an animal lover! You know what they say about people who love animals? They're trustworthy, kind, wouldn't hurt a fly." His voice drawled off near the end, an almost challenging tone hidden beneath, though I don't think anyone else noticed.
Just then, the stove beeped, meaning the food had just finished cooking, only then did I notice the smell, Italian? "Ooh, the foods done, hope you like baked spaghetti!" Anna exclaimed, before pulling the large casserole dish from the oven, and taking it to the dining room, leaving her father and I alone, awkwardly.
"So, you're dating my daughter?" He whispered, as she sat the table. His voice was now devoid of emotion, he wouldn't even look at me. "I will warn you now, if you're working for someone else, if she's a target, I will personally remove every bone from your body, slowly, starting with your toes, and your fingers. Do I make myself clear?"
I gulped, a knot forming in my throat. "Y-yes sir, but, she isn't a target, you are my only employer, sir, and I've not told her about you, or myself, sir." I could feel sweat forming on my skin, my pulse racing. I'd told the truth, I knew that, but he was always known for being... Paranoid, to say the least.
A few tense moments passed, before a soft smile played over his lips. "That's good to hear. I suppose, if she's with you, she will be safe, isn't that right? Well then, you have my blessing. Do not make me regret it, or you will too."
Just then, she returned to the kitchen. "So, who's ready to eat?" | Rachel was so exited for me to meet her folks and the only thing I was worried about is if they wouldn’t mind my casual clothing. Is a flannel over a AC/DC shirt with jeans and sneakers good enough to present to parents? I usually have a okay track record with them and it almost always gets better once I tell them my job. I work as a veterinarian in the city and on my off days I’m a international assassin. If you’re laughing I encourage you to stop because I’m not joking. Just this past week my boss sent me on a international mission to go kill off some revolutionary leader. Had to infiltrate his ranks, spike his drink, and get home in 3 days. Managed to do it with my team but it was draining. My boss said i won’t have any missions for a while so I can just relax, play guitar and chill with Rachel.
She’s prepping me on how to greet her dad and how he’s gonna examine my phone since he loves computers. He repairs them so it makes sense.
The target is described as a tall white male in his mid 40s with a salt and pepper beard, big arms and a big laugh. Her mom might be home too and according to Rachel she’s just Rachel but taller, African American and with a dragon tattoo on her arm. We get to the door and I spot a car that looks oddly familiar like the ones we have at the base. She yells for her dad to stop being lazy and open the door. He opens it and he looks exactly like my boss.
“ You must be Justin I’ve heard all sorts of things about you”. I take a extra second to respond because my boss is my girlfriends father. I shake his hand and he looks me dead in the eyes like he did earlier when he told me I could get a break from missions. When I walk into the living room her mother runs over and extends her hand. As I shake it My boss ice grills me most likely to mess with me. We sit down and he turns on Wheel of fortune as we eat the food her mother made. After one bite I can immediately tell she’s a better cook than her daughter and that’s when the questioning starts. My boss looks at me and asks “ You into music huh? What’s ya favorite band?”. He knows the answer is either gonna be paramore or All time low so i know he’s just messing with me. I answer with the Beatles and he laughs asking what do I know bout them. As he laughs he shoots me another death stare, this time for lying. My hand starts to sweat as Rachel’s mom asks me how we met. As I’m recalling how her daughter poured paint on me in 5th grade her dad goes over to the computer parts and pulls a badge out of his pocket. Does he think he’s slick? He literally just pulled out our logo which is a upside down eagle over a black backdrop.
Rachel then tells her mom how I’m a great veterinarian and that we started dating Cause Rachel brought her friends dog to my job for nail clippings. As she jokes with her mom my boss looks at my pocket knowing I have the badge with me too. He comes back to the couch and we start talking bout the development of Video game Consoles and our favorite games. This might be the most tame conversation I’ve had with my boss in 4 years. Rachel looks at her dad and asks if he likes my sneakers. Her dad bought them for me after I killed a black market trader 2 months ago. He says their very nice and that he would like to buy them off me and now I’m scared. This is nothing like how he acts on the job: I’m lucky to get a good job or a hello out of him if it’s not mission time and now he’s laughing. As it gets closer to my time for curfew I hug Rachel hug her mother and thank her for the food when my boss tells me to come with him to the basement. And I’m pretty sure he doesn’t mean the regular one.
“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING DATING MY DAUGHTER” He yells as we go into the bunker that’s filled with computers, world maps, and our logos on the walls. As I look around in awe and a bit of fear he yells again “ YOU AND RACHEL?” I shrug my shoulders being as confused as he is and that’s when he lowers his voice for a second. “ Rachel doesn’t know about your actual job does she?” I shake my head and he asks what do I tell her I do on the weekdays. I tell him that I tell her I have late shifts at the job or that I’m babysitting across the street. When I miss school it’s cause I have to take care of my niece who’s always sick. He looks at me and grabs me by the collar “Rachel can never figure out and if you put her in any danger I’ll be the one to Assassinate you”.
I shake my head okay and after a couple seconds he pops the question I was dreading the whole night. He asks me what my intentions with Rachel are. He knows I’m prone to getting a girl to fall for me on missions so it makes sense why he would ask. I tell him I really really like his daughter and she’s my favorite person to be around. He laughs and grabs me by the shirt again saying “ if you break her heart I’ll break your life and college fund. Yes, he’s paying for my college by giving me a scholarship under a fake name. I hear Rachel calling my name as it gets closer to me being out past curfew so I ask why my boss brought me down here besides to ruff up my shirt and show me his knives and swords. He looks me dead in the eyes and goes “ You’ve got to assassinate a world leader over winter break”. | 2020-06-05T14:47:09 | 2020-06-05T14:04:11 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] She hadn't made a milkshake in years for fear they would return. She started the blender reluctantly. Suddenly, in the distance, screams. The boys had returned, and were coming to her yard. | The hum of the blender was comforting for a brief moment. That was quickly replaced with a sense of dread, and Amy hastily ripped the appliance out of the socket.
Breathing heavily, Amy went to go dump the now partially blended ice cream and fruit into a bowl, when a piercing yell came over the horizon.
“No, God no”, she pleaded, but the deed had been done.
Hordes of men, young and old, cane careening down the hill in front of her house, their eyes crazed, mouths foaming. Then, they stopped, as Amy stepped outside in desperation.
“Please, no more, I have nothing left after the last time, I don’t know what else I can give you,” she sobbed. “My milkshake knowledge is the last thing I can offer, I can teach you, but I’ll have to”
“CHARGE!” yelled the boy, barely 13 years old, leading the pack, and the mob advanced.
Edit: my first attempt at one of these, fun prompt | "Now the strawberries," she said to herself. "The strawberries and the milk and just a bit of sugar."
A pair of old hands clasped the blender as it shook. Streaks of strawberry melded with the milk and turned pink, while black seeds hugged the glass as if holding on for dear life.
"A bit more sugar," she said. "No one's looking. Not yet."
She dabbed a teaspoon of confectioners' sugar into the beating mixture.
It had been so long. At first she didn't hear them. They melted into the screeching of the blender. But soon enough even her old ears picked out the screams. They were approaching.
"Up to 4. Now to 5." She adjusted the power. The screeching blender howled. Her house trembled. "Just a bit more."
When she switched the appliance off, the sound lost its electric treble but gained from the bass of pounding arms and feet. Her yard had been laid waste.
"Just a taste before the end," she said in a voice whose sad intonations were crescendoing above the din. "I only want a little!"
In her imagination she answered the door and it was the Hendersons' boys.
"We heard the blender ma'am, did you whip up your famous strawberry milkshake?"
"Of course, Billy," she'd reply. "I've enough for the whole block."
And they'd all sit under the sun in the yard and slurp sweet delight from mason jars.
How loud her imagination must have been. It muted the terrible clamor of doors and windows as they were smashed by the mindless mob that poured in. She was at once jolted from her dream and lifted by the horde like a reluctant girl crowd surfing her first concert. As rotten skeletal hands tore into her flesh and she screamed in pain, she glimpsed her blender knocked to the linoleum floor where it shattered. Her last thought was how pretty her milkshake looked, swirling with her own blood.
&#x200B;
\_\_\_\_
Thanks for reading... and sorry about that. Usually it's more innocent... here: /r/velabasstuff | 2020-07-22T17:25:36 | 2020-07-22T17:16:26 | 144 | 51 |
[WP] She hadn't made a milkshake in years for fear they would return. She started the blender reluctantly. Suddenly, in the distance, screams. The boys had returned, and were coming to her yard. | The hum of the blender was comforting for a brief moment. That was quickly replaced with a sense of dread, and Amy hastily ripped the appliance out of the socket.
Breathing heavily, Amy went to go dump the now partially blended ice cream and fruit into a bowl, when a piercing yell came over the horizon.
“No, God no”, she pleaded, but the deed had been done.
Hordes of men, young and old, cane careening down the hill in front of her house, their eyes crazed, mouths foaming. Then, they stopped, as Amy stepped outside in desperation.
“Please, no more, I have nothing left after the last time, I don’t know what else I can give you,” she sobbed. “My milkshake knowledge is the last thing I can offer, I can teach you, but I’ll have to”
“CHARGE!” yelled the boy, barely 13 years old, leading the pack, and the mob advanced.
Edit: my first attempt at one of these, fun prompt | After a year of preparation, the trap was ready.
5 years ago, the virus had mutated, becoming what everyone had joked about for months: a zombie plague. Rebecca had hid and scavenged in the initial fallout, before finding a group that was large enough and organised enough to put her plan into motion.
The idea was simple: they had taken over the stadium early and cleared out the surrounding blocks of zombies so they would have enough room to work. An important element was that Bec had to be living in the stadium for at least the 6 months prior. She didn't want to take any chances, so she had set up a tent here a year ago along with a small herd of cows. The rest of the community started digging.
There was now a moat around the stadium, wider and deeper than Bec had thought possible. The temporary bridges were all being collapsed into the pit. The more debris down there, the more effective the trap would be. They'd lost 2 workers over the year to falls - a grizzly proof of concept.
She walked up to the stage, all eyes on her, even those of the sweating bike riders generating the electricity. She went over the calculations. The small scale trials indicated that this would halve the zombie population of the entire state. Some optimistic projections tried to include the female zombies that would get pulled along by the herd mentality. She would be serving milkshakes for a week straight to ensure that they left enough time for the stragglers to walk here.
Rebecca knew better - she knew they'd come running.
She offered up a silent prayer to Kelis. A thank you for this gift and curse. Bec had come to terms with that night where as an intern, she had put half and half instead of soy in Kelis' latte, leading to a curse as ridiculous as it was powerful.
Bec dropped the rehydrated ice cream into each blender and turned them on.
She dropped to her knees as the whirring started. It might be over soon. | 2020-07-22T17:25:36 | 2020-07-22T17:23:11 | 144 | 49 |
[WP] At the moment of your death, a goddess gives you a chance to reincarnate in another world. The catch is that you need to become the hero of that world. The other catch is that you are not a helpless teenager but a trained member of your country's special forces. | “Hey, Johnson. Stay awake now,” I hear Sgt. Casey, our field medic as he ties the tourniquet on my leg. “You’re going to be okay, buddy. Alright? Now just stay awake?”
It wasn’t going to be okay, and I smile at Casey. Nod to him. I’d been waiting for this moment for a long time, a small part of me maybe even hoping for it. There’s only so many times you can escape death and hold on to your sanity—your sense of normality.
I felt comfortable on the side of the wall. The desert heat filled my uniform with a soft warmth. In the distance the Hindu-Kush mountains sat high above me, the summit running with shards of white snow which hadn’t melted yet in the long spring. Twenty-three more days left, I thought and almost laughed. Twenty-three more days of a 15-month deployment.
Sgt. Casey was still yelling at me, but it was coming from far away now, hollow. The battle around us seemed to be disappearing. I closed my eyes, leaning against the wall of the compound. It felt like I was sinking.
You could have done this at the beginning of the deployment, I said to god with a sardonic laugh. Saved me from ever having hope of flying home.
“Well, that’s true…” a voice said—a voice that wasn’t Sgt. Casey’s. “But then you may not have been prepared.”
I looked up and saw a woman standing over me. She was wearing the whitest dress I had ever seen. I wondered how she could have such a pure, white dress with so much dirt around her. She had a thin, very thin, pale little face. A sharp nose and chin. Soft blond hair that fell down over her shoulders in gently, swirling strands. She was the most beautiful thing I’d even.
What was she doing here, of all places?
“Hello, Eric,” she said, kneeling down next to me. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Waiting for me?”
“Yes, Eric. I’ve been waiting for you and I have a proposition.”
“A proposition?” I ask.
“Sure. The proposition is that you come with me and help me with a little problem I’ve been having.”
“And what do I get out of this proposition?”
“Life, Eric. Another chance. Far from here.”
“Where?”
She held a hand out.
“Let me show you, Eric.”
\---
*Good morning, everyone. I'll try to add to this if I can and there is interest.*
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | There is a Light that only the dead can see. It shines in the center of the Void, illuminating a pathway that only the dead can follow. The Light sings to the dead, enticing them closer, inviting them Home.
There is a wind that comes from behind the Light, an eternal storm that scours the encumbered soul, catching it up and pushing it back. The storm howls with the frustrated voices of the dead who can hear the Song, but cannot yet reach the Light.
Once, all that was was One. Now, uncountable crystalline splinters surround the Light, infinite worlds orbiting the Light and each other in a delicate balance. In these shards, the dead find shelter from the storm. In these worlds, the dead find Life.
===
It wasn't a car. It wasn't a tractor, it wasn't even a psychopath with a knife. I died of complications to Diabetes Invidious, which I'd acquired some years previously by cracking my head on some stairs in the snow. As my heart gave out with a final "pthum-plot", I wondered where my code would go, whether I'd be recycled into a person again, or possibly a sentient Roomba. I did not expect to be met with a mostly androgynous and entirely naked goddess.
She floated before me in the emptiness, the sole light in a place devoid even of black.Her porcelain skin, her piercing green eyes, her flowing red hair were all clearly chosen to focus my attention. Either that or I was the luckiest shade in the universe.
"Child of many worlds, I have need of you."
"I'm too cranky and creaky to be a child, and I am from on.. from on.. from only on... Why can't I finish that sentence?"
"Because you cannot lie to me. Name your worlds, so you may see for yourself."
I raised an eyebrow, but my mouth ran away from me. "I was born in Universe. I have visited Azeroth. I have lived in Alharrth, Taborea, New Eden, and Egypt Eternal" I blinked, feeling myself rise up to her eye level as my anger began to simmer. "Now hold, on, those were all fictional, save the first."
"Fictional, but worlds nonetheless. Ethesia needs a hero who can adapt quickly to its unique quirks, but can remain alien enough to do what must be done. Your unique gifts will be helpful there."
"I'm guessing Ethesia doesn't have the means to fill my pharmacopoeia, so if you want the brain, you're going to get rage and sadness and all kinds of mental shenanigans to go with it."
"I want all of it. Ethesia needs all of it."
"What kind of hero has a brain as screwed up as mine?" I yelled, a sense of dread tickling the back of my mind.
The goddess smiled. "You know exactly what kind of hero," she said, holding up a simple ring of white gold. A washed-out, almost pastel light began to spill out of it and she began to dissolve.
"Fuck no!" I shouted. "I don't deserve that!!" I thrust out my arm toward her rapidly fading shape and a gout of flame, black and red and hateful, came pouring from my palm. An idyllic pastoral scene, faded and pastel, like a young woman's watercolor fantasy, slowly came into focus. This was a world worth saving, but I'd set a piece of it on fire. | 2021-04-06T07:55:17 | 2021-04-06T06:34:09 | 94 | 51 |
[WP] Demon Blades each portray a human emotion, when the user feels the emotion of their blade, they resonate and the power rises 10 fold. the Demon Blade of Wrath was weak, no matter how mad the user, it couldn't match the other blades. turns out, no one was angry enough to use it right, until now. | Groggy thoughts...clouded memory...so weak...so weak. The blade had been sleeping for ages, too weak to even reach out for a new wielder. Every righteous hero and every depraved villain who took the blade ended up dead, surprised at how dull the blade was, how heavy and unbalanced it felt. The blade of wrath was anything but wrathful.
Eventually, the last hero to wield the weapon was slain by a great beast, his body falling into a canyon to rot for eternity, and the blade fell with him. Legends spread of a cursed blade that would cause the wielders death if they were foolish enough to take it into battle.
Eons passed, oceans rose and fell and the land shifted. New people came and went, and the blade slept, too weak to do more than slumber...
The Wrath snorted itself awake. It felt warmth and became aware enough to see that something had pulled it from the earth. Excited voices yammering away about finding such quality steel. Steel? Is that what it was? It took stock of itself and realized that in its long rest it had lost its form, becoming a lump of raw material again, even losing it's fancy gems it never wanted in the first place. It was a weapon of war, not a whore to be dolled up. The Wrath slept again.
PAIN! HEAT AND PAIN! The Wrath snapped awake, screaming silently as it was put through a forge, melted and burned. Unable to do anything but experience blow after blow, constant pain, constant heat, constant pressure and cold. It passed out.
Rage...pure rage. The Wrath felt power flow into it. Power it had never felt. True fury filled it and it took stock. It's blade was shortened by more than half, and it only had one, gently curved, edge. It no longer felt a hilt or a guard, just a finely made tang in a luxuriously smooth hardwood handle.
And the pure anger. Whomever was wielding it was slicing flesh and screaming. Red hot, yet controlled fury flowed from it's new and beloved owner into the steel. The blade, already sharpened by a master craftsman, was finally infused with the anger that The Wrath so craved. It sliced and sliced, listening to the song of it's partner.
"DON'T JUST STAND THERE LIKE A BIG FUCKING MUFFIN!" The man yelled as sliced into the meat of his opponent. The warrior screamed at another person. “MY GRAN COULD DO BETTER! AND SHE'S DEAD!" The Wrath was in ecstasy at the thought of yet another foe being slain, as it felt its blade drag through flesh, as it was filled with the pure, undiluted anger of it's wielder!
It finally had enough power, it was sated and could finally see. It was not on a battlefield slicing foes...it was in a kitchen slicing meat...and the man wielding it was screaming at another human. The Wrath was furious at first, it was a blade, made for battle and not a common tool...
...yet...the fury of the man who held it...it was so fine. Maybe this was where The Wrath was meant to be...
He leaned into a young mans face, screaming "YOU ADDED SO MUCH SALT AND PEPPER I CAN HEAR THE DISH SINGING 'PUSH IT!"
...yes...this was right...this was home. The Wrath felt joy as it separated another piece of meat from the bone and drank the rage of The Ramsay. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc ?, Part ?: The Rage of the People v.s. The Boot On Their Throat)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Of course, no single person could power the weapon.** The sheer amount of emotional weight it needed was far beyond what any mortal mind could generate alone. But what if you had a hundred people? What if you had a thousand? What if you had an entire mob of citizens sick of the placid little smiles and *it's all for the greater good*s on TV?
And what if you had one person who could feel all that wrath and *channel* it?
Like its original owner, the blade wasn't much to look at. Mare had warned me not to point it at anything I cared about; those were a scarcer commodity than they'd once been, nowadays, and so I was careful as I raised the simple kitchen knife above my head. In front of me, the hundreds of thousands of people we'd rallied ceased their murmurings and chatterings, turning as the blade caught the sun. The knife amplified my natural empathy a thousandfold—even from this distance, I could feel the torrent of their anger pulsing against my skin. I closed my eyes and let myself sink into that river of memories—
*"I just wanted to sing to the stars. So what if the stars sang back? It was harmless. Why'd they have to take my voice away?"*
*"I didn't want to work for them. I wasn't going to help them round up and press-gang everyone with a spark of magic left in the world. I just want to be left alone."*
*"I miss my father."*
*"I just want to be free."*
I inhaled, and the blood and sweat and tears of the people of Sacrament screamed through my veins and into the knife.
And I spoke.
"Citizens of Sacrament," I said. The knife lay still in my hands—this was not its purpose. Speaking to the people, listening to their tales—those had been my own gifts long before I'd picked up the blade. "You elected me as your mayor because I made a promise. That I would take in the useless, the hopeless, the weak, and I would give them a place where they could become *heroes*. Safe from prosecution, free to pursue their own lives. And standing where I am, looking at all of you..." I scanned the crowd. They were different faces than I'd expected, to be sure. An old woman surrounded by pigeons, a little girl whose eyes shone with awe, a laughing celebrity who even now was livestreaming—I wouldn't have thought that any of them could so much as harm a fly, much less begin a revolution.
But that was the point, wasn't it?
"I can say, without a doubt, that I succeeded." The knife grew warmer in my hand, its time growing near. "Look at you. All of you who came when I called. Standing here to fight for your freedom because you *choose* to, with every sliver of power you could scrape together. *This* is who we are."
The Demon Blade of Wrath sang in my grip as the crowd roared in approval. This, here and now, was what it had been forged to do. I had done the hard part—gathering the people and getting them to rage against the night, to cry out with all their might.
And this time, something answered.
I felt the Demon Blade quest out through all the souls who fed their fury to it, resonating with each until it found the one it needed. An old man born with the power of teleportation. As the crowd's emotions surged, I channeled that power through the blade and into that man's soul.
His abilities multiplied a thousandfold, and space warped around us.
We materialized hundreds of miles away, standing in front of the National High Energy and Temperature Lab.
"*This is what it means to be a Bargain Bin Superhero!*" I screamed.
A hundred thousand voices answered me as I took the first steps towards revolution.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2021-09-18T15:30:23 | 2021-09-18T10:59:54 | 108 | 70 |
[WP] you open your umbrella as the sound of the many tiny droplets of rain hits the ground. You look at your friend who is looking very intently at the rain. "Something the matter?" "There's a pattern" "...what? "There's a pattern" | "There's a pattern."
I frowned. "Dude, what? Did you take something before we left?"
"No. Listen," he said, his stare not wavering from the falling sheets of rain.
I rolled my eyes but obliged. At first, the sound of the rain seemed random, just like normal. But the overall density of the rain did seem to be oscillating.
We had to have stood in silence for at least a minute. The sound of the rain on my umbrella would become louder, then quieter, louder, quieter, louder, quieter. The third quiet would last longer, and then the cycle would start again.
I tapped my foot to time the oscillations. It seemed to be consistent.
"Weird. Wonder why that is," I told him. "Nature's wacky."
"No, look," he said, gesturing out into the rain.
I looked out at the rain, still keeping my attention on the sound of it.
As I watched, it became apparent that the rain was falling in a very strange manner. I could see diagonal lines between clusters of raindrops, as if we were being carpet bombed by the clouds. But after an oscillation, those lines switched directions.
"What the shit?" I said aloud, not thinking.
"You see it?" He asked, his eyes lighting up as he looked at me.
"Yeah, I see it-" I said. But as soon as I did, I noticed one of the quiet parts of the oscillations was lasting much longer than usual. The rain picked up for a moment, but that lasted as long as usual. "What the hell is going on?"
He shrugged.
Suddenly, the rain looked very different, but I couldn't quite grasp why. Eventually, it looked like the raindrops were shuddering.
My friend laughed, but not a twisted chuckle or a maniacal cackle. His laugh was jovial, as if a long standing opinion of his had been vindicated.
All I could do was look between him and the rain in bewilderment. The shuddering of the rain turned into stuttering, and stuttering into jumping. The raindrops didn't have continuous motion. They would be in one position, and then the next.
"Something's lagging," my friend said, his laugh having died down.
I stood still, in awe of what I was seeing, until I processed what my friend had said.
"WHAT?" | The few moments after Jay started staring up blankly into the grey sky felt like eternity, you would never forget those eyes, wide with an emotion that you somehow knew could not really be adequately described or understood even if you studied every single intricacy of human emotion for hundreds of years. It was horror, it was fascination, wonder, dread, acceptance, longing, hope and equal parts confusion and understanding, no words were exchanged for several painfully silent seconds but it was clear as daylight to any friend worth their salt let alone one that thought of the other as a sibling in all but blood that they had seen something that has shaken the very foundations of their reality to the core. Jay was normally the loud one, with the exception of speaking they appeared incapable of not moving, but there they stood still as a statue and silent as a rock as the rain built up into a torrential downpour,
"Something the matter?" you asked in the absence of any better comment to make, painfully inadequate but it was all you could really muster,
"There is a pattern" Jay said in a near monotone voice broken by a small quiver in tone, eyes focused in the distance, towards some secret hidden from your sight in the rain above,
"...what?" came the response from your mouth as your mind struggled to process this,
"There's a pattern" Jay responded with far more certainty,
There was silence again. You knew Jay your entire life but you did not know what to say, what to do, what to even think. Devoid of any other ideas you turned to look at the rain yourself, a chill running down your spine that was something other than the cool wind from the rains.
There was nothing at first, you saw nothing in the drops falling from the heavens, and then something changed. It was quite simply indescribable, the rain ceased to be random, some curtain in reality itself was torn asunder and you were blinded by a light you could not have known existed. The rain was just the start, connections you did not even know came to be painfully obvious, the world you knew broke down and the reality just beneath was made clear. It was as beautiful as it was terrifying, the sheer weight of understanding left you paralysed in the rain, and just as suddenly it stopped and things returned to as they always were though you yourself felt like something profound has changed within yourself. You realised now that Jay had just let go of you then, you did not even feel their touch in the chaos of the sensory overload you had just experienced for a brief moment, how were they still standing?
"What does this mean?" you find yourself asking your friend, a person you thought you knew as much as yourself but now it appears they do not even know themselves in the slightest,
"I do not know." came the answer you expected in your soul, but were still mightily disappointed by,
"Well, at least you seem good enough to talk, let's go inside, sit down, and figure this out" you say with a smile to Jay, slowly they nodded and moved out of the pouring rain,
You did not understand what was happening, it was not really possible to understand really with the limitations of the human mind. Still, when had being unable to understand been a reason to not help out a friend in need? Be it keeping a secret, figuring out identity, dealing with the aftermath of emotional catastrophe Jay was there for you. You were not ready to look into the rain and have your reality smashed with a sledgehammer but you are absolutely ready to be by their side until the world makes sense again. | 2021-11-22T09:26:44 | 2021-11-22T03:55:00 | 71 | 21 |
[WP] Humanity uses orbital mirrors and other space equipment to terraform Venus into a habitable world but humans go extinct before they colonise it. But one day, a new Venusian civilisation finds out that their existence was possible only by the actions of a species that lived before them
I saw this idea in the comment section of the kurzgesagt terraforming of Venus video | "Preparing for entry Miss President, you may want to strap in."
"Thank you Captain"
All along the ship, other languages sound out. Various dignitaries readjust their seats, as do the people next to them. Ordinary people. People who have been raised out of poverty by the concerted efforts of their countries. All over the last half a century.
It was electric, the news. You could feel it jump from person to person like a jungle bug on migration. We all knew what it meant. When someone helps them, you owe them a life debt of the same magnitude. You owe the world an equal debt of repayment as well. Each child knows this, every adult lives it, and suddenly we all knew wat was required of us.
The Great Monoliths were not organic celestial bodies, nor were they the seats of the gods. They were human. That word still tastes strange in my mouth. A recorded message on the one which was labelled with the sigil '1' told us of the terraforming project they were a part of. And the last entry. Of the war.
We can never pay the humans back for what they did for us. Whilst we know the Monoliths were not the god's seats in the heavens, we know that the humans are as close to creators as we will ever have. We can never repay them, for they are gone.
But we paid it forward.
What poverty existed has been eradicated. Whole states, whole people motivated as one to clean ourselves up. Because we had to be worthy to meet them. We had to make them proud, make their efforts worth it. And so with every dignitary, and our most experienced space pilots, rides a citizen once alone and cold on the streets, raised from their suffering and now happy in their life. Our greatest achievement: peace in our time. The human in the recording said it ironically as the bombs fell. We made it our mission.
The astronauts told us that Earth's atmosphere wasn't as dense as ours, so entry felt calmer than we had experienced in test flights. Passing through dense cloudbanks, we all gasped in unison. Vast cityscapes spread before us, equal in size to Ascaro or even Gilanphor, yet they lay in ruins, the jagged fingers of collapsed towers reaching into the sky in pleas for help. The humans appeared to be stonesmiths, a curious method, given how hard it is to shape stone. They were a willful people. Some of us think too willful. Yet if they weren't, we would not be here.
We touch down in a large square in the middle of the ruins. We weren't prepared for the skeletons, not at all. Humans seem to have been small creatures, two limbs for movement and two for interaction, or we guess from the bones piled against the rubble. We all exit the craft, two at a time: leader and citizen, the prodigal children returning with their wealth.
I gulp. It's on me now.
I was picked for two reasons. One, because I am a journalist, so recording the truth is my life's work. Two, because I am considered a great wordsmith.
&#x200B;
So I have been chosen to address our parents.
&#x200B;
"I am sorry we never got to meet"
This dead world can't respond. In the face of such loss, I sink to my knees.
Everyone follows suit.
"You don't know who we are. We come from Venus, from the planet you changed to make your own. Your mirrors fostered life there, though you didn't know it."
I shouldn't let what happened to me come out here, but it's hard not to. Fortunately, I've not been given a script.
"We are your children. We grew up in the lush jungles you cultivated for us, sheltered by your caring hand in the sky above us. We used to think those mirrors were the seats of gods.
Now we know they were the hands of our fathers
We came to late to show you what you made. We came too late to help, even. We come now to promise you that we will be a worthy legacy. We come now with peace in our time to say you can rest now, Father. Mother. You did it. You made peace in someone's time. Your struggles are at an end, and we will never forget you.
Thank you, humans." | *ALcosian year 3376,Planet Zwei ,15:10:23
Our great researchers ,thanks to the blessing of our forefather ALcos Zaban , have translated the lost writings of the 'Steel Ruins ' ,the ruins that surround our homeland since the emergence of the birth of the great race of AL. Today marks the a milestone for our species ,and today we find out the predecessors, and complete a history that is not our own.*
Head of Research unit ,'Blessed by Knowledge ' , Lamiar ::
Finally, today came. All of my life's work,the countless resources poured by the Supreme dynasty, all for this day. A world that existed before us,a species who had surpassed us,who were advanced enough to make colonies not only in their birth planet,but in other planets at well,their knowledge,and.........how did such a mighty species cease to exist ,we will know it all today.
Our researchers have found out the method to use their 'abstract writings',words and letters that only appear through some secluded ,digital means. We still don't understand how can we use this "Abstract Texts " technology for ourselves,but even this shall prove to be a leap of faith. All Thanks To Great AL.
Ah ,now the uncoverings of the translations division will be directly transmitted through the royal mirror ,the mirror that spreads our majesty's words and thoughts,what a great honor.
But still,I am a little concerned ,taking it into effect that Helosn refused to tell me the translations beforehand when I told him to . Because the first rule of wisdom,we must not force someone to expose their knowledge if they dont want to,but even then ,it's really strange. I hope he doesn't sully emperor's name. There,the bell is ringing,the hour of revelation is upon us.
::Heilot, A commoner of Kasot Region, seven hours after
the broadcast of the Before Us::
For a commoner in the great AL kingdom,we are fortunate enough to be able to live under his majesty,knowing that our contribution has no impact full jobs in our society. Even then ,now,my soul feels shaken. After the broadcast of the predecessors, or 'Before Us' ,as people are calling it,we have witnessed something that can be akin to heresy. That can be akin to heresy,but still......
Humans ,as they projected themselves,were different, so the least. Physically,they looked simple, delicate even. Four appendages, bipedal beings,two lower appendages were longer than those two up. But,yet,yet,how were they so strong? How did they conquer everything? There natural conflicts, their natural predators, which were so MANY on earth,and went ahead. Ahead of everything. They created so many things ........they created so many miracles . Miracles we can't even describe. They were also ....strange. They had no definite ruler,they made so many mistakes,infighting among themselves, something I, we cannot even imagine. They .......were equal. Everyone among themselves were same. They had many useless things as well. Things called poems,movies,songs,books,games...........and they were so interested into it all. We cannot even imagine our life without spending our whole life in effort to aid the dynasty however we can. Then........why? Why were they ...so happy? Why did they look right they were enjoying it so much? I don't know.......I DONT KNOW. I can't even imagine how such a mighty species fell.......what was that? A massive pandemic they never found a cure for? Is that how it was? Something that stupid? They struggled from the bottom ,from being the lowest of the food chain ,and conquered the universe....and what did I ,we do? We are born as the only species on Planet Zwei,we can self sustain from sun rays........all there is ,is the thrive to advance. Even then ,we are nowhere near close to those humans? Why? We're stronger,we're completely out of problems human kind faced,as the likes of food shortage and environmental pollution. Then why? What do we lack????? WHY.......why do I feel so inferior compared to those feeble beings who died out long ago? The human race had left us a message there. Probably some kind of last declaration for whoever would discover their legacy. I can still remember those words.
"Whoever you are,know it. Know that we were here. We were faulty. Our vision was dazed,our civilization crippled,our knowledge was stagnated . Yet we never stopped. Our countless decisions, infinite miracles,our never ending struggle was not futile. We hereby declare that human kind takes it last step. And I don't hope you will witness our history noted here,and...........that's all that matters. Fellow species, we welcome you on this ruins of our legacy,in venus".
...........I can't think . I heard emperor restricted those researchers who found this out and still let this be broadcasted.
I'm still feeling dazed.
* ALcosian year 3488,Planet Zwei
The AL dynasty was usurped. The 50 years long war of rebellion found what it was looking for. The rebels ,referring to them as "Neo Sapiens" declared on the day Emperor AL was executed,"we shall make up a new human civilization, and we will continue the legacy of our true forefathers." Although many of our people are extremely skeptic about it. But it is undeniable that it is a new dawn for our species. * | 2021-12-16T03:58:37 | 2021-12-16T00:45:30 | 39 | 11 |
[WP] After hearing "Everything is a weapon to a human," A desperate alien race abducts several humans and gives them ships, random gadgets, and instruction manuals. | The general sat in his chair, nervously staring at his assistant scrambling towards him with a pile of reports. He knew how special these were; they were about the humans. When the war took a turn for the worse, they got desperate, looking for anything to turn the tide. Lost of all options, they put their faith in a simple saying.
"Everything is a weapon to a human."
It didn't make sense. Weapons were weapons. Anything else was... something else. But what choice did they have? The Kri'leen had them on the ropes and if they did nothing, they'd be subjugated within 3 cycles. So, they gambled. A handful of humans provided with some borderline derelict ships, some gadgets, any manual they could get their hands on.
"Well?" the general asked.
The assistant remained silent, only handing the reports over. The general anxiously skimmed through the basics.
"Wait... it says they departed from the hangar 2 hours after we provided them with their equipment. How did they manage to read the manuals so quickly? It would take at least-"
"They, uh..." the assistant stammered. "They didn't read them, General."
A moment of uneasy silence followed as the general stared at the assistant.
"They didn't use them," he repeated incredulously.
"Well, not quite sir," the assistant followed. "They didn't read them but they did use them."
"How-"
"They tossed them into the reactor of a Kri'Leen ship they boarded, completely ruining it."
The silence crept back into the room as the general pondered what he'd just heard. Deciding not to think about it too much, he went back to reading the reports.
The saying was clearly true. Almost everything they had given to the humans was used incorrectly. They cooked their rations together with the fuel, turning it into an immensely strong poison they then dumped into the enemy barracks by... an escape pod. They turned *an escape pod* into a bioweapon. It stood against everything the general stood for, yet... it was a major strategic victory. A child's toy turned into shrapnel. A messaging tool used to completely scramble communications. A ship used to-
He stopped and looked at his assistant with utter shock; the assistant returned his gaze with despair. He knew what the general would ask next.
"What in the Seven Suns is ***a ramming manoeuvre***?!" | The first ship exploded almost immediately. The human had no idea how to operate the sub-dimensional manifold, let alone what the consequences of inverting it would be. Of course, it would have helped should they have understood that putting their appendages in the path of the flickering lights around them would have an immediate and unfortunate impact on their well-being.
The second ship managed to make it through a single jump through hyperspace before impacting a planet. This human had managed to gain a rudimentary understanding of how the strange symbols in the control cube correlated with their relative position in space-time. Sadly, they failed to grasp the importance of the faint symbols that indicated the relative position of distant astronomical bodies.
The third ship did nothing. It remained adrift in real-space, barely emitting any energies as its systems idled. After waiting for what they deemed a reasonable amount of time, the organizers of the experiment boarded the vessel to see what had become of their charge.
First, they checked the bridge. It blinked and beeped without purpose, its interfaces untouched.
Next, they searched the storerooms. Perhaps the human had gotten hungry? But there was nothing there except the pile of nutrient bars graciously provided for the human to consume.
Finally, after many more unexciting and unenlightening adventures through the pristine ship, they came at last to the observatory.
Here, they found the human resting in a reclining position. Strewn around the room were the various gadgets which they had graciously provided in the hopes that the human might work out a way to turn them into a useful weapon against their enemies.
Cautiously, they approached their test subject, mindful of the objects littering the floor. Were they walking into a carefully crafted trap?
As they drew near, the human drew themselves up to their full height.
In their hands, they clutched the ship’s control cube.
Wide-eyed, the experimenters watched in awe.
With one quick flick of their wrist, the human inverted the cube.
The ship immediately obliged, inverting its orientation and sending all parties tumbling towards the ceiling.
Before the sudden splat of impact, the human scrabbled for the cube in a panic, catching it only with the edges of their grasping protrusions and sending it spinning away at high speed.
Up and down became left and right, then right became left and down became up, and everything was upright again, but only for an instant before the opposite was true.
As the living beings tumbled through space, so too did the various gadgets in the room.
And so it was that an unpowered plasma-differentiator intersected with the portable xeno-linguistic translator, and in turn the two collided with the transcendental-relay-transceiver, before hitting the anti-gravity attenuator. Each complicated contraption contributing its own exotic physics into the growing cluster of confusion.
The experimenters began to notice that the observatory was now several observatories inside a singularity that encompassed a handful of higher-order dimensions echoing electromagnetic signals passing through antimatter explosions.
Or, they would have, if they were able to comprehend what they were witnessing.
Watching the fabric of reality peel apart into countless layers of fuzzy fibers is difficult to stomach even for beings without stomachs.
As everything unmade itself in the process of making itself unmake itself, and everything in existence fell out of existence and tore apart the universe in the process, it struck the leader of the experimenters that they had proven the old adage true.
In the hands of a human, literally *everything* is a weapon. | 2022-06-29T05:15:33 | 2022-06-28T23:46:32 | 145 | 98 |
[WP] Movies would have you believe that when a demon possesses someone, they wreak as much havoc as they can before being exorcised. In reality, demons want to stay out of Hell for as long as possible, and what better way than making sure the host and their family really like the possession. | I lean back into the hot, soapy water, closing my eyes and taking in the scents of the candles I had lit. Lauren's phone lays on the bathroom counter, playing her Spotify playlist on shuffle. I had expected to hate her taste in music, but I actually quite enjoy it. I lather my (Lauren's) hair with shampoo and start working out the knots.
Lauren hasn't had the motivation to shower for days. I'm not exactly sure what she was going through, but I figured a nice bath with all the bells and whistles would do her good. Next, I'll start cleaning her room, and then the rest of the house eventually.
Honestly, when I first possessed Lauren yesterday, I wasn't sure if I could handle it. Her house is a mess, her fridge and pantry are rather bare, and there's a bunch of unread texts and emails and missed calls on her phone, from people she probably hasn't talked to in days if not longer. Whatever she's been dealing with mentally, it seems pretty bad. I wasn't sure if this life was actually better than where I had come from. I considered leaving and finding someone else to possess.
But I figured I'd give it a shot anyway. And I came to like Lauren quite quickly, despite not knowing much about her. It seems like she could use a little help, so I thought I'd try treating her to that self-care humans talk about. And honestly, I could get used to this. I'm going to help Lauren however I can. I know I won't be able to stay here long, but I hope she'll appreciate it. | "Father, I must confess something to you..."
I sat in the silence of the cathedral for hours contemplating how to go about my next move, waiting for everyone to just leave so I could lie, but I knew if I didn't it would only be a matter of time before I was found out. We take the Catholics, the priests, the virgins. It's our whole gig. Inflict the most pain by tempting the most devout. But this one was easier to get into. The fit was better, you could say. A dejected daughter of a devout family. A lesbian, go figure. Catholic in name only, as to not upset her folks.
She hadn't come out to them, had kept her head down and came to service every sunday. It's so much easier to climb into the bodies of those lacking faith. They fight less. No prayers to be saved and the like. But they're insistent I go to church. I must confess my sins because I'll burn for eternity if I don't. What a laugh. I sat around hoping I could lie about doing confessional but every blue hair in the pews knows exactly who I am. Don't they have somewhere to be? They've been here all day. A lie is no good if it can be easily disputed.
Needless to say, I needed everyone to think this one was an upstanding member of the church or I won't make a bang. Defeats the purpose.
Suddenly, above the soft jingling of rosaries and murmurs of prayer arose the sound of the massive doors creaking to life. The priest has come out of his cloister. "Shit" I groaned. Off to the booths he went, the little old lady in front of me turns to look at me as if she knew. No one else stood for confession and as I considered just booking it, the hag sharply whispered "Go on. I'll go after you."
Fuck. I grabbed my bag, filled with trinkets that made an awful clatter as it shifted. I gave away my position with keys and cell phone charms. What awful things these humans carry. As I stood I attempted to move my tail below my skirt, forgetting it's not even there anymore. Now I look like I've caressed my own rump and tried to cover for it by straightening my skirt. Why is everyone looking at me? Nosey vermin. I trotted off to the booth in a hurry, rattling and clanking the whole way. Why do I make so much noise?! Even the door to the confessional is so loud. Why are the chairs in here solid wood? Is this actually a torture chamber?
My thoughts interrupted by the sliding of a panel, the priest indicating he's ready to listen... | 2022-10-15T19:19:53 | 2022-10-15T17:45:51 | 84 | 38 |
[WP] It's 2024, Politicians running for office are now required to wear NASCAR style uniforms so everyone can see who their sponsors are. | The recent disclosure laws had been a boon to my career. In the past, voters never had time to actually do the research and figure out who was getting campaign contributions from which companies. So they abolished all previous disclosure laws, got rid of the PACs and Super PACs, and replaced them with a single, simple system: put a logo on your suit for each corporate sponsor who contributed more than $100,000 to your campaign. The size of the logo must be proportional to the contribution.
When the laws went into effect, I was the only one who emerged unscathed. Today was the presidential debate. I stood in a plain, tailored black suit. My opponent, the incumbent president, was decorated head-to-toe in corporate logos. Altria, Disney, McDonald's...the list went on. A massive Google logo covered his entire back.
The debate moderator addressed the President. "Presidant Wilson, the first question is for you. The recent disclosure laws have put a spotlight on your sponsors in the tobacco industry, the fast food industry, and several others. How can we be sure that these corporate sponsors don't influence your policies in any way?"
"Well you'll find that my voting record as a senator, and the laws I've signed as President, speak for themselves. I signed into law the Smoking Education act last year, which definitely wasn't a pro-tobacco policy. So I'm not afraid to do what's right for the American people even if it means not seeing eye-to-eye with my sponsors."
There was a smattering of applause. The President paused, and I saw my opportunity to interject. "Mr. President, with respect, you and I both know that law was exactly what Big Tobacco wanted. By the time it passed through the House and Senate, the funding had been all but removed, and it was bundled with a 2% *reduction* in the nationwide Tobacco tax."
This time I was the recipient of applause. "Senator Harrison, please wait your turn to respond," said the moderator.
"My apologies," I said.
"Senator Harrison, this question is for you. There are no logos on your suit. How are you financing your campaign?"
I cleared my throat and took a sip of my water. "That's a great question. The vast majority of my money does come from sponsors. They just aren't of the corporate variety." Applause broke out, but I continued talking. "It's ordinary people, like those in the audience tonight, who are clamoring for change and are supporting my bid for the White House."
---
My campaign manager Christina and I sat in the back of a limo, riding back to our hotel after the debate. Christina was checking the results on her phone.
"Unbelieveable," she said. "Fox, CNN, MSNBC, all the major networks are declaring a decisive victory for you. You're up four points in polls."
I smiled. My phone rang and I answered it. "Hello?"
"Congratulations, Senator," said the voice on the other end of the line.
"Thanks Mr. Davis. I couldn't have done it without your help," I said.
He laughed. "I really loved the line about 'ordinary people.'"
"Really? I thought it might have been over-the-top, but I guess it worked," I said. "Listen, we need to increase TV ad buys in Florida. I think two million dollars should do it. I'll have Christina work out the details."
"Consider it done," said Mr. Davis. "I'm looking forward to working together once you're in charge."
I hung up. Most people assumed that I had a groundswell of popular support, but that wasn't quite accurate. In truth, my biggest sponsor was the Blacksquare group, a little-known defense contractor whose logo was a black square. My entire suit was covered in it, but I guess some folks don't look closely enough.
---
/r/rpwrites | I buttoned my suit jacket and pushed into the hall, past the throngs of lingering politicos. I knew I wasn't the main attraction but I can't let that deter me. My candidacy is a statement, if nothing else.
I pushed through the crowd, eliciting glances but none of the emotion I was hoping for. Just ten years ago we complained how money was ruining our political system. I thought we'd come to our senses, instead now it's just a game. Well, maybe it was a game before as well, just more blatant now.
I walked into the lights of the stage, the intensity and heat hit me like a solid wall of energy. The crew were buzzing around the set, adjusting hundreds of small details in preparation of the evenings' debate.
"Bit underdressed, aren't you?" a man said from behind, that condescending tone was all too familiar. Senator Barnes from Texas, wearing a tracksuit emblazoned with hundreds of logos, of varying sizes. I tried to maintain eye contact, to discern the mans thoughts, but he was a stone wall behind a wide, pearly grin. I forced down the shudder that threatened to break my confidence. Can't break now.
"Barnes!" another familiar voice rang out. He was wearing a similar suit, and had many of the same logos as his counterpart. Washington's former Governor and current junior Senator had closed the funding gap between him and Barnes in the last few weeks, an impressive feat even if you hated the game they played.
"Milwood, you sonofabitch!" he said with long strides across the stage, his boots clicking faintly against the floor. Barnes extended an arm and clapped the man hard on the shoulder. I heard a collective sigh from the crew, keeping one wary eye on the politicians, like you would any predatory beast. They knew as well as I that their interaction could've drawn blood just as easily.
"You gonna keep things above board tonight?" Milwood asked. I could tell behind the painted grin he was uncomfortable with the interaction. I had a suspicion that Barnes knew full well how he affected people and has weaponized it for political combat. He wanted to break spirits without saying a word, and he'd be quick to claim the moral high ground once he knew his opponent was reeling to pick up the pieces of his shattered campaign. Does Milwood know what he's walking into? He can't make it this far without a minimum of political savvyness.
"Old dog, I am the board," Barnes said as he clapped the mans shoulder again and strolled off, leaving Milwood visibly puzzled. Something happened there, but what? Barnes had decades of oppo research on Milwood, and wasn't afraid to make glancing references to Milwoods' alleged sordid past. Knowing Barnes, that was a loaded statement that could be taken a dozen ways, all designed to inflict maximum damage against political foes. He was good at scorched earth, and could leave the dirtiest bits in the shadows, to remain squeaky clean for the cameras. And I finally, possibly, just saw it happen in real time.
"Five minutes, congressman," a woman with a clipboard said, hardly breaking stride.
If I was to beat Barnes in this election, I'd have to beat him at his own game. Easier said than done. The man who props himself up as the savior of Democracy, the anointed son of America, who claims home-field advantage wherever he may be any given day. How do you fight the man without fighting the image? And how do you fight that image while maintaining one's own? Barnes was at the other end of the stage, strutting as if he'd already won. And quite possibly already had, given the vast sums he'd been able to raise in the early months of his campaign. Dollars vote louder than people these days. I can't change that alone, but it has to change for the better, otherwise our democracy is nothing more than a shallow exercise. And campaigns nothing more than victory laps to our appointed representatives.
This was the victory lap. One of these two men would be President, they've been funded by similar people, and we've reduced it to little more than a popularity contest. I've been all but written off. I was worried about that in the weeks leading up to this event, but now I feel like that may be my greatest strength. Can I bear witness for representative democracy, speak hard truth to power, and do my part to pull back the reins of this reckless system? Is this my last stand? If I don't perform well here, I know that I'll be absent in future events. I'll have to dial this precisely. I'm not one to use Barnes' catchphrases, but I'll have to go hard or go home.
"Places!" the woman yelled, "we go live in two minutes!"
I strolled onto the platform, to the center podium. I at least have that going for me. Here we go. | 2015-06-04T12:40:41 | 2015-06-04T09:46:45 | 338 | 105 |
[WP] A man successfully becomes president but realizes he doesn't want to be president. So, he tries to get himself impeached by doing ridiculous things, but they end up only making his approval rates go up higher. | When I was a young man, I always dreamed about being president. Sitting in the office, making important decisions, all of that. I put my life's work into earning the heart of America. Finally, at the young age of 36, I was elected president.
And I HATED it.
I won't go into detail about why I hated it, but the annoying ambassadors, being pestered by literally everyone who wanted something, I decided it HAD to stop.
I made plans, you see. Great plans. It started with a phonecall to a high school buddy of mine.
"Hey, Jeff,"
"Sup man. What's going on?"
"I have a great scoop for you. Come over here."
The plan was simple. Leak news of a presidential affair. I had a team of the greatest minds choose the ugliest, most unpopular woman for me to "do."
They would hate me. I would become impeached.
That was, however. Not what happened.
It seemed that everyone hated my wife. They hated my new choice, but not as much as my wife. Approval ratings skyrocketed overnight. I got a divorce.
However, that wasn't the last part of the plan. I hired an assassin to "miss" me, and then later tell the nation it was just a publicity stunt.
Now, I'm standing in the front of the White house, screaming racist and evil remarks.
"Screw the blacks and the homeless! The Nazis were right!"
A huge crowd has gathered. This will surely get me impeached.
The secretary of state and vice president are running up to me, screaming something. Probably "STOP!"
I don't care. I'm tired of this stupid presidency.
The Secretary stares at me, still spewing invective like a black snake. He slowly turns back to the crowd.
He and the vice president raise their right arms simultaneously in a salute.
"HAIL HYDRA!" | John Paul was worried. Normally a worried president was normal. With his level of responsibility he would be insane not to be worried. Maybe he was insane though. Ever since his best friend convinced him to run for president on a marijuana and robotic car platform as a joke, John was having doubts. Running for president was one thing, running a country was another. He was in too deep to back out now however. Ever since he completed his agenda in the first 2 years in office his approval ratings were through the roof. Winning another term was also much too easy after he passed legislation easing the immigration process to who ever can afford to buy a government subsidized house could come. Now John Paul faced a legitimate problem. He was tired of office but didn't want to resign and have it look bad. The only other route to cut off the unwanted next 3 years in office was impeachment. Compared to running for presidency it should be a walk in the park. All he had to do would be pass some extremely radical legislation to rile up the House of Representatives and then act insane for a few months and then BAM! He would be out and only know as the president who couldn't take the stress. Part one was the hardest bit. How to alienate both parties? Getting rid of gun restrictions and increasing funding for departments to speed up background checks drove the democrats up a wall. Later passing a simplified universal healthcare bill harder but supported by democrats it easily passed. Phase one completed. Or not. Rather than the public and lawmakers out for his blood, approval ratings were through the roof. The press were calling him the most dynamic president in decades. Fox News was actually singing his praises despite all of it. Now John Paul is rated most loved president of all time. Now John is wondering if he will get any peace at all.
"Frank! Get in here please." Called president Paul. He was mulling over his latest bill that he was considering sponsoring. He wanted for his chief of the staff to make sure that this bill would be the one to finally convince the public he was insane.
"Yes, Mr. President? Do you want me to look over your latest attempt?"
"Yeah. I'm hoping this one will do the trick. This one should do me in, or out rather. Anyway I'm hoping that this is at least brought to the people's attention even if it kicks me. This should be the final draft and it's good to be released."
"Alright I'll read it. Give me a second......damn."
"What is the matter? Do you not agree?"
"No, that's not it at all. I love it but this will either be the greatest thing you've ever suggested or this will get you burned at the stake. Free birth control to all people under 25? Abortions legalized everywhere with only limited restrictions? I don't know. Well... I guess I'll meet you on the other side. Let's release it and send it to the house. It's been an honor Sir."
"I appreciate it frank. Press conference in 1 hour."
| 2015-07-11T13:23:09 | 2015-07-11T13:14:38 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] Suddenly across the globe, large, feathered, rotted corpses begin to drop out of the sky. They are soon identified to be Angels. | It was no small irony that it was the scientists who figured out the rotted bodies had once been Angels.
The religious took several views running the gamut of belief, regarding them as anything from a hoax to a sign of the end times.
Homo celestial was what they were designated as soon as someone managed to get a sample that wasn't too damaged. A older family of hominids, which "evolved" before we had even realised round was the best shape for a wheel. Unfortunately we couldn't tell much more about them, the dead being notoriously quiet, for some reason. We didn't know how they had died (whatever injuries they may have had having been hard to tell, due to the advanced state of decomposition), how many or whether what had killed them, would soon be coming for us.
All in all it could have been worse.
There were less riots than you would thought, and only a few Satan worshippers celebrated, and they kept it quiet.
For six months now, nothing has happened. No unusual deaths, no Gods, Devils or Horsemen. As a whole the Earth is business as usual. Except for Homo sapiens.
We are waiting, but for what we don't know.
Edit: Currently on my lunch break, will probably write a part two later. | "What the hell is that?"
I was stunned at what lay before me. It was what looked like a large bird upon first glance, but was something much worse. It had created a crater as it fell, and in that crater it lay; the body of a human with wings which were once evidently silver.
The one which had prostrated itself in my lawn was a man. A repulsive smell came off him. His once glistening blonde hair was shedding, revealing spots on his scalp which oozed pus and blood. His entire visage was coming apart. His skin was riddled with scars and burn marks evidently from the fall. His feathers were soiled and scattered everywhere. Most of his feathers had fallen off, and blood dripped out of the open wounds on them. The bare skin on his wings seemed as if it was rotting. He was wearing a white tunic and sandals, both of which were ripped to shreds, barely covering him. His hands and back were so wounded that, upon closer inspection, his bones could be made out with the flesh gently peeling off them. He lay in a pool of a black pus-like fluid, occasionally vomiting a bit more of it between his incredibly feeble breaths.
I dragged him in and called an ambulance. As we waited, I took him to my bathtub and lay him in it. He was shaking his head as if to tell me not to turn the water. I did, and the second the water touched him, his skin began peeling off. I turned it off immediately, but it was too late. I pulled him out and lay him on the bathroom floor. The moisture was what was causing his skin to rot, it seemed. The skin had come off almost completely from his foot. He was shivering, almost writhing in pain as his bare bone was exposed. His blood turned deep black, as did the whites of his eyes. He was calling to me, rapidly whispering something.
'Fratres mei ceciderunt... '
"What?" I asked. He didn't respond, and continued
'Q... Q... Que e-est b-b-b-..."
It was as if he couldn't say the last word. His entire being below his stomach was reduced to bare bone. With all his energy, he spoke....
"B-Bestia." | 2016-07-19T06:01:02 | 2016-07-19T05:11:23 | 441 | 216 |
[WP] Your girlfriend has always hated you, and is constantly making attempts to ruin your life. However, everything she does inadvertently makes your life better. Today, ever oblivious, you propose to her. | "Today is the day, I'm going to propose to Sarah," Theodore whispered to his brother Ferguson.
"Dudeskee, I don't think she's right for you. She's spiteful and nasty to everyone."
"Everyone but me. I wouldn't have started my own company if it wasn't for her. You know the story, she told me to stand up to my boss and quit."
The rest of the story Ferguson knew. Theodore would end up getting embarrassingly fired from his software development at Google only to develop his own online security firm. He immediately received financing and is now on his way to being a multi-millionaire.
This is the reason she has yet to leave him yet. She has been enjoying messing with him and waiting for the day he would propose. She wanted her half.
"Theo, baby, I made you coffee," Sarah stated from out of the room. As she walked toward the two men she spit a huge loogie into the drink. "Here you go baby."
"Sarah we are going to dinner tonight, I love you so much we should do something special. Go buy yourself a new dress," he said as he handed her his credit card.
Later that night Sarah purchased a wooden post with his credit card. She took a shit on top of that post. It was a spectacular shit post. She looked at that shit post and cried. | She looked over at him with distain. His bubbly laugh and those rosy cheeks. How the f@*k was he so happy. She wanted to ruin that childish little frame of his, crush the happiness right out of his soul. She wanted him to feel what the real world was like, her world.
They were at a hockey game (yes, god damn hockey). She was determined to hate every minute of it. Make it unpleasant for him just to be there next to her. She forced him to buy her expensive beer and food, refused to stand for anything including the national anthem(she’s a free person anyways right?), and would not cheer for anything. She complained every moment she could; about how it was too cold in there, too crowded, too loud, too smelly, etc. Nothing seemed to phase him, he seemed to get happier the more she tried to make it unpleasant for him.
The ‘Jumbo-Tron' was showing the f*@king kissometer or some stupid sh@t again, panning from couple to couple forcing them to perform acts of ‘love’ in front of thousands of leering spectators. She rolled her eyes. The kissometer eventually stopped its display of pre-fornication ritual and went dark. The announcer came on over the speakers,
“Tonight is a very special night folks for one lucky couple, a man has something to ask a very special woman in his life, and he wants you all to be a part of it.”
The screen came back on, now focussed on one side of the stadium.
Then the camera panned in on her…..and her boyfriend. Oh…..god no, she thinks, she looks over at him as he stands up from his seat, pulling out a ring box, and getting down onto one knee.
“Mary Jane,”
Her mind is racing: Oh please no….this can’t be happening, sh*t, sh*t, sh*t…..what do I do!?
“you make me the happiest man in the world, I could never be without you”
Then it comes to her. Its brilliant. So simple, why did she never see this before? She tried so hard to ruin him and it was right here in front of her this whole time.
“Will you marry me?” He asks, his alcohol reddened cheeks framing his beaming, loving smile.
She stands up, looks down on him, a victorious smile creeping across her lips.Then she says the thing that will destroy the little dweebs will to live:
“No” | 2016-09-15T14:41:49 | 2016-09-15T14:00:59 | 535 | 51 |
[WP] You are a happy, loving pet. Your Master gives you a comfortable, easy life. If only all those people he brought over would stop begging to go home or to be let out of the basement. | Master is cooking something. I crawl up to him and poke him with my nose. “No, not for you,” he says, stirring something green in a pan. “You wouldn’t like this even if I gave it to you. Shoo.” I try and beg but he won’t look at me. “I’ll have some meat for you later, okay boy?” Resigned, I walk over to my favorite spot in front of the garage door. The heater is right by it and it keeps me warm. I doze off to the smell of spices and greens.
I wake to him gently tapping me with his foot. I’m in the way. I scoot a little so he can open the door. “Good boy,” master says. “I’ll be back soon.” I love my master! I am his good boy. I settle back into my place in front of the heater and try to sleep.
I am pushed forward by the force of the door. I let out a whine. He rubs me where I was pinched by the door. “Dinner’s almost ready. Let’s go outside!” Outside! I love outside. Master opens the door and I run out and into the grass. He starts up the grill, and even throws a ball for me! I chase the ball for a while and eat a flower. Master sets some meat in a bowl in front of me. I love my master! He is so fun and good to me. When I am done he takes the bones down into the basement.
After dinner Master stares at a screen for awhile. “Come on, Ben, Bed!” Bed! I run up the stares and jump onto his bed. He scratches me behind the ears for while before falling asleep.
In the morning I am let out to pee. I see a young woman in the bushes. She has a collar just like me! And a muzzle. She must have been bad. I walk up to her and lick her face. She tries to squirm away from me. “Ben, no! That’s Stephanie. She’s bad.” I don’t want to be bad. I whine. “Not you, Ben. You’re my good boy.” I love my master! I love to be his good boy. I follow him inside away from Stephanie who is bad.
Stephanie is gone by the afternoon. But master has brought me more meat! I was so hungry. “Sometimes I wonder if you’re lonely,” says Master. “I am. I’m trying to find another pet. But all of these people are so spiteful and untrainable.” He pulls me into his lap and I lick his face. “I don’t know why I can’t find someone else like you. Someone loving. Someone pliable.” He intertwines his hand with mine. “Maybe if they met you they’d realize how happy they could be if they let me domesticate them. What do you think?” “Of course, Master” I say. Master smiles at me. “Even if I can’t find anyone else, I’m glad I have you,” he says. “You’ll always be my good boy.” I love my Master! I am his good boy.
| I am roused from sleep by the sound of the Master returning.
It was such a nice, relaxing sleep too, and I am momentarily annoyed at being woken, but then I hear the unmistakable dragging sound; Master has brought a guest. This surprises me; last time I saw the guest's room all the spaces were taken. I wonder why the Master has brought another before getting rid of one of the old ones, but I soon let my curiosity go. The Master is strange sometimes and often behaves erratically. He hasn't even fed me these last few days; I am really getting quite hungry.
The dragging sounds eventually fade as the Master takes the new guest down into the guest room, and I begin to settle back down to sleep. Before long, however, I hear the Master coming back up, and hurrying towards my room. I raise my head as he opens the door and steps inside, looking down at me with a very happy expression. The smells hit me a moment later; the stink of sweat and oil, and those foul sprays the Master uses on himself, but over them all is the delicious smell of blood. My hunger grows ever greater as I look up hopefully at my Master.
'Missy, I'm sorry I haven't been feeding you.' He says. 'But I'm gonna make up for that today. Trust me; this is going to be great. Come on girl, this way.' He steps to the side and indicates the open door. I know where he is taking me and make my way into the hall. As I pass him I get the sudden urge to bite, to attack, to *feed*, but I resist it. It is an instinctual urge, made all the stronger by my hunger, but one I must not give in too. The Master is strange, and forgetful, but he is not Master for nothing. I know that if I attack the Master I will die. I have seen what happens to guests that try it, and I will not be as foolish as them.
I make my way to the door to the guests room, which has been left open for me, and begin to descend. Once upon a time Master would have carried me down the steps, but I am too big now. So I carefully climb down, with the Master following slowly behind me. The smell of blood is stronger than ever now, strong enough to easily override the smells of sweat and urine. At the bottom of the stairs I finally reach the guests room. As I had thought; all the sleeping spaces are occupied. The guests look at me in terror through the bars of their sleeping places, and whimper through the cloths tied around their mouths, or maybe they are looking at the Master, I do not know, for my attention is suddenly fully on the unconscious figure lying in the middle of the room.
It is a young female, her naked body slim but not skinny, her hair crudely cut short. Her arms are tied together by the wrists and bound to the far wall, her legs and ankles are similarly bound, and her mouth is gagged. But what catches my attention most crucially is that she is covered head to foot in blood. This close, I can even make out the type; *rat blood*, my favorite kind. The Master must have covered her in it just for me.
'You see; I needed you to be hungry girl.' He says, making his way around me to the female. He slaps her face a couple of times until she awakes, and begins to make muffled cries through her gag. 'You're big enough now, so you're ready for some *real* meals!' I barely hear the Master talk. I am too busy getting ready to eat. I am so hungry and the female is covered in blood and can't move. The Master moves away and readies some small black device on a three legged stand, while the other guests yell and scream at him as best they can through their own gags.
The female's eyes are now fixed on me, her body seemingly frozen in terror. Good; that will make this much easier, but the Master has bound her anyway so she won't be able to fight. Bunching my coils, I unhinge my jaw and begin to feed. | 2016-12-06T17:38:48 | 2016-12-06T16:57:40 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her | “You fiend!” cried the heroine. “How could you do this?”
I let out a practiced maniacal cackle and nodded at her through the bars.
“When the people need you the most, you manage to stumble into my little trap!”
I paced back and forth watching the frustrated heroine stomp her feet and ball her hands into fists. Ah, she was a real beauty. The way her cheeks bloomed and her eyes shot lightning. If I could only keep her in this cage forever – that was actually a good idea. I took out my *Notepad of Evil Schemes and Other Stuff* and jotted it down for the future.
“Think of the children!”
“Oh yes, the poor sweet innocent children,” I said, faking a frown. “Aren’t you going to stop me?”
“Let me out, and I’ll make sure you never hurt anyone ever again!”
“Does that ever work?”
Her scowl grew darker. She grabbed the bars. An electrical discharge threw her backward onto the floor. She groaned and massaged her palms.
“Careful,” I said and wagged my finger. “That’s actual electricity.”
“I noticed…” she mumbled and sat up.
I watched her as she tried to stand again. Her legs were wobbly, and she staggered to one knee.
“What are you waiting for?”
“Oh, nothing. I’m just enjoying the moment.”
I looked out the window. The bus was still dangling from a massive crane. I was running out of time. I needed to let it down before someone actually got hurt.
“I was wondering,” I said. “What if things were different?”
“What do you mean?” she said, narrowing her eyes.
“You know what… nevermind!”
“No, tell me.”
“I rather not, it’s quite embarrassing. Besides, I have a busload of people to finish!”
She stood up again. It was her turn to smile. “You like me.”
“I… I most certainly do not! I am Darkness, the villain that took care of ALL the other villains! I am fear, and I am–”
“Hold up! Did you just say you took care of all the other villains?”
“Uh, no. I mean, I uh… I took care of them, as in, helped them when they were sick… yes, that’s right – apart from my career in villainy I’m also a certified nurse!”
“Aw, I was wondering why you were the only villain left. Now I get it; you took care of them so you’d get more time with me!”¨
“I have no idea what you’re talking about…”
“We’ve fought each other over a hundred times during the last few years. And no one innocent has ever been hurt.”
“That’s because you’re a jubilantly good heroine!”
“No, that’s because you’re letting me win. And did you just say *jubilantly*?”
She was the one locked inside the electric cage, but I was the one feeling trapped. I scolded myself for engaging her in conversation. I knew I should’ve just stuck to my monologue and then hit the button to release her.
“I always receive anonymous love letters calling me jubilantly good,” she continued and winked. “I guess I know who they’re from now!”
“That electric shock must’ve short-circuited something inside your little head. You’re clearly delirious. If you were any good at all, you wouldn’t have fallen into my trap.”
She laughed and slid through the bars with ease. “I just wanted to confirm you were my secret admirer. Now, if you’ll excuse me I have a busload of people to save.”
She flew out through the window, leaving me dazed. This didn’t at all turn out like I had planned. She looked back at me with her cape flapping behind her.
“If you bring a bottle of wine and candles to your next evil ploy, we can make it a proper date.”
*****
Oh, and if you liked it... there's this place called /r/Lilwa_Dexel, and it has a special button that you can click on. Yep. All I'm going to say.
EDIT:
Thanks for gilding this.
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Lilwa_Dexel/comments/65malm/tsun_tsun_dere_dere_part_2/) is now up. Hope you like it! | For the 32nd time in the last ten minutes, Mr. Courageous checked his phone. No notifications. He tossed it onto the wing of the Courage Jet. "Alphonse!"
Alphonse's kindly withered head appeared at the top of the basement stairs. "Sir?"
"Any calls?"
"No, sir."
"Mail?"
"I'm afraid not."
"Has Julie been by?"
"I have not seen Ms. Nightingale since your birthday bash last month."
Mr. Courageous crossed his arms. He tapped his toe.
"Will that be all, sir?"
Mr. Courageous' phone buzzed. "Yes, Alphonse, thank you!" Mr. Courageous ran to catch the phone before it fell of the wing. He had a notification from the Mayor's App. He took a second to swallow his disappointment, then checked the message:
**The schoolchildren of Pearson elementary have been encased in goo!**
"Alphonse! Cancel my plans this evening!"
Alphonse reappeared at the top of the stairs. "You don't have any plans, sir."
"Don't I?" Mr. Courageous stepped into the suit engine. The door sealed shut, steam hissed, and a dozen mechanical arms rushed into action. Three seconds later, he stepped out encased in his trademark bright red combat suit. "What about that gala for the city's underprivileged?"
"Cancelled, sir. And it was next week."
Mr. Courageous hopped into the Courage Jet's cockpit. "Alright, well let me know if anyone calls. Or sends mail. Or comes by to visit." He flicked switches, engines thrummed, and the ramjets beneath the Jet's wheels wound up.
"Have you considered calling her yourself?" Alphonse said.
Mr. Courageous' finger hovered over the launch button. "I don't know what you're talking about," he said. "But let me know if anyone calls!"
He hit the button and was catapulted through the secret gate into the city's skyscape.
*****
Five minutes later, the jet hovered down to the playground at Pearson elementary. The vertical auxiliary engines powered off, and Mr. Courageous vaulted out of the cockpit.
Dotting the playground were greenish-gray, semi-translucent mounds. Mr. Courageous inspected one. Within, a young boy rested with his eyes closed. A tiny smile played across the boy's lips.
Mr. Courageous touched the mound at the boy's shoulder level. His glove sank into the goo to a depth of an inch, then stopped making progress. What's more, he couldn't pull the glove back out. He grabbed the wrist of his stuck hand and heaved with all his weight, but managed only to pull his hand out of the glove. He stumbled backward and narrowly avoided falling into another mound.
"Who would do this?" he said.
A peal of laughter rang across the playground. "It is I! GOO GAL!" A hunk of goo detached itself from the school wall and slithered over. Once it got close, it rose up, solidified, and assumed the shape of woman. She wore clothing -- a hoodie and jeans -- made out of deep green goo. Due to the goo's transparency, Mr. Courageous couldn't make out her face.
"Release the children, Goo Gal!" Mr. Courageous said.
"Never!" A throne of goo materialized under Goo Gal and lifted her into the air. "This is the only way for me to assume my rightful place."
"So be it." Mr. Courageous tapped his wrist panel, activating his combat suit. Powerlines cross-hatched his torso. The rocket boosters attached to his feet fired and he flew at Goo Gal. She opened her arms as though to hug him. His momentum knocked her off her throne and the two of them fell to ground.
Goo completely encased his battle suit. Where it touched his powerlines and boosters, it hissed and evaporated.
Goo Gal said, "Deal with this!" The goo surged forward, pushed into his rocket boosters and deactivated them. It leeched the energy from his powerlines.
Mr. Courageous couldn't move. The only part of him left ungooed was his gloveless hand.
It was then that he noticed that Goo Gal was gasping for breath underneath him.
"Oh my god, you're heavy," she said.
"That's the combat suit," he said.
"Sure it is." She huffed and puffed. "You're stuck."
"So are you."
"Now what?"
Mr. Courageous bent his hand toward his wrist panel. "Why did you attack these children?"
"I told you. It's the only way to get what I want."
"There's got to be an easier way."
Goo Gal turned her face to the side. "Sometimes the easy way is actually harder."
His fingers hovered over the emergency eject button. "Sometimes you have to admit that you're lying to yourself."
Goo Gal's breathing became high-pitched and thin. "Mark, I can't breathe."
"How do you know my name?"
"I can't breathe," Goo Gal gasped.
"Let me help you." Mr. Courageous tapped the eject button. His suit split into segments, and, wearing the slim inner skeleton, he flew up and away and landed on the far side of his jet.
By the time he got back to where they'd fought, Goo Gal was gone.
*****
*more below* | 2017-04-15T10:09:35 | 2017-04-15T09:48:16 | 2,679 | 328 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her | "Solar Girl!" The police chief reveled. "Thank god you're here."
Solar Girl landed and faced the chief. "What seems to be the problem Chief?"
"All we know is there is some poor kid in there with a bomb strapped to him. We don't know where the detonator is or how it works, but we know it's the work of-"
"Quizno."
"Yeah. He's up to his old tricks."
"Don't worry Chief. I know his games. Just tell your men to stand down."
The Chief signaled to his men as Solar Girl lept into the air and flew onto the roof of the building. She kneeled and pressed her hands down and melted a hole in the roof just big enough to slip through.
She found herself hanging from the rafters of an abandoned warehouse. A few lights dimly revealed the place, nearly empty, save for the poor high-schooler tied to a chair, a steadily-ticking device strapped to his waist. Solar Girl recognized him right away. It was Trenton. That jerk in her English class, always bragging about his escapades with the other girls at Franklin High.
She held back a laugh as she noticed the tiara sitting on his head.
"Quite a nice touch Quizno," she whispered to herself. "Okay. Down to business." With her thermal vision she gauged the device. "Hmm. It just ticks," she chuckled, "it's a fake."
She flew down and lighted next to Trenton. He shook his head in a panic, directing her to the bomb with his eyes.
Solar Girl sighed and with a wave of her hand, melted the gears in the device. The ticking stopped. She removed the duct tape from his mouth, quick and painfully, somewhat glad to get some form of payback.
"Yoww! Solar girl! Thank you. You saved my life."
"Don't mention it. Please."
"I have to tell you a message, or else he'll still set off the bomb."
She snorted, "right."
"He said, meet me where this... ass-hat, plays- he made me say that. I had to say that- and sparks will really fly. But you can't be low to see it, you have to be Franklin *High*." Trenton rolled his eyes. "That freakin' nerd. What kind of name is Quizno? Quizno's is a fuckin' sandwich place."
She smiled. "I think it's cute," she said and lept up into the air.
"Wait! Get me out of here!"
"Bye, ass-hat."
She flew quickly and excitedly to the Franklin High football field, where blazing letters across it spelled out P-R-O-M-?
She spotted him on a building overlooking his work and landed across from him.
"Barry? From chem class? You're the infamous Quizno?"
"Uhm, h-hi." | "Execute order Q-T-3.14." The order rings throughout the lair. Rengar grins to himself as his henchmen go about his demands. He is sitting on his best throne, twiddling his thumbs. This has to be it. There is no way that Ultra Man can be *that* dense. He did name himself 'Ultra Man', but still.
He feels butterflies in his stomach as his plans are carried out. Ultra Man should be on his way now. His right leg starts to jitter in anticipation. An unfortunate henchman is passing close to the throne.
"Hey. Henchman." Rengars powerful voice reaches him. He stops and turns.
"Do I look too threatening?"
The henchman is confused. Rengar has never even looked at him for more than 3 seconds before, and now he was asking him what seemed like a trick question.
"Sir, do you not want to threaten Ultra Man?"
"Well-uh" Rengar stammers. "It's all part of...uh..a plan! Yes. I can't have him too threatened already, or he wouldn't follow through with the rest of my master plan."
The henchman nods his head in what he hopes is understanding. "Oh. Well sir, you look just the right amount of threatening." The henchman hurries away before he can be questioned further.
*I need better henchman* Rengar thinks to himself. He hears an insolent meow. *Ah, yes. Fluffums. Right on time.*
He turns slightly in his throne to see his white ball of fur leap onto his armrest. Fluffums lies down to receive pets. Pets are received.
A siren begins to sound across the facility. *About time.* There is a panic filled murmur as the henchman begin to scramble.
Crash!
Ultra Man breaks right through a side wall, on the opposite side of the layer. Rengar is elated. He waits impatiently as he takes out all of his henchman dumb enough to oppose him. *Wow. My henchman are so terrible* Rengar thinks as he watches them fall to Ultra Man's manly hands.
He finally takes them all out. *This is it.* He sprints to Rengar's throne.
"Rengar! How could you?" He asks. Rengar feels even more nervous, but it is time to put on his act.
"I have my reasons, Ultra Man! Have you come to...thwart me?" He asks, still stroking Fluffums.
"You're dang right I'm here to thwart your nefarious plan! Order Q-T-3.14 will put lives at risk!"
"Order *Q-T-3.14*..." he emphasizes. It's no use, "is necessary to prepare for my other, more nefarious plot, A-QT-IC."
"It's over Rengar! I will tear this facility apart to stop you!"
"You would tear down my facility, but you will not hurt me? Have you grown...fond of me, Ultra Man?" he asks. He can feel his future on a knife's edge, ready to tumble either direction.
"Well-uh...I" it is Ultra Man's turn to stammer, "you are...evil, you know."
*Yes! Now time to reel him in.*
"Am I? Do you know what order Q-T-3.14 really is?"
"Well...no, but-"
"And you just assumed it was evil?"
Ultra Man looks ashamed. "...Yes."
"I am buying a house. The real plan was to get you here so that I could ask..."
"Yes?"
"Do you want to move in with me?"
___
/r/Periapoapsis
| 2017-04-15T10:13:56 | 2017-04-15T09:54:52 | 1,686 | 129 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her | It only took Miss Majestic thirty minutes to find her target.
His house was built of dark wood and scorch-blackened steel, twisting malignantly into the sky to form ominous Gothic spires that towered over the rest of the unremarkable suburb. Around it, the neighborhood was going about its Saturday-morning business, the residents seemingly oblivious to the nightmarish structure looming over their street.
Baron Automaton was standing just off the fanged porch, hose in hand, whistling nonchalantly as he watered his yard’s weeds. She’d never seen him without his golden mask before. He was barely her own age, far younger than she’d guessed.
“Miss Majestic!” He shouted as she descended to alight on the sidewalk. “How did you find me in my civilian identity?!”
The heroine watched with a raised eyebrow as her nemesis tensed, raising the garden hose as if to threaten her off with it.
“Seriously?” She asked. “Look at your house, dude.”
He actually did, turning to regard it with narrowed eyes.
“Damn, you might have a point,” he muttered, the fight draining out of him.
“Take me away, then. I’ll come quietly.”
“I’m… actually just here to apologize,” Miss Majestic said, hesitantly. “I shouldn’t have turned you over to the police the other day. I didn’t believe the bystanders when they said you weren’t involved with the bank robbery.”
“That’s alright, I escaped anyhow!” The Baron replied, grinning.
“The police said they released you for good behavior,” she said, raising an eyebrow again. “According to their records, you haven’t actually committed any serious crimes.”
“That is *not true!”* The Baron gasped indignantly. “I commit crimes all the time! I’ve been breaking into animal shelters all week!”
“What for?” She asked skeptically.
“To get a Persian cat to stroke while plotting, obviously.” He sniffed.
“And have you actually stolen one?”
“I haven’t found one with the right temperament yet!” He said defensively. “And anyway, the week before, I seized control of the Grand Central Bridge! Hundreds of civilians had to be evacuated by the police!”
“One of the evacuees was planning to jump,” she said. “You saved his life.”
“Cereal factory bomb threat!”
“The investigation revealed several health code violations. There were harmful chemicals in the product.”
“Airport sabotage!”
“Prevented an international incident.”
“Celebrity kidnapping!”
“Her husband was abusing her.”
“Goddammit!” He yelled, throwing the hose down despondently. “Fine, you win! I’m a shitty villain, okay?! I have powers of invention and an army of clockwork robots, and I can’t even make the nightly news.”
Miss Majestic looked at her nemesis, standing defeated in his hideous lawn covered with sodden weeds, and couldn’t help feeling it tug at her heartstrings.
“Anyway, until our next battle, Baron,” she said teasingly, rising into the air once more. “Try not to get to carried away with… what was it again? Conspiracy to *adopt a kitten?”*
“I don’t know why you bother,” he muttered, looking down. “You deserve a better nemesis. I’m not a very good villain.”
“Yeah, you kind of aren’t,” she agreed. He looked up, distraught, and she winked before turning to swoop away. “But hey, you’re shaping up to be a decent hero.” |
"You monster! Innocent people will die because of you! You better tell me right now where the bomb is!" screamed at me Venera. She looks so lovely when she is angry. Her cute blond braids shake as she is hitting the table out of frustration. I should have thought of getting captured - and getting some alone time with her - way quicker.
"So... what are you doing later today?" I asked her in a playful tone and with a genuine interest and grin.
"What? Is this some sick game to you?!?" the heroine replied with even more intensive anger.
"Playing hard to get, I see..."
"Where is the bomb, you sick bastard?"
"We have hardly met and you are so fixated on what I do and what I have done. You're such a golddigger!"
"Talk!"
"I will tell you if..."
"What do you want? Money? Power? The key to Futuropolis?"
"Don't interrupt me, dear. I wasn't finished. As I was saying - I will tell you if... you go out with me tonight!"
"But the bomb is set to explode in half an hour! We don't have time for that!"
"The note said that it will explode at 18:00, it didn't say today. It is scheduled for tomorrow! Now if you uncuff me, I need to go to a shower and... maybe do some... gardening."
"The lengths I go for Futuropolis..." Venera said while rolling her eyes and uncuffing my hands.
"So, that's a yes! Meet me at Johan's at 8 o'clock."
2 and a half hours and one getting-ready-for-a-date montage later.
This suit isn't very comfortable, now I know why everbody respected Lawyerman so much. But I have to admit, I do look fabulous in it. I hope she arrives. At least I had enough time for reading though the menu. Maybe she likes people who know their beer. Maybe she doesn't know how I look with a suit! It's quite hard to know it's me when I'm not doing the evil Demolitionist gimmick.
- sigh -
She isn't comming is she? It's five past eight, maybe she finds me too repulsive. Oh, who is that woman in the light blue dress and - oh my God - cute blonde braids... It's her! She takes a long look around the restaurant until she notices an empty seat next to me and a visually excited me. I better do a wave or a smile so she knows it's me. She sighed. Maybe I overdid it. Here goes nothing!
"Hi, Ven--"
"Shh! It's Jeniffer."
"I like your name. I guess it should be only fair if I said mine. I'm Brandon."
"Well, hello, Brandon, I guess..."
After a 30 minutes of awkward silence and even more weird looks thrown each other's way, the only relief being the waiter who took the order.
"You look worried. Is something bothering you?"
"Oh, nothing. Or maybe, just maybe, it is the setting we both are in. I swear, I tried to kill you six days ago and now we are sitting at one table at one of the most normal restaurants in Futuropolis. Is something bothering me? Maybe the people who are held hostage just for this morbid date to happen."
"Oh, that. Well, you can be reliefed as there is no bomb. I made that up."
"But why?"
"I really - and I do mean really - wanted to meet you and... I sort of have a crush on you. And it may or may not be the reason why I became a villain in the first place."
"I'm speechless. You did all that... just to meet me? All the murders--"
"I haven't killed or injured anybody."
"All the destroyed buildings--"
"Abondened and scheduled for demolition."
"All the bank robberies--"
"That was payback for the housing market fall."
She let out a giggle, at least I did something right this date!
"Call me quick to change my mind, but my view of you changed for the better. Maybe there is a chance for something here."
Brandon changed for the better, Jeniffer decided that Futuropolis had enough heroes and she could leave her mantle of Venera. They had 2 strong years together until Brandon got sick of her clogging the drain with her long blond hair. Then he decided to go for a simple demolition job position and leave his life of crime and heroines behind.
| 2017-04-15T13:04:28 | 2017-04-15T12:37:54 | 50 | 16 |
[WP] You travel to the year 1800 and hand the nearest person a calculator. You hurriedly explain how to use it and travel back to the present. How has time changed?
Feel free to replace the calculator with a small electronic device of your choosing. | "You Ready, Jim?"
"I think"
"Remember, you'll only have 30 seconds. I have no clue where you'll be, but it should be populated if all the math worked out properly."
I never trusted Frank's math that well. He got expelled from MIT for neglecting his studies to focus on our band; but most of this math wasn't his anyways. I wonder if Professor Daniels even realized his research had been stolen. I doubt he had told anyone else about it at the university, and it was likely he wouldn't want to; this was some serious shit.
Frank placed something in my hands, which I couldn't see with the damned helmet on. A cool metal was intermingled with a tangled mess of soft rubber.
"Frank, you couldn't have untangled the headphones for me?"
"I swore I had just untangled them!"
"Christ, never mind. let's do this."
Nobody ever appreciated our band. Apparently baroque-metal fusion was not top of the charts material. So when Frank caught wind of what the mess of papers on Daniels' desk was referring to, he came up with the genius plan to "insert" our new genre into history itself.
"If we can't bring back classical, we can take back rock!" he had said.
He told me it would be painless. It wasn't. It felt like my entire body was being tattooed at once. At several points the force felt as though it was playing me like an accordion, stretching me outward from all directions and then pushing me inward, as if a gravity well was located within the space between my ribs.
As suddenly as it had started, the pain stopped. I looked around to see I was in a dark room with a man who looked particularly displeased to see me there. I reached for the mp3 player in my coat, loaded with our band's music. I hurriedly looked around to see that it was just me and this man.
25 seconds left.
"You'll have to do."
I handed the device to the man, his angry looking hair accentuated his displeasure at me.
"Put these in your ears and then hit this button to use it okay?"
15 seconds left.
He clearly didn't understand me, since he was trying to open the player as if there was something inside of it. "Christ, Frank, you put me in a non-English speaking country didn't you?"
10 seconds left.
I put the earpieces up to his ears and mimicked pressing the play button so that he would get the idea. He seemed to understand me, and I thought I heard him mumble something in German.
5 seconds left.
I checked the headphones to make sure they worked. There wasn't much battery life on the player either, but I figured if they heard anything it was better than hearing nothing at all.
3 seconds.
As I prepared for departure i heard footsteps outside the room.
2 seconds.
I heard a woman call out a name, muffled by the door.
1 second.
"Ludwig!"
The pain started again. It was somehow worse the second time. When I felt the pain stop, I had a sinking feeling in my stomach.
"Frank! Did anything change?"
Frank checked the top charts. Still the same garbage pop it always was.
"No, nothing."
"Fucking shit, Frank. I fucked up."
"Why?"
"I think I gave it to Beethoven."
| I wake up early, make my coffee, take a shower, and finally, I'm ready. "Today I'm going to do it," I think, "Today I change the world forever." Down the stairs into the basement, I go. I power the machine up, and I'm ready to go. Then I remember I'm waiting on James. I pull out my phone and send a text. "Where r u?" is all I say. No response, and now I wait. After what feels like an eternity I hear the door to the garage open, then the kitchen door. My dog starts barking, then I hear James' voice, "Shhh it's just me Bruiser." Bruiser starts making a quiet whimper. The door to the basement opens, James comes down the stairs, I get up to meet him. "Do you have it?" I ask. "Of course I do," James responds, "What do you think I spent all that time doing." I ignore this and tell him to give it to me. "Okay okay, here." I take the box from his hands. "I don't see why you wanted the the 89 though, the 84 would have worked just as well," James says. "Because," I respond, "the 89 has a built in algebra computer, it's so easy a moron could use it." "Well, what if they run out of batteries?" James asks. "They won't, I have extra," I respond, "Now come start the machine." James clicks the starting switch, I climb into the pod and open the box, there it is inside, the TI-89. "Let's go change the world," I say as the white light flashes.
It's quiet, I hear the sound of birds flying overhead, I open my eyes and pull myself off the floor and look around. The alley is dark, gross, and smells like piss. "It worked," I think. I run out into the street and see a young man with a top hat, overcoat and a cane walking. "Perfect," I think as I move towards him. "Excuse me," I shout as I walk up to him. He turns around and looks at me,"Yes, my good man?" he asks. "Umm hi, I have something for you," I say as I stumble around in my coat pocket. I pull the calculator out of my pocket and hold it out to him. "This is for you. You type the numbers into it, and it will do the math for you." The man looks at me for a second with a skeptical look on his face and then starts speaking. "Sir, is this some kind of a joke?" "No sir," I say, "It's real. Use it wisely." The man stares at it for a second then starts speaking, "I'm a--" I don't hear anything after that, the light appears again, and suddenly I'm back in the basement.
"You're back," James says. "Yeah," I respond, "Let's see how the world's changed." We walk out of the basement, my house seems the same. "So am I still the same?" James asks. "Yes," I respond, "You're protected in that room, so you have nothing to worry about." "Okay good, because I was like really unsure," James says. We walk outside, everything's the same. "Shouldn't that be different?" James asks. "Let's go check the computer," I say.
James is sitting at the computer, I'm pacing around the floor. "Something should have happened by now," I think. "Search TI-89, 1867," I say to James. "Nothing," James responds, "Oh wait, here's something, Rupert Holmes, noted math professor claims he was given a magical math device by an angel, however upon being examined by professionals they found no evidence of it doing anything. According to Baden-Powell, "The device didn't even turn on," Rupert Holmes was sued for lying, and on his deathbed confessed that he burnt the device in his fireplace." "James," I say, did you put batteries in the calculator?" James looks towards the ceiling for a second and then says, "I thought they already had them by default." I sigh, get up and walk back into the basement, "Round two, I'm bound to get it right eventually." I think as I close the basement door. | 2017-06-11T12:31:28 | 2017-06-11T11:27:30 | 28 | 15 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | There were four of us. We'd meet every couple hundred years and discuss the pranks we pulled on the mortals. Such good fun the mortals were. So easily susceptible to manipulation. Would we be so simple if we lived less than a century? Barely the blink of an eye, I can't imagine that being my entire existance.
"Ok, I got a good one," I said as I sipped my poisonous drink. Since we were immortal, alcohol didn't even affect us. Cyanide for me, Arsenic for Tom, and Mercury for Bill. John was the sober one. "It kinda built off yours, Bill."
"Oh?" Bill cocked his head.
"Yeah, remember when you got the primitives to waste precious resources building huge monuments when they could've been feeding themselves?"
Bill laughed. "Yeah, those Egyptians were a fun bunch."
"Well, I got the Americans to think they're being controlled by them."
"What?!"
"Yeah. I just leave pictures of pyramids and triangles around, and they just take it from there. So many are convinced there's some secret society pulling the strings."
All three of them burst laughing.
"Wait," Tom said. "So all you had to do was put some pictures around, and they think there's some society controlling everything?!"
I laughed. "Yep. Just added the pyramid to the dollar bill and it took off."
John shook his head. "A secret society of mortals. As if they could organize anything. Some of them still think my costume is a real animal, they call it bigfoot."
"Can't they tell it's a costume?" Tom asked.
"Oh, I use an active camoflage to make the area appear out of focus so they never see me clearly." He showed us a picture, and indeed, you could barely tell it was him. As immortals, we also invented a few things here and there.
"I've been sinking ships at the Bermuda Triangle," Bill said.
"Dude, people have died," I said. "I love it!"
We all burst into laughter and clinked our drinks together. Except for John. Fucking John. | With a good, long stretch and a healthy yawn, I woke up from a deep, refreshing nap. You know the kind: there's nowhere to be, nothing to do, and no demands on your time. I smacked my lips and rubbed what remained of my sleepiness from my eyes.
As I became more aware of my body, I felt a sharp pain at my backside in one of those hard to reach spots. Whenever I grazed up against, well whatever it was, I felt a slight twinge like someone had stuck a small needle in me - nothing too bad, but incredibly irritating.
What the hell, did I roll over something sharp in my sleep? I'm used to the odd ache here and there, but nothing quite this persistent. I turned around to see if I could get a good look in the light. Yeah... maybe that's what it is, but it's *tiny*. This is going to bug me all day if I don't figure out how I can possibly get a good look at this thing, much less get a good enough handle on it to pull it out.
Maybe I just wont think about it and I won't even notice it's there. I've been through worse, **much** worse, this is really a mild annoyance compared to some of the things I've been through. In fact, if you put everything on a chart that measured just how rough things have been in my life, you wouldn't even be able to see this with a telescope. Besides, there's probably lots to do and see, I've been out for a while...
...oh no...
"Oh god, are you okay? Tell me you're okay."
What did I sleep through, how did I sleep through this, what even *happened?!*
"Come on, speak to me, snap out of it! You have to wake up, you just have to..."
This isn't real, I'm dreaming, I have to still be dreaming.
"What happened? Please tell me what happened to you. Just say something and let me know things are okay. Who did this?"
I was spinning, unable to leave my friend's side as I paced around her, completely positive that she had died some time ago. Her body was ravaged and ruined, a used-up husk of its former beauty. It was like a plague swept through her and burnt her out completely, leaving this... scarred waste behind.
What a twisted answer to my prayer to forget all about the pain in my rear.
"WHO DID THIS?!" I yelled hopelessly into the void.
---
Millions of years ago:
"Psst, hey Mars, check this out."
"Oh, ew, gross, what the hell is that? Earth, you're disgusting."
"I know, right? I figure I keep these babies around long enough, they'll jam a pole in the moon's butt."
"You're a grown woman, act like it. The moon isn't doing anything to you, she's just minding her own business."
"Whatever nerd, this is going to be awesome. Hell, maybe I'll even get some of them to jam a pole in your ass."
"Look, I don't want any part of this. Do what you want, I just think it's a bad idea."
"No way, dude, this is a fuckin' *rad* idea." | 2017-06-22T21:50:06 | 2017-06-22T20:03:21 | 679 | 189 |
[WP] You and your immortal friends amuse yourselves with practical jokes. Since you're immortal, some of your joke setups take centuries, or even millenia, to execute. | "Order order " Simon yelled above the noise. Banging a rock on the table to drown out the chatter.
As the previous winner he was tasked to head the meeting and make sure we actually presented something and not just drink the whole evening.
"Order order I declare the 2016 Practical jokes meeting of the immortals opened " he banged the rock again just missing James' hand. "As you all know" he started the customary speech we heard hundreds of times and knew by heart "We agreed to this since 1453 majority vote will decide."
"Now who will start?" He glared at us.
"Come on j-man you know you're up first" I said everyone chuckling we still hadn’t forgiven him for his actions when we first met.
He sighed and stood up. He took out his phone and slid a movie up the TV screen at the end of the table. A promotion video for the King Abdullah Economic City began playing.
"I convinced the Saudi king to spend a 100 billion on a city in the desert nobody will live in." His eyes went over us hopeful.
Some clapped.
"Wait didn’t you do the same several years ago when you convinced the Chinese president to build that copy of Paris in the middle of nowhere?" Thomas suddenly said.
Booing followed by some bread quickly made him sit down.
"I have a better one" That was Andrew, last time he won was in the year 2012 when he made people believe the world was going to end.
He swiped and Kim Jong-un’s head popped up the screen with a giant arrow pointing at his hair.
"I talked him into that, and then made it illegal for men to have a different haircut in the whole of North Korea"
A chorus of clapping and “not bad” made him beam with pride.
Time to end this I figured as I stood up and swiped up my presentation.
"Nooo" Matthew yelled pointing at the screen . “I knew it had to be one of us. You got really lucky you know that."
"Luck" I scoffed as others now stared at the screen "You are forgetting who held the Roman Empire together for centuries?" I clicked and the next slides appeared : genealogy records dating back centuries intersected by pictures of the leading men of the country the pièce de résistance was a painted picture of someone that awfully lot looked like him pointing at an old wooden ship named "Santa María" sticking up his thumb.
Most at their mouths were hanging open by now "Over 500 years?" Simon almost stuttered.
I nodded "Yeah finding the land wasn’t that hard getting the right amount of nationalism, zealots, religious fervor and plain desperation was hard to get.
"And the hair “Thad yelled "Tell me that was planned as well"
I simply smiled not wanting to tell that was a freak occurrence in the genetic makeup, well it all worked out in the end.
Behind me my practical joke was blabbering about how he was going to put solar panels on his wall.
| We did it. We finally pulled it off! Yazbak was always so high-and-mighty and we finally put them in their place. The look on their face when they finally got the notice was priceless.
Sure, the dinosaurs were a nice touch. Eating, basically all of our other creations, both plant and animal; it was a great retort for having made all of the oceans water undrinkable. Round One: Yazbak.
Humanity was a clever little twist planned out by Hez, always waiting for an opportunity to build from nothing. If anyone could make lemons into lemonade (credit there too, literally) it was Hez. We always liked Hez.
It was dark when we all got together last, the meeting place was always so... exposed during the daytime. Despite the darkness, however, there was a noticeable difference to Yazbak. It had taken form. Now, a slender female human, tallish in the modern way of humanity but not too-tall that it seemed out of character. There was something about how she carried herself now that seemed like she didn't quite fit, like the suit wasn't tailored as well as it could have been but it wasn't unflattering, or was it?
The meeting wasn't long. Items of issue were doled out, things to be corrected were answered and old reports from the last meeting were resolved. All-in-all a very productive meeting indeed. No one of us could have predicted the Nazi's. It was known that occasionally the universe, and humanity, has a way of playing their own jokes from time-to-time. This was no joke, however, and it was unanimously decreed that we should take efforts to ensure that the planet not be challenged like that again. Two-point-three BILLION people were at stake. You're always happy to see your children leave the nest and fly on their own but when they start murdering each other en-masse it's time to step in. Death is no joke.
Time had passed and everything was looking great. Yazbak was pulling all of the right strings, things were falling into place, some of the others had taken forms as well, some were settling in to more mundane rolls across the globe. Hez was prime minister somewhere and doing a bang-up job, It was the perfect opportunity, we couldn't resist.
Snow was everywhere. We liked snow. It was a fun little way of using some of all of that damned water Hez was always going on about. They forgave you for that whole salt water thing, eventually, and now you had inadvertently made snowmen and skiing, all was forgiven. Our favorite thing about this whole project was the unintended positive consequences. No one planned Van Gogh or Renoir or Monet, they just happened. Sure, sometimes a Bieber or Kanye happen too but you just have to roll with the punches when they come.
A helicopter appeared in the distance, the blades whipping up loose snow into a frenzy. Little particulate water crystals blazing about gently stabbing us in our new human form. He had such an air of dignity about him for someone so callous and brash, he wore it well, true, but so undeserved. The bunker was... quaint, you know he has more elaborate bunkers but this was his way of saying he doesn't quite trust us yet. No matter, this will do. Vladimir always had a way of putting people in their place which is *exaclty* what we were counting on.
We got caught up, everything was in order. The suitcase was exchanged and a small envelope was placed on the table. He said that he knew "just the guy" for the job and a glimmer of mischief sparkled at the corner of his eye. The picture in the envelope was hideous, these humans have such a weird sense of humor, and pleasure, but no matter, we hadn't laughed that hard in a long while. We slid the portrait of the little orange man back into the envelope with the other less savory images. Vladimir was smiling, "this'll do nicely, very nicely indeed," we chuckled. The game was on and oh man was it going to be a doozie. | 2017-06-23T00:17:04 | 2017-06-23T00:05:18 | 35 | 10 |
[WP] "humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
Edit: Seems someone has already written a piece perfect for this. Check it out, would highly recommend.
https://eyeofmidas.com/scifi/Turtledove_RoadNotTaken.pdf
Edit 2: Thank you all so much for your stories! im going to read all of them :) | *What a disgusting species*. Hermes thought as he and the survivors of unit 17 entered the ship.
"Had I known we were landing in a militarized zone, we would have been better prepared."
The fight was over almost as soon as it had begun. There were so many of them and so many shots fired, that it seemed like they didn't even have to reload their weapons. They hid behind walls and vehicles while firing into the front line.
"Disgusting cowardly wretches."
No matter, they had made it back to the ship and it's plating would hold them at bay long enough to enter orbit and rendezvous with the mothership. Although Hermes unit had suffered a humiliating defeat, he knew the other units had probably fared much better.
When Hermes opened up the comms center chaos and confusion was everywhere and then he heard it; The general order to retreat. How could it have gone so wrong? The intelligence reports said they hadn't even made it off planet.
In the distance Hermes could see hundreds of dropships lifting off the ground. Once they were in the air they received the order to drop the bombs. Cowardly, but under the circumstances it was warranted. Hundreds of the enemy would be killed, but that's what happens when you resist the Dominion. He smiled as small puffs of smoke expanded hundreds of feet below. His bliss was interrupted when the first dropship exploded in midair, the enemy had airships.
Hermes accelerated to top speed. If he could make it in range of the mothership he would have cover fire long enough to dock. In what seemed like an eternity, countless dropships had been destroyed, but he and the rest of unit 17 were going to make it. They were in range of the mothership and it seemed like the airships had turned away in fear.
On the far side of the mothership there was a flash of light, brighter than a star. Hermes didn't understand what was happening, but as the mothership started to fall he knew he would never see his family again.
Edit: Formatting is more difficult than I had imagined. | "Humans don't appear to be to advanced, they haven't even discovered intergalactic travel, should be a simple invasion." Said the alien cleaning his musket.
The gnarled general gave him a look halfway between amusement and disbelief.
His ears twitched before settling back into their wavy slow pattern.
"You know this how? From the couple of days we've spent here?" the old man asked.
Djerza held the barrel of his musket up, eying the line of its smooth surface for any warps or bends. Ignoring the question.
"Fools, all of you. I thought the Zanta failure would have taught you not to underestimate our enemies."
At this, Djerza sat up and sighed. The quick flash of ears pulling back betraying his anger at the remark.
"The Zanta had help. In any case, this is not a discussion general. We leave tomorrow, have the troops ready."
The general nodded slowly. "I do admire his spirit though, what was it again he said?"
"It is easy for me to die, but difficult to let you pass" Djerza said smiling, his sharp teeth black as night.
-------------------------------------------------
Guns flashed and thundered all around him. The ground itself shaking as pieces of mud flew past him.
Djerza ignored it. The cannons were interesting, primitive but powerful nonetheless. He quickly approached the line of enemy soldiers.
He'd started running after their last volley. With too few soldiers left for staggered shots, he'd have more than enough time to close the distance.
His own musket spent, he charged ahead with the bayonet at head hight. A few steps before impact, he saw the fear spread across their faces.
Fear not just of war and death, but fear of him. Fear of this thing that was barreling towards them and that was decidedly not of their own species.
He howled and lost himself in the bloodlust.
Twelve hours laters, three thousand had fallen. Men, women and children. Even the animals had been killed.
His clothes were dark with earth and soot and clung to his skin where blood had soaked the fabric.
Of course none of his own had fallen. Well at least none of those truly his own. Technically their side had suffered losses, but that was to be expected. He did not really care if these humans died. But they had entertained him well. This passion for killing, he'd not encountered it for a long time.
He heard the general walk up before he saw him. Demon of Dongnae the human soldiers had started calling him. Djerza felt a stab of envy.
But then again, he'd taken Song's head himself, that was no small feat considering the weapons they'd been forced to fight with.
The general finally spoke "It was a good battle my Lord. I assume we will be staying longer?"
They were young and obviously lacking in finesse, but they had so much potential. Humans fought and died with so much vigor. The Hunt would be glorious if they'd just grow up a bit, and his clan would hold the rights.
Djerza twitched his ears in pleasure. "Yes, yes general. I think we will.". | 2017-08-08T08:40:18 | 2017-08-08T07:55:11 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | "What the fuck" I thought to myself. This job was supposed to be boring, given my... powers. This wasn't supposed to happen.
See, I was a bouncer at a bar. I wasn't the most imposing person but I had a unique trait. I could tell anyone's age without seeing a license. The numbers just kind of floated above their heads. I realized I was special at a young age when I asked my fourth grade teacher, mrs. Jimenez, why the new boy was three years older than all of us. We had to have a special meeting with the counselor and my parents. It freaked them out pretty bad when I was able to tell the counselor that I knew she was seven years older than she said (looking back I think she was trying to start a relationship with one of the younger teachers). It took a couple of years to learn to not notice and just live life but I managed to find a way to use it to my advantage when I got this job.
I streamlined the front door, no wasting time carding people, usually I just stood next to Big Jake (he was a left tackle at the local college and an absolute mountain of a man) and told the underage kids to leave before they wasted our time.
Tonight was terrifying though. We expected a rough crowd once a month when we hosted fight night. It was common practice in rural Midwestern towns, usually one or two bars would set up a ring and let local fighters put on the nights entertainment. Typically fight night made us sell out of pbr and bud light, with exactly the crowd you'd expect. We always had to break up two or three extra curricular fights but it was no big deal to me, I never did the dirty work, I protected our liquor license.
This man terrified me though, four digits were hovering over his head. I leaned into Jake and whispered "something's wrong, ask that guy for I.d." The man didn't look strange, except his hair was straight out of the 80's, mutton chop sideburns and all. He wore a leather jacket over jeans.
The expression on Jakes face was pure confusion. He asked the man and he pulled out a Canadian passport, which was strange. It said he was in his 50s, which was also strange because he didn't look a day over 32. I didn't know what to do so we let him in.
He caused no problems, he came to fight and ended up winning two matches and pocketed 200 bucks, drank two beers and left. He barely said a word. The next day I tried to put him out of my mind. By a week later I had gotten past the shock of it and tried to move on, but the next day life got really strange.
I was home for dinner with my parents when the doorbell rang. They answered and several minutes later my mother shouted for me to come into the sitting room. An old man in a wheelchair was sitting there and behind him stood five people, on of whom was the 1000 year old fighter. I was shaken as the old man began to speak, "hello James, my name is Charles Xavier. I believe you've already met my companion Logan..." | "DAD!" I shouted, as I slammed the front door to the house behind me. I was in a state of near panic, frantically trying to take my dress shoes off, as I shouted for him again, "DAD!"
I heard noise from the living room, the springs of my Dad's favourite chair protesting like they always did, from age and use, as he stood and called back, "Trent? What's the matter?"
Relief washed over me at the sound of his voice, and I managed to finish ripping off my shoes. Unable to form any words, I simply rushed down the short hallway, to where he was coming into the other end, and threw my arms around him. The weight of my rail-thin 13-year-old frame barely moved him, and after a split-second of surprise, he wrapped his arms around me. Dad was the only one I could talk to about this. He was the only one who knew about my power, the only one I dared trust.
Despite being dripping with sweat, I was shivering, but after a couple of moments in the comfort of my father's arms, I was able to draw a ragged, deep breath and center myself. I eased off the death-grip I had around my Dad's ribs, and backed up a half-step. He moved his hands to my shoulders as I backed away, looking worriedly at my face.
"What's going on buddy?" He asked.
"I... ju... th...," I stumbled over my words, and took another calming breath. "I was working at the dance, for the golf club, like we had talked about, as the entry-man." The school loved their 'clubs', and loved using them for 'volunteers' for events like this. I honestly hadn't minded this one. It was far better than the Halloween clean-up crew 'volunteers', or the 'stack 200 chairs the morning after a meeting in the gym' jobs. I had even joked with Dad about this being good 'bouncer' training for when I was older.
I'd make a perfect bouncer, you see, because of my gift. I can read people's age, can see it just over people's heads, almost like a digital clock. I learned young not to talk about it, learned that it wasn't 'normal', but I was fine with that. Only 3 people in the world have ever known about it. Myself, Dad, and Mom while she was still alive.
Dad nodded for me to continue, as I searched for the right words, "We were set up at a table by the fire exit to the gym. I was checking school IDs, and Nick was stamping hands, and it was really cool, and it was a good time. Most of the kids from the school were already inside when Vincent Holst showed up with Daisy Redden."
Daisy Redden was *the* hottest, smartest, most sought-after girl in our Junior High. I had a crush on her, and my dad knew that, but *everyone* had a crush on her. The Holst family was fairly enigmatic in our town. Vincent, like his parents, didn't socialize much.
I had paused for a second as the memory of their arrival came back to me, fresh again. Dad prompted me, "Is that what has you upset, Trent? A date?"
I shook my head, freeing myself of the image, and refocused on my Dad's face, "Wha..? No, no, not that at all. Dad, Vincent was dropped off by his parents. They came over to the table to pay for the entry fee. That.... that's when I saw their numbers." I began to shake again slightly.
"Why does that have you so worked up?"
I tried to keep a steady voice, but it cracked and broke as my throat ran dry, "Because his Dad's number was Eight Hundred Ninety-two, and his Mom's was.... was... One thousand Two Hun..Hundred and Forty-Fi..Forty-Five."
I'm not sure entirely what convinced him of my sincerity that night, but he stood there and just looked at me for a while before he spoke.
"Pack a bag." | 2022-05-25T21:41:20 | 2017-09-02T00:12:30 | 1,321 | 14 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits. | I've got about 20/200 vision; however of the blur in the string of crowd to my left, each digit in the jumble of numbers still has clear edges, like a bad photoshop. I don't even bother to make them out until they step closer though, so that the smoldering numbers are silhouetted by the darkened buildings eventually behind them. I motioned to the door to my 5 o'clock and the group nearest went past, then behind me through the door. It was drizzling, and in-between each vague gesture of invitation I brought my head down to stare at the relaxing splashes on the pavement in front of me, periodically obscured by my breath. The rain made everyone impatient, but the man to my left stepped forward slowly; still in front of the crowd behind him. Unmoving, my eyes wandered from the calming spatter to his ragged moccasins. He then said something in an unfamiliar accent, that didn't manage to break through the general hum of the crowd. I finally moved my head. 7219. I squinted and, still staring at the monoliths aligned above his head, I said, "Seventy-two? What are you doing here?" He didn't look seventy. His eyebrows twitched up, and then he put a shit-eating grin on his face. That unfamiliar accent, his expression and the situation grew unconsciously on my nerves. 7219. I grabbed his sleeve and pulled him closer, expecting the seventy-two to part from a nineteen behind him. It didn't. I stood up from my stool
as far as i got, not a writer obviously, but this prompt was way too interesting not to imagine up a scenario about
editedit: i think i'll finish this story later tonight, if anyone cares lol
| 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-01T23:35:54 | 585 | 11 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | "28 today," you say to yourself looking in the mirror. Of course you know today is your birthday today, but it also helps that while looking at the mirror you noticed the number above your head changed from the [27] you saw yesterday.
You leave to go to the liquor store to pick up some booze and celebrate. While in line you see this scrawny kid two prople ahead of you. He looks really nervous, you laugj yo youself when you figure out why as you look above his head. [17]. The kid gets to the counter, hands the clerk his "ID," who says that he better run before he calls the police. The kid scurries away.
It's always been a gift of yours to be able to see the age of people. Thanks to your gift it was pretty simple to find a job befitting of it to get out of doing some actual work. What better fit that a bouncer for a bar. Besides this gift you were also gifted with size, 6'6 and 300 lbs was another big help when applying to be a bouncer.
With your secret ability you became well known in town as THE bouncer. Sure you looked at ID's of anyone over 21, just to keep up appearences, but anyone you saw abover their head <21 you wouldn't even ask em for ID's you'd just laugh and tell them to leave.
After a nice day drinking with friends you were unfortunately scheduled to work. Luckily things are going very smooth this night, no one <21. A couple hours pass and way down the line you see [31], [33], [11], [34], and you think to yourself, "seriously, someone is trying to bring their kid into this bar? Some people." In your state there is a bery clear law disallowing children to be in a bar unless it's a bar/restaurant, which your place was most certainly not.
The line moves on and on and you get more annoyed prepping to confront this family. As they get closer you see the something is a miss. The [11] is just as tall if not taller than the other numbers you see. You can't quite see the kids face but you assume he's either a really lanky kid or he's getting a piggy back ride from daddy. You think the latter is more likely because the [11] is very close to the [34].
When the "kid" makes it to you your jaw drops. Standing in front of you was a man, dressed in sharp suit and nearly as tall as you, maybe 6'4. Above his head read [11....34].....[1134]. The silence of your stare was then broken, "You alright buddy?" You snap back to your senses, "yeah sorry about that, may I see your ID." The man gives you his ID and it clearly shows "34," you hold his ID for a while again your mind questioning what you saw. Never before have you doubted your powers, could they be off for once? Maybe the booze from earlier is still running its course, but I feel fine. Also I've never had a problem with the accuracy of my ability before when I've been drunk. Also I've read everyone elses accurately tonight as you always check ID's anyw...
"You know I'm lying about my age on there, don't you?" The man said snapping you out your train of thought. He takes his ID and goes to walk past you away from the entrance. As he passes you he whispers in your ear, "[1134] is right, meet me out back and I'll explain everything," and with that he leaves you mouth agape walking away down the alley next to the bar.
You stand there for a sec frozen by what he said until the next guy says, "buddy you alright?"
"No, sorry," and with that you page for someone to switch you out for a break. Your friend comes out and you go on your break. You go down the alleyway and popout behind the bar. Back there you see the only person there, the man in the trench coat.
"Glad you showed up."
The man steps closer to you and extends his bare hand for a handshake. You look down and nervously reach out to meet his. You grip his hand and he grips yours, only he keeps squeezing, harder, and harder. Your a big guy you're not about the be intimidated in a strength contest, and you start squeezing back. The man doesn't flinch and he begins squeeze even harder, he begins crushing your hand, it's your complete loss as you fall to your knees you hand limp yet still in this man's machine like hand. He eventually lets go and you bring your throbbing hand to your chest clutching it due to the pain of broken bones.
"What are you?" You say through gritted teeth. The man crouches down to meet your gaze.
"The name's Egan, seeing the numbers are just the start of your abilities. Why do you think you would be able to see them?"
He pauses, as if looking for a response to his rhetorical question. Obviously you don't know why you were given this power.
Breaking the silence Egan says softly, "It's because you also have the ability to take theirs. Come with me and I'll teach you to become a god among mortals."
With that Egan stands up and reaches out his left hand to you. You take it and stand up, your life changed forever. | Part One
I got fired last week for the 9th time this year.
I don't always mean to run my mouth, but when I do, it sprints. This time, it wasn't even my fault (initially, anyway); if only that dumb fucking Russian bartender would have kept his mouth shut. Oh well... No sense crying over spilled martinis.
It's not hard, finding a gig as a bouncer, especially in cities. After my fourth attempt at holding my tongue (and fists) at a new bar, I bought a camping van off some poor prick who needed the cash to pay for his divorce. Being essentially unhireable makes for a great old-fashioned, transient lifestyle.
A few weeks go by before I start to run out of money. I begin scrolling through ads online, keeping my eyes peeled for job opportunities, but by now word has gotten around about how I told the owner of the last joint to go fuck his hot daughter. Soon, I find myself looking for gigs in the next state over.
Part Two
I don't even look at people beyond their waist anymore, which especially annoys bigger women. Knowing someone's age is like having transparency goggles: you see right through their bull shit. It's great, for professional purposes, but it's put a serious damper on my personal life.
Occasionally, I do look up. If a girl smells good; if a man's voice is resilient and kind. These times are few and far between, but they happen. Like this morning, at a local coffee shop.
"Excuse me?"
I looked at the woman's waist. "Yes?" I ask, keeping my head low.
"Are you looking for work as a bouncer?"
What the hell? I look up at the girl with the raspy voice. She's got on heavy black eyeliner and full, plump dick-sucking lips. My gift indicates to me that she is 26 years old. We make eye contact, and I realize that this girl is drop-dead gorgeous.
She points gently at the stack of potential work ads I've collected and printed out. I feel stupid. I ignore her and get back to scrolling on my phone.
She stands there a while, both of us uncomfortably silent. Finally, she slides a piece of paper on the table. "In case you're interested," she says, and walks away.
I look at the paper. It reads:
Madame Bijou's
55 Walker Street
9pm, don't be late.
Part Three
8:55pm. Fuck, I'm early.
Madame Bijou's is located in a very popular part of the city, in an alley off to the side. It gives off a speak-easy type of vibe, perfect for those of us who don't enjoy teeny-boppers getting too drunk before 10pm. Perfect for me, makes my job easy.
I haven't seen the girl from the coffee shop, but a Stevie Nicks chain-smoking woman who looks just like her approaches me at 9pm sharp. "Make it to 1:55am and I'll pay you $100," she says, pointing at the bar stool next to the door, and walks off. Her age indicates that she's 64.
The night starts slow, but picks up around 11. I have not seen the girl from the coffee shop, or the older hippie woman.
Around 12am, I kick out some drunk Marines for being douche bags. Around 12:30am, I deny my first group of underagers. Their IDs look exactly like McLovin's.
1:29am comes around, and the whole place empties out, almost like clockwork. Strange, since bars don't close until 2am. I peek my head inside the club, and I see the bartender wiping down the bar top.
1:39am, I close the door behind me as I walk inside.
The bartender is 41. "I'd offer to get you a drink, mate, but we have to be out of her by 1:55am." I don't make eye contact with him as he says this.
"I heard. Why not 2am?" I ask, keeping my eyes on the floor. I can hear the bartender smirking. "You don't want to know."
He heads out around 1:49am, but I still haven't seen Stevie Nicks. She sure as shit better pay me for tonight. I wait patiently, and at 1:55am, she emerges. She seems to be in a hurry.
She ushers me out of the bar and hands me a $100 bill. "See you tomorrow, pretty boy?" She asks, turning the lock on the bar door.
"Suppose so, Madame Bijou," I say to her. She forces eye contact with me, her smile fading. She checks her watch, sighs, and leans closer to me. She whispers: "get out of here before 2am," and walks in the other direction.
Now I have to know what this is all about.
1:56am.
1:57am.
1:58am.
1:59am.
I guess I expected some sort of apocalypse at 2:00am. When nothing happened immediately, I laughed at myself for being so foolish as to believe in the superstitions of people I had just met. I looked at my watch, which read 2:01am, and began to make my way towards the van.
I took one last glance at Madame Bijou's, and there she was. On the other side of the glass was Madame Bijou, flashing her rotten teeth at me, her wispy gray hair flowing down to her knees. Her age read 3,378.
Somehow, she reached her hand through the glass and pulled me into total darkness. "HELLO??" I shouted, reaching for anything I could touch, so terrified I pissed myself a little. I began to hear footsteps coming toward me.
"WHAT THE FUCK, WHAT THE FUCK," I panicked, still reaching into nothingness for something to grab onto. The footsteps got closer.
"You were warned," said a voice somewhere in the hollow space around me. Suddenly, a bunch of numbers started to appear at once. 4,707; 2,856; 5,302. I kicked and screamed, until I felt like I could no longer breathe.
I woke up the next morning in my bed, with teeth marks covering my entire body. | 2017-09-01T22:57:39 | 2017-09-01T22:06:04 | 247 | 38 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number. | He watched, bored as people streamed in the bar, only stopping the ones underage, and occasionally a few just over to keep suspicions low. His kind was uncommon, and people
hunted for his power. It seemed like an odd thing to want, most just wanted it to make them feel *special*. At least, those that knew about it. Sometimes age didn't match up to looks, but he kept to his own, unless they were underage of course. But then *she* came along. As soon as the girl passed, his eyes flickered to the space above, knowing what he would see. The girl was likely 16, or 17, as was the guy with her. But she wasn't. 1000 was her age, the one with her was 1001. This wasn't possible, but yet, that's what it said. Maybe it was wrong? But he'd NEVER been wrong before. As they passed he realized his mouth had been hanging open and he shut it reluctantly. A tap on his shoulder made him jump, but it was only the guy taking over next shift. Perfect. Making his way through the crowd he saw the girl heading into a storage room with a 18year old, different from whom she came with. He shook his head, about to leave when a silvery glint caught his eye. The boy was nearby, a knife in his hand. The girl disappeared, the other following suit. Breath catching, he hurried over, sure he would be greeted with a bloodbath. The door shut behind him and he looked around. In the darkness he saw the pair fighting the young man, backing him against the wall.
"Jonathan, will you do the honour?"
He laughed in reply and stepped up, twirling a silver bladed dagger in his fingers. He laughed and drove the blade straight through the heart. Black blood flowed from the wound and the boy seemingly folded in on himself, disappearing all except for the puddle of black on the ground.
"Welcome to the world of the lightbringers, young one. We have long searched for one with a gift like yours, it will be quite useful. That is, if you don't mind joining us. Hunting demons is much better with more people involved, especially with talent like this. Let's get started, shall we?" | **July 12, 1994**
Um what the fuck?! That man couldn't have been 1056 years old, there's just no way; the i.d. couldn't have been a fake and he looked exactly like his photo. Man... maybe all this drinking is catching up to me.. drowning out what brains I do got, I definitely should try to lay off the liquor for a while.
But what if I wasn't wrong? I had to be though. A 1056 year old wouldn't be getting drunk in that seedy shit hole, surely not. Jesus Christ, I'm an alcoholic aren't I? Instead of the shakes I'm just going fucking insane. I mean, a 1056 year old couldn't possibly exist and here I am trying to justify normal behaviors for a dude over ten centuries old. wonderful, I really am a psychotic freak of nature.
**July 28, 1994**
There it was again! That same 1056. I know it's the same one, the numbers have the same psychic texture as the last one, I know, I *know* it's the same 1056. And I'm sober, or at least I've been mostly sober the past two weeks, I really am trying hard. But jukov viell hell, the ancient freak was a little girl this time, not a slicked back 30 year old like in the club. And ve' saw me looking at her, it's like her eyes locked into mine with a laser and it was terrifying. I swear I couldn't move for what seemed like an hour though I'm sure it was just a few seconds. I don't know what the hell is going on, but I'm getting the fuck out. I'm leaving tomorrow and I'm not going to tell anyone why or where I'm going.
**August 5, 1994**
I'm settling here into Dallas just fine, even already got two jobs so I'm bouncing bars every night. It feels gulock vol shien over and already have my feet on the ground. I don't know what that thing was, but I ain't seen any thousand year old crypt keepers walking around here. I think it's buvok l'ie that I just forget that man and little girl and pretend it never happened. Volpp shon die! Ha
**August 9, 1994**
I'm vol niectien javhol. There's no way around it. I'm thryyka insane vol. In the bathroom this sunnatal 987 flickered above my head like a light with a wire shorting out. Da! I've never seen a nuvon above my head and never thought anything about it. But 987. It was in epileptic strobe, but unmistakable, 987 with it's own unizall textovu, my own psychic fingerprint, I guess. I don't know whether I should drink until I can't see straight enough to notice the flickering number apparating above my head, check myself in a psych hoklinta, or keep pretending that it doesn't effect me just like that thousand year old freak back in Philoxxanta. Fuckin hell...
**September 8, 2106**
Vien dol mal shinne. Va kra sel na vien talova! Herein je ve' sien. 1056 hai raj volkina buvo! Home! At last hommili! | 2017-09-01T21:45:33 | 2017-09-01T20:21:47 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu." | Thursday, September 21, 2017 - 21:00
The General's men got straight to work. Their entire military careers, these specially trained operatives were preparing for this moment: a code R'lyeh.
One soldier was tasked with acquiring the texts to summon Cthulhu, while another went to acquire the proper objects for the sacrificial ceremony. Those left began to set up the sacrificial table as the General looked on.
Within the hour everything was prepared. The General opened the Necronomicon to the proper chapter, nodding to one of his subordinates as they began to light candles and spill the sacrificial blood onto the table. The ship was coming closer, and the lights of the anti gravitate engines light up the sky.
He began to read.
By the end of the first verse of the General's words, the ground began to shake of its own accord. In an instant the candle flickered out, and the sacrificial blood of the lamb was sucked into the ground. A roaring fire appeared over the table, in which a text began to appear amidst he flames.
The General and his soldiers blocked their eyes from the bright light and the heat. As they adjusted, they looked into the flames of Cthulhu at their last chance to save earth from the invaders.
"I'm sorry to have missed your message. I'll be out of the office until the next purported end of the world, September 23, 2017. I won't have cell reception nor access to email, so if you need me in the meantime, you can leave a message with my secretary at..."
The soldiers, dumbfounded, looked up to the General. In the distance the alien ship touched down, bringing with it a fierce wave of destruction leveling all in its path.
"Well, fuck."
| I am typing this blindly. I need too just to make sure I remember. These welding goggles are keeping out most of that maddening light that still remains, but there are things I cannot unsee that I mustn't see again.
Years of touch typing have enabled me to get this far into the document. If I were to use a pencil, I'd have lost half the page in scribbles by now.
The short of it is that this was a bad idea, and the best one we had.
Nuclear weapons work if they can trigger at precisely the right time. I imagine the ship they came in was studded with cameras that'd rival any nation's spy satellites. Based on the rings around the vessel and what we could detect on radio, we ventured they used magnetic scoops to pick up material. And massive lasers to ionize it before hand.
We will never find out if they had hands.
They dropped rocks on us. Many of the capitals are now disaster areas, and relief efforts are strained. Same as when a natural disaster hits, but this time it hit home.
We had one last trick. One last, stupid trick. I think, in the end, it may have been worth it, but there are these things that keep falling from the sky... And the things around me. These goggles are rated for looking at the sun - I have to trust they're ok.
>beep
Good. The computer still has power. I've been saving this document every few lines just to make sure it's safe. That I'm safe.
We used the HAARP array. A very low frequency, high amplitude signal was sent into the skies, shortly past the ship. The array was shortly destroyed. It had time to push only a small hole in reality, that would really never have been of any consequence.
Unless something else decided to open it up from the otherside.
It's here in Arecibo that we came in. We had made these things in the labs before, and found that a carefully modulated pattern of microwaves could close these holes, but the larger they were, the more energy the snap-back would release.
There was a dozy of something opening that hole.
I'm glad I had these goggles. By the time I heard the screams that something was coming through devolve into the screams of the crazed and the damned, I knew that the snap-back was going to be brighter than the mad Russian's bomb. I needed these goggles.
Things are still falling from the sky, but I imagine it's slightly better than either of those alternatives. I also don't imagine that this can be covered up any longer.
The pulsations of ... things ... around me are growing a bit louder. I hope this email finds you. I do not believe it will find you well. | 2017-09-26T11:47:23 | 2017-09-26T11:41:54 | 168 | 50 |
[WP] "Fuck it." The General said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. "Summon Cthulhu." | "Right sir," his adjutant, Major Thompson replied. He readied his sword and shaved the head clean off the nearest grunt he could find. "Now for the spell..."
The Major wiped his blade clean and drew strange symbols in the blood, mixing it with the cold earth. Minutes passed as he mumbled to himself the insane ramblings of an ancient tongue. He stood and waited.
Rumbling quakes sounded from the west. A monster of a million tentacles, dripping with seawater that normally swirls at fathoms to deep for man to understand, slowly approached. The soldiers did what they could to remove themselves from its path, moving their tanks and changing formations as quickly as the space and terrain allowed. However, the old god has no concern for the lives of insects. Many died during its approach.
"Called again to my dislike a job a thunder an enemy lands on my home and cries for destruction and shall bring much agony and defeat and my victory is allowed to fight summoned again again again..." Cthulhu droned on in a voice that reminded Major Thompson of the visit he had with his brother, who resided in a mental institution.
The huge door of the alien mothership opened as Cthulhu approached. A single, enormous being, the size of the old god himself, stepped out from the giant pit of a door. It was a giant creature that had the body of a grasshopper that stood upright, wings included. It stepped forward, destroying mountains in the process. It paused in front of Cthulhu, and spoke, "Cthulhu? Is that you?"
"What?" Cthulhu said. "Ghrilgi? No way, man! I haven't seen you in ages!"
"Ah shit, it *is* you! Man, what do you say to that, huh?"
"I know, I know."
"I'm coming down with this alien species that I enslaved, ready to invade..."
"Tell me about it, bro."
"...and here's my old pal *Cthulhu* stepping up to the plate!"
"Yeah, man. Dude, talk about a situation, huh?"
"Yeah, totally. Totally a situation."
"It's a bit awkward, don't you think Ghrilgi? I mean...we're gonna have to fight."
"Fight? Nah, come on man, we don't *fight.* Let's just kill all humans and call it a day. Just like old times?"
"Nah, see, I'm sorry bro, totally sorry, but it's just like. I kinda like these guys."
"Like them?! Cthulhu, you can't be serious."
"I mean, they've kinda grown on me. So...I'm gonna have to kill ya."
"Kill me? But..."
"Yeah, and just kind drip your wet carcass over the land to show others, you know..."
"...we're friends."
"...not to mess with me."
"I mean, I thought we were friends. You won't do that."
"Oh, I will. They don't call me the old god for nothing."
"Well, can I at least get a head start or something?"
"A head start at what, Ghrilgi? You're gonna die here. Today."
"Cthulhu, come on. You're not really. Not really gonna do that."
"Afraid I am. I have to, actually. They already paid the sacrifice."
"Ah, nah, man."
"Totally bro. Totally gonna kill you."
"Nah..."
"Yep."
"Nah, I mean--" Cthulhu interrupted Ghrilgi with a tentacle around the throat. The old god made the fight look easy. When he was done, he took Ghrilgi's corpse with him back to the ocean.
Back to his home.
******
r/arcaldwell -- you won't die if you don't. | John MacGillis saw a lot of shit in his life. First was the ‘nam, as a captain, and then came desert storm as a major. Always on the front, for the greater good of his great nation. Now in his 70’ he was meditating retirement. If his thought were to put into words, after all these years would be something on the line of:
“When everything seem calm, that's when shit hit the fan”
One month later the new president came to office. It was strange, he wanted him to be president but after a while he started to feel exactly the opposite. The only thing that was driving him now was the fatidic date, 1 month from now, were he could leave his office and finally retire.
It was a fine morning walking in the office. His secretary turned him the schedule for the day while he was drinking his coffee.
“Cindy… i can’t begin to fathom what the president wants. I mean, fire and fury? Seriously?”
“Sir, I'm sure the president didn’t mean it like..”
“Oh… I'm sure he didn’t mean, but explain that to who think he did!”
“I have to stay positive, in one month i will be sipping my gin tonic at the Barbados. But damn it! Couldn’t i had another president?”.
But secretly anyway John was happy. I mean, with this shit going on, shit couldn’t get more serious right?
The same morning, right after he finished his coffee, the door of his office slammed open. There are very few thing that can anger a 70’ years old general more than someone slamming open his door. It was major Eugene ‘Gene’ Holowachuk. John began to shout with all his vigor “HOLOWA...” but he couldn’t finish, for the first time in his entire career Holowachuk interrupted the General in command.
“Sir! We just lost the white house! We need to evacuate you to the bunker section of the Pentagon!”.
It was a prank? Other two military police entered the room. No it is not, this is real. He was going to the bunker.
“We just lost contact with Moscow, Pechino, Berlin… all major capital don’t respond. Half of our men are gone. Sir … they are the aliens!”. The bunker was filled with high tech screens and a lot of staff was buzzing around. Tree dark figures were standing in the angle.
“Holowachuk, who are those guys?”, pointing at the men in black. “Sir, they are men in black sir.”.
“Yes, i see they are men in black, but who are they”. Major Eugene shrugged. “I always thought men in black are men in black, like J and K”. The general just waved his hand, he could never understand the reference of Eugene. First, they assesses the situations. It seem huge flying ships are on every major capital, and they are destroying everything.
John consulted with everyone in bunker. Asking for options.
“Use the nukes General, activate them now” was all his collaborators could say.
“But sir… the population… the fallout we will die anyway, everyone of us, and there is no guarantee we can destroy the ships!” The general looked around. “General! The Russian shoot a Satan R-36M on one of the alien ship and…. It did nothing!”.
The general started to felt it. This is it. The shit literally, and irrevocably, hittedthe fan.
This was the moment were one of the men in black stepped forward, speaking to the general in his ear. “There is a better option….”.
After 5 minutes the general nodded his head.
“Fuck it.” The general said, as the alien mother-ship came in to land. “Summon Cthulhu”
One mile below the surface of mount Madness, the circle finally finished his chant:
“ph'nglui mglw'nafh Cthulhu R'lyeh wgah'nagl fhtagn”
As the last word went spoken a sudden doom filled the air. From the depth of the seas a dark unfathomable figure raised. Unspoken terror stench the air as the alien overlord saw the immeasurable horror filling the sky on the horizon. The aliens ship started to fall like flies, while the unutterable cry of a undying deity creep the air like some sort of fetid ailment.
All it took was one look, and the madness was so great in the heart of each alien that they killed themselves. For this was too much to withstand for the aliens. But not for the humans, for they in their intimacy knew this was their new master. This was the story on how humanity was saved from the alien extermination, at the price of an endless age of slavery . | 2017-09-26T12:26:15 | 2017-09-26T11:43:45 | 50 | 21 |
[WP] Your job as a researcher in the facility isn't too bad. The hours are shit and the coffee maker is broken, but at least the people are nice. And the job is easy: talk to the telepathic spider, run some tests on the witch, give the eldrich god his daily newspaper, basic stuff. Describe your day
Inspired by the SCP foundation | "Morning newbie."
Three years. I've been working here for three *fucking* years and Caleb was still calling me a *newbie*.
"Morning," I muttered to the unsmiling man behind his desk. "Is the coffee machine fixed yet?"
"Morning newbie," he said again.
I frowned and looked at Caleb, his eyes are unfocused. I wasn't sure if he heard me - it didn't matter. I moved on, passing by more desks and people with stone-cold expressions on their faces. They ignored me and I ignored them in kind.
It was the way shit had to be here. We had to be cold. Uncompromising.
'*F-food... Food!*'
*Shit.*
I make my way to section C-18. After a maze of pristine white corridors and elevators, I arrive at SCP-3912. A telepathic spider peered at me from behind the glass.
'*W-what... took... long... Hungry! Will... devour... you!'*
"Sorry," I think aloud to the scratchy voice in my head, then begin tapping away on a control module. "What do you want today? There's rat, chicken, rabbit or-"
'*H-human!*'
"Sorry O, but human isn't on the menu today - Oh. What's this? There's a fresh born goat, your favorite!"
'*Hmph... Fine.*'
O hmphed me, but began unfurling its seven-foot long, spindly legs from its nest. A giant-hulking spider crawled into view. I exhale, a breath of relief that there was a massive glass wall between us. O could make a grown man scream like a little girl without even trying.
A baby goat, still wet with fresh-born fluids and blood was dispensed from a hole in the ceiling, dropping onto the floor with a wet splatter.
"Fresh-born as promised," I say to the spider but she ignored me, too occupied with her exquisite meal.
I give myself a pat on my shoulders. Next, SCP-1418.
Suddenly, I get a ping. I pull out the standard SCP Tablet and check the message.
'*Caleb from Section C-1 has been compromised. Please proceed to SCP-0009*,' I read.
For a moment I lose myself, frozen in thought. I had just seen Caleb this morning and he seemed *fine.* But what worried me more was... SCP-0009. I shivered as I remembered the rumors I've heard about him. We called him, the Eldritch God. Why? I didn't know. All we knew was what he said about himself - a physical manifestation of calamity, a being that would bring an end to everything in existence and that he was a being far older than humanity, and probably even time itself.
Suddenly, the tablet vibrates in my hand. Another ping.
This time the message was short.
*'ASAP,'* it read.
------
-----
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Em_pathy/comments/8eenri/the_eldritch_god_part_2/) complete! Check out my sub for more stories, /r/em_pathy
| >Okay, How did you get here, this job, and what is your typical day like?
A day in the life and how to did get here, huh? Let’s see, where to start, tsk. I guess… The beginning is where we should go.
I worked a day job at some crappy retailer. You know the big box store that seems to be placed every few blocks almost like it’s on a grid throughout the country. I cleaned up a lot of shit there. A lot of shit and one day I just had it so I quit, I just walked out carrying the soaked mop with me.
As I walked home, dragging the mop a trail of dirty water followed me on the sidewalk. I noticed building I had never really seen before, in fact, I can say for certain that it wasn’t there that morning. Almost as if it was just poofed into being. My eyes were drawn to a solitary sign on the door.
Cleaning Staff Wanted.
I had the mop already so I walked in resting it on my shoulder, the sounds of tiny drips of water followed me in.
A pretty woman, Lynda upstairs, sat behind the counter in an otherwise empty white room.
“Ah, you must be here for the cleaning job,” she said.
“What gave it away?” I asked adjusting the mop on my shoulder.
“Ah, and you’re funny. Good for you,” She smiled.
A door opened at the far end of the room. And out through it walked a man in a janitor’s uniform.
“You there, Mr. Clark, you’re late. Come with me.”
I never questioned how he knew my name or how and why I was late. He gave me a job. It took a little adjusting to at first, you know working on these projects. Geez, my first day I cleaned the cyclops holding. I didn’t even question the cyclops,
> A cyclops?
Yeah, the man I followed through the doors, just sent me in there with the mop I was carrying, with a warning to stay in his blind spot. So, it has been interesting.
>Have you ever felt like the job is dangerous?
I have never really felt in danger here. All of them in their own way are dangerous. But I have never had any issues, I don’t know, I just kind of, belong.
>And You no longer clean?
No, I no longer clean, they gave me the opportunity to go to school and help research and test on the projects. I took to it, it’s really just become my passion.
>Is the job hard? What is your favorite part of the job?
I work a lot, a lot, often through the night, it helps that I live here alongside the projects.
I especially like working with the psychics. They really like to play chess, you see. It doesn’t help that I am terrible at the game but playing against a psychic really makes it unfair. I never win but we have made some progress in blocking their ability.
>So you just generally work with the projects, do you care for them?
Outside of studying them, I do provide some care I bring things to them sometimes, a board game, newspaper. You know, things like that. Other than that, I really just work with them testing various technology out and how it interacts with the subject and just really trying to understand how they do what they do.
>So you call them projects, right? Why do you not refer to yourself as a project?
I, uh, I don’t understand that question, why would I call myself a project?
>Well, John, let me walk you through this, I am here studying your *work* and your condition. What does that tell you?
No, no, that can’t be right, I am the researcher. You’re just here to ask me questions about my job. You said you wanted to get to know me.
No.
I don’t believe you.
>John, it’s been a good session, we will pick it up tomorrow, I will have an orderly walk you back to your holding cell. I know it’s hard, John, I can see it in your eye, but we are here to help. We are making progress.
| 2018-04-23T10:13:49 | 2018-04-23T08:58:09 | 419 | 159 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | I wake up, start my basic morning routine. Shower, make breakfast, grab a cold drink from the fridge, and sit down to watch the morning news. An anchorman is reporting on a protest. I see a sign reading "DISAPPARATE OUT OF OUR COUNTRY". Another that says "VEEPS MUST GO" I turn off the tv before I can read anymore, and leave my apartment.
It happened years ago. The creatures humans once only wrote about in fictional stories had been discovered to be real. Wizards, zombies, phoenixes, you name it. There was some fear at first, a lot of wonder. That slowly ebbed away when the world leaders began offering jobs. Werewolves with their supernatural strength and nails were perfectly suited for construction work. Ghosts became private investigators. At first, it was amazing. Humans and nonhumans alike were working together, learning new things from each other's cultures. It was a time of growth....
"I can't believe he's drinking that in public." I snap out of my thoughts and see a woman with her child give me a look of disgust and hurry off. Shit. I'd meant to put my drink back in the fridge before I left. Screw it, might as well finish it now. Long story short, the highs ended and the lows began. More jobs were given to nonhumans, interspecies relationships began, and with that, resentment crept in. It started small. Protests, message board posts about why the discovery of nonhumans actually doomed the world to hell, anything you can think of. Then, it escalated. Violence broke out, dead nonhumans, dead humans. I'm brooding on thinking about where this is all headed when I feel something hit the back of my head. I turn around and look down. It's a small wooden cross. "GO BACK TO TRANSYLVANIA VEEP" a man yells just a few feet down the street. I feel the anger course through me, I could kill this man in the blink of an eye. I drop the can, blood splatters out, and I raise my hand to sink my nails into his throat.. and pause. A child is watching from across the street, wide-eyed. I turn around, and keep walking, ignoring the jeers from the humans behind me.
A couple minutes later, I feel a presence behind me. I whirl around, ready to defend myself. It's the child. He stares at me solemnly, and quietly says "I'm sorry that man was mean to you." He hands me the wooden cross, which he has broken into small pieces, and runs off. It's not much, but I smile. Despite all the things going wrong around us, maybe the world's not as scary as it seems. | The man looked at me with incredulity painted on his face. It was very clear that whatever he'd expected, I wasn't it. Wearing a tailored suit, handmade Italian shoes and carrying a rosary around my neck. And then there was the icy blue skin, the black eyeballs and the red irises
"You the vatican's man?" The mortal finally managed. "I heard you were a frost giant, you don't seem ver..."
He stopped as he saw the scowl on my face "Jötunn, singular, jötnar, plural. Frost Giant is a translation error we've fought hard to correct" I said to him, my voice almost a whisper.
He swallowed and nodded "o-of course sir" I kept staring at him "the fact that I deal in Ice is ENTIRELY coincidental do you understand?"
He nodded, frightened by now, mostly because the urine that he had released when I had fixed him with the scowl was freezing.
Now, you might be wondering, how a Jötunn got around to working for the Vatican. Well, let me tell you something about religion for us immortals my friends. Being associated with an established belief system is all well and good, it is how my primary magic works, its how I came to be. Joining and being accepted by a new religious system just adds to the skill pool, so to speak. I was a very effective vampire hunter in the old days, but since joining the church, it's become downright easy to dispose of the night waste.
There were two of them, they were wearing full body coverings to hide from the sun, vampires, newly turned according to databases. Their sires had tried to make them come out, to no avail. So, they had summoned me, as I was in the area anyway.
They had agreed to let me come in and speak, I wouldn't need anything else, just line of sight, that was all. They would both be dead, vanquished by the Lord's holy ice.
The sound of my footsteps echoed in the church "Silly protestants, forgetting your wards" I said cheerfully, smiling as they both saw me. My rosary was in my hand as I began the prayer
"Sáncte Míchael Archángele, defénde nos in proélio, cóntra nequítiam et insídias diáboli ésto præsídium. Ímperet ílli Déus, súpplices deprecámur: tuque, prínceps milítiæ cæléstis, Sátanam aliósque spíritus malígnos, qui ad perditiónem animárum pervagántur in múndo, divína virtúte, in inférnum detrúde. Ámen."
One of them coughed, once at first, taking many fast rasping breaths before he began coughing again. He could feel it no doubt, the holy ice I had formed from the vapour in his throat, it was working its way both further in and out. Soon his head would fall from his shoulders. The other stood still as stone. His pain must have been unbearable as well, considering he had fed minutes before I had entered. See the thing is, I cannot touch their blood, it is unholy to the extreme, and as such impossible for my art to touch. However, the blood of a virgin, taken by force now flowed with his and that, that I could touch. I forced it to circulate as it shredded him from the inside, blood ice rupturing his veins. They were both dead within a minute and a half, slumped in their seats on the floor, the hostages already on their feet and running towards the exit. | 2018-08-27T17:34:15 | 2018-08-27T16:44:38 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Domino's pizza has offered free pizza for life to anyone who tattoos their logo on their body. Now other food chains are following that idea, but with increasingly absurd requirements, and the poor have turned themselves into walking advertisements just so they can eat with each passing day. | I didn’t think it would go this far.
I was mostly joking when I tossed it out during the monthly board meeting. It was 8am and the caffeine hadn’t hit yet, but Tom was making us each suggest something “crazy enough to work”. I don’t think he meant as crazy as I went, but hey, it would get some laughs, right?
And it did. The whole board burst out laughing when I said we could give free pizza to people with our logo tattooed on them.
Except Mark. He cocked his head, bit his lip, and his gaze was far away. And when he returned to us, his words shocked even me.
“Let’s do it.”
We stared at him in shock - who would ever go for that? And not only was the tattoo idea absurd, but it would ruin us. It’s one thing for Chipotle and Wendy’s to give away food to one person here and there - but to anyone? Just for a little ink?
He grinned at our surprise. “No, seriously. Shelly had a great idea. Think of it this way - it’s an insane stunt, right? Millions will be talking about it. And so many people won’t go for it - who wants our logo on their body forever, honestly? But we’ll have so much business, because people will be coming in to see if it’s real. And yeah, a couple people will get the tattoo. But that’ll just be free marketing and promo, right? This could work.”
And though my jaw was on the floor, there were some nodding heads around the table. People started murmuring to each other, smiling as the idea began to form.
And that was how it started. If only we could’ve seen how it would end. | When I first saw the news, I was surprised. Would Domino's really do this kind of service?
I looked on their website and sure enough, there was a banner that confirmed my suspicions.
I immediately closed my laptop screen and drove to the local tattoo parlor. Even though I was dirt poor, I was just lucky enough to afford a laptop for school and now, a tattoo for unlimited pizza.
I walked into the parlor and one of the employees greeted me.
"Hello, how are you?" he asked.
"Fine, I guess haha." I replied, "so uh, can I get umm... a Domino's Pizza tattoo, right here?" I pointed to my upper forearm, near my elbow.
The employee looked at me funny for a second, but then realized the promotion the pizza place was holding.
"Oh yeah, sure!" He said.
About half an hour later, I received my very first ink: a pizza place logo. Can't say I'm disappointed, but I always though my first design would be something else. Oh well, free food at least!
I paid and went over to Domino's. I showed them my tattoo, chose my toppings and enjoyed the best warm meal I had within the past month. I can actually eat this every day!
...
It has been six months. So many other restaurants are also running free-food-with-tattoo promotions, and in a vain effort to stop getting ink, I can't. My body is littered with random logos of different companies, such as Arby's, Popeye's, McDonald's. You get the gist.
I have not removed a single tattoo. Every one I got, I keep. Laser tattoo removal is much more expensive than you think, and I can't imagine having to go back to paying for food.
But I have to. Due to the amounts of logos on my body, I can't even hold a job. I am *this* close to losing my home because I can't pay rent, because I don't have a job, because of my tattoos, which I need a job to afford the removal of.
I stared at the revolver on my coffee table. A Smith & Wesson Model 500, which I stole from some sloppy gang. I figured a .500 caliber cartridge would be good enough for a suicide, and only one was needed... especially since I only had one.
I picked up the gun, and decided to play a one-player game of Russian Roulette. You know, for fun.
I spun the cylinder, aimed under my chin, and pulled the trigger. *Click.* Damn, it was empty. I pulled the trigger again. *Click.* Empty again!
"Third time's the charm, I guess." I pulled the trigger.
***BANG!*** | 2018-09-08T13:57:29 | 2018-09-08T13:48:12 | 68 | 35 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. | The city was mad, but there were a few places that held on.
Fontanella's was a place like that. Arthur usually came around there after shifts to get a bite and talk the the inhumanly kind owner, whose name he never got to know, but who insisted on being called "Nonna". She had a knack for serving the general misfits of the magical underworld, even though, from all that Arthur could gather, she was just a regular human granny.
Today however, as he neared the entrance, it was obvious something wasn't right. It was late, but usually the tables outside would be bustling with the more nocturnal clientele, all playing cards and drinking the varied delights of Nonna's kitchen. There was no one there.
Even though the door was open, Arthur could see only a forlorn light shining within.
As he entered, the sound of soft sobbing and hushed voices hit him. He saw the once perfectly placed tables and chairs strewn across the floor, doilies and plant pots (Nonna's pride and joy) misplaced and broken, and in one corner a dropped food tray, it's contents on various stages of disheveling.
Behind the counter, a few of Arthur's fellow usual drinking companions and Nonna's actual granddaughter, Maria, consoled the crying old lady. It was quite the sight, seeing those rugged dwarves, towering orc roughnecks, elegant faeries, frumpy wizards and even Arthur's vampire roommate and former nemesis Vi, all giving reassurance, fixing what could be fixed, cleaning and replacing the various signs of chaos.
Arthur's heart swelled with pride for these lovable bastards, but the look that Maria saw on the detective's face was grim.
"What happened here?" he asked.
"Big shot in a suit came in earlier before we arrived. Nonna was here alone. All we could gather from her were that he was unhappy with the service and decided to give the place a piece of his mind." Her eyes were hard, her voice curt.
"I see." Arthur scanned the site. His mind churned with plans of action. After giving Nonna his own hug, he approached Vi, who was helping a big orc on setting the tables back up.
"I hope you get to him before I do Artie" Vi said as she saw him approach. "I don't think I'd be able to keep myself from... Repaying his kindness." Her eyes were bleeding to red from her usual grey, a sign that she was more frazzled than her demeanor showed.
"Oh, I'm not worried about that" Arthur said, kneeling and touching a splintered part of the table's woodwork. As expected, a black thread, too thin for a naked human eye to see, was stuck to the woodgrain. Arthur gingerly plucked it, and analyzed it's nature. "I'm free for the night. Up for a little hunting? Let's not hurt him too much. I'm sure the Stormwatcher and Night's Queen could bring him in."
She smiled that predatory smile of hers. "What else do you need?"
As Arthur stored the thread on a bag, he noticed a darker patch on the carpet, and bent over to examine it. *Blood*, he though. A small spark fled his nose, as he inhaled and let his magically twisted senses attune to the stain's signature. He now could track that signal towards it's source.
"How convenient" Arthur remarked, rising.
"Magic nose powers never disappoint I see" Vi quipped, eyes fully red now.
"We have a criminal to catch partner."
Vi's smile grew. | Red Molly contacted me first. “Hey I think you need to get down here. Right now.” When you get a psychic message like that, well, you kinda have to listen.
Windows smashed. Tables broken, even my counter, made from the wood of the witness stand from the Salem trials, was badly damaged. My favorite coffee mug, given to me by the Star Sorcerer himself, was broken. Damn.
By then, a lot of the regulars had shown up. Dark Hood stood silently, but you could feel the anger radiating from him. Father Black tried to console me, as best he could. Street Shadow was trying to pick up the pieces of the crystal ball I kept near the register. The scrying table seemed beyond repair.
Most of my regulars are low-level. None of them could do tremendous feats of magic like stopping time, or seeing years into the future, or transmuting matter. But they did what they could, you know? If you could keep a kid from breaking his arm because you can only see 30 minutes into the future for one person at a time, wouldn’t you do it? If your only power, speaking to the dead, could help one person resolve their grief and move to a better life (or afterlife), you’d do that too. If you were cursed to only move from shadow to shadow, well, maybe you’d use that to rescue people, and get them to a hospital faster than an ambulance could dream of moving.
And, of course, mystic power is stronger at night. Some of these folks only have power during a certain phase of the moon. And efforts like this, helping other people you don’t know, take their toll. So when sunrise is coming, a lot of them head to the Grave Sight. It’s darker than your average Denny’s, and it’s off an alley, not near a mall. You have to know where to look, but we have the best breakfast and coffee in the area. Plus the scrying table, crystals and other stuff are free for everyone to use. Father Black keeps the Holy Water blessed, it’s in the back room if you need some.
So they all came by and offered their help. I told them it would be a few days before I was back up and running. And since a mortal adjuster was unlikely to find the place, I never bought insurance, of course. I guess my wards weren’t strong enough.
I saw them look at each other, but no one said anything. The walked in amongst the debris, and stood in a circle. They joined hands, and I felt the power surge. Yes, even I can feel power like that. A dark mist gathered around them. There was a low rumble mixed with chanting, and the power dissipated.
Molly turned. Her eyes were red with anger. “We’ll be back.” was all she said, and they left.
It wasn’t like I was going anywhere. I mostly only move between my place, the church, and the cemetery. So I started cleaning up.
About an hour later, at midnight, they came back, with some members of the Evangelist gang. I’d seen them before, mostly on the news. “Magic is an abomination!” and “Mystics are going to Hell!” and other ridiculous protest signs, when the more powerful mystics solved a crime or prevented a disaster. Little did they know, some of us have been to Hell already. It’s debatable whether an eternity there or an hour with these wackos is worse. No screaming or waving signs here, though. They looked...different, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.
Father Black stepped forward. “These are the people responsible for the damage. They have agreed to repair everything.”
“Agreed?” I said dubiously. I couldn’t see these guys helping something like me voluntarily.
Red Molly spoke without speaking. “We talked to Old Granny. She agreed to hold their souls in escrow until the damage is repaired. When you’re satisfied, they get them back.”
Old Granny: the only real witch in Salem in the 1600s, and of course the only one to avoid those idiots running the Trials. Now I saw the difference. Fear. Fear of losing the only thing that mattered, their souls. To the will of an “abomination.”
I turned to them. I didn’t think they could be more afraid, but you’d be surprised how scary a ghost can be, when I put my mind to it. “Welcome to the Grave Sight, ladies and gentlemen. I guess we’d better get to work. I have to be back to the cemetery before sunup.” | 2018-10-20T23:47:46 | 2018-10-20T23:34:54 | 16 | 11 |
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