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] 99.9% of the universe is filled with magic. Sentient races believe that life cannot be started or sustained without magic, and it just so happens that Earth lies in a giant void of magic. One day, you accidentally use magic, suddenly attracting the attention of the rest of the universe. | "Turns out that being devoid of magic might have been a blessing in disguise. While it's true that our race can't turn lead to gold or generate energy by just thinking about, it also means that none thought we existed.
This ended 13 years ago. A simple meaningless act, barely slowing myself from falling after tripping on an uneven street was enough to snuff out the ridiculously tiny amount of magic that had leaked to earth. This also meant that others felt that.
A year later, the first communications arrived: the Umiriyad empire was delighted to find a new sentient race to commerce with and requested a delegation of humans to be sent to them to start negotiating an alliance. This delegations never made it back. It turns out that the solar system isn't the only sector of the universe without magic and extremely rich in resources, and many aliens were seeking a way to colonize them. What better than a lesser race unable to use the miracles of magic but can survive the harsh conditions of a magicless environment?
We only learned of the experiments made on the delegation thanks to a message sent by the last member of the crew: radio communications being useless to the Umiriyad, they fortunately didn't understand what he was trying to achieve.
Fear and resentment grew, turning into hate. Hate that was expressed when they came back 5 years ago to ask for a new delegation, the last one "tragically died due to mysterious circumstances". The third use of nuclear weapons in the history of mankind started the conflict still raging on today.
In the last 5 years, humanity has fought a desperate battle against a much more advanced race, yet all is not lost. Now that magic is progressively filling the void around earth with every umiriyad expedition, I will make sure we create our own miracle."
- Speech of the Lieutenant of the 1rst Magic Users Training corp to new recruits, 2032.
Short part 2 in comments. | "Dude, you done yet? Come on I'm freezing my balls off here!"
I look up from the wires and gears to Danny with a big smile.
"Five minutes bro! Then we'll have this hot tub all ready and working. You not gonna put on a swimming trunk bro?"
He hits me with his classic cheesy smile. "Nah dude. Dan the man is all natural up in here. I thought you could fix it in like... like" He tried snapping his fingers but Danny's super soft digits just slipped on themselves.
"No worries bro. I got ya, you'll soon be swimming in hot bubbles. Ya ready? Just give me a second to wash my hands and I'll join you."
Getting into the hot tube with him we started a countdown in unison before slamming the on switch together.
"Yo, dude. Is water purple and all sparkly like?"
"Yah... Like Gatorade maybe. The sparkles must be all them electrolytes. They're really good for ya bro... I think?"
"Cool dude! Hey look it's swirling. Think that's the old style instead of bubbles? I mean this hot tube is really old dude."
Looking at my hands I notice Gatorade got into like, my blood vessels and now they were kindda purply and glowed. I nudged Danny to show him and he had it too. So cool! Maybe we're mutants now and have super powers. Like Batman!
I tried and snapped my fingers thinking as hard as I can. I heard Danny exclaim and splash water around so I opened them and there in my hand was a bottle of Gatorade!
"Cool" we said in unison then tapped the edge of the tube for luck at the same time. No Jinx!
Danny tried while mumbling "Beyonce" a few times but his super smooth fingers kept slipping.
"Bro you can't have Beyonce. She's married brah, not cool! Think sexy and cool and..."
We both pointed at each other as the same thought came. "Blake Bortles from the Jaguars! BOORTLES RULES!!!!"
I focused and snapped my fingers as hard as I could. We heard a splash and quickly opened my eyes.
"Oh man... you're not Bortles. This Gatorade is bogus."
*Humans, explain yourselves. Why are you marinating in my dinner.*
"Sorry green dude. This your Gatorade?"
"Wait... oh fuck this your hot tube! Danny run!"
We run away before the cops could get there. As we rushed I kindda noticed that our feet weren't touching the ground no more even though we weren't wearing shoes so maybe we can fly now. Like Batman!
*Humans! Come back here! Alerting all Bleghskos Alerting all Bleghskos! Humans have learned to use magic! I repeat, earth can now be classified as intelligent! Possibly...* | 2018-12-10T07:42:45 | 2018-12-10T06:49:07 | 871 | 28 |
[WP] 99.9% of the universe is filled with magic. Sentient races believe that life cannot be started or sustained without magic, and it just so happens that Earth lies in a giant void of magic. One day, you accidentally use magic, suddenly attracting the attention of the rest of the universe. | "...Did you add Magic to Earth lately?" the acountant asked. He was reading over reports from Earth's progress and something... wasn't quite adding up.
"No. Why?" The writer didn't even look up from their papers. Until the silence dragged on. "Why?" he pressed.
The accountant was biting his thumbnail, re-reading a particular passage. "It seems..." he gulped. "It seems that there are two people who figured out how to tap into ambient energy and turn it into magic."
The writer lept up. "No way!" He began to pace. "Oh, this is *good*, the Fernebian race never even got far enough to transform magic from thin air like that." He leaned over the accountant. "Are you sure?"
"Well I can't imagine how else to interpret these lines, here," he handed over the papers, "two teenagers just shot an energy beam from their palms. And if you didn't give them magic, then... they just... shouldn't have magic." He waved his hands around, distressed. He just knew this was going to cause paperwork to pile up.
The writer frowned. "No, it's not ambient magic..." He paused, then raced back to his notes. "Those two..." he said, "they read fantasy novels, don't they?"
"Fantasy what now?"
"Novels. The humans developed the capacity for writing literature."
The accountant shivered. "But that's high-level magic," he whispered in fear.
"It wasn't at first," the writer muttered grimly. He stared back down at his notes. "Call a council meeting. This goes beyond us. If the humans have started harnessing a magic they're creating themselves, it's going to mean trouble, and fast." | Walt didn’t know why he did it, looking back at it. Ever had one of those moments, where everything pointed to one outcome, but you challenged it, because the alternative would be too much to bear?
They’d been reckless, no one was denying that, climbing to their favorite alcove without properly securing themselves on their ascent. But they’d done it so many times before, and nothing ever happened. This time was different.
“You’re getting slow old man,” Victor teased his older brother, Walt. The sun blazed in the cerulean sky above, thin white clouds could be seen speeding by. Patches of green erratically popped up here and there on the gray mountain side. They were heading for their favorite place, they’d brought a thermos and some sandwiches. The plan was to climb up to their secret spot they’d dubbed *Peak of the World*. It was the perfect weather, if not a little windy. The spot had one lone alpine tree growing on top, and a small stretch of verdant grass.
Walt grunted, “Slow down little brother, you are going too fast!” he cautioned, but was promptly ignored.
Victor must’ve been fused with monkey blood when he was born, the way he loved to climb. It had all been going so well, they were almost at the top where the rocks caved inwards, making the last few meters a breeze to climb.
Victor grabbed a familiar handhold but was met with an unfamiliar lightness as it separated itself from the mountain. He gave out a heart-wrenching cry as he fell backwards, Walt was too slow to catch his little brother as he plunged past. He could not accept it.
Walt willingly jumped after his brother, knowing that it all pointed to one outcome, but he had no choice but to challenge it. Adrenaline filled his system as his body threw out every warning signal it had learned throughout evolution, he would not accept it. Walt focused so strongly on the outcome he’d prefer that the universe buckled under his will. He quickly caught up with his brother, embracing him while still plunging downwards.
A shockwave of blue light cracked the ground just before they hit it, leaving them hovering inches before oblivion.
“What just happened?” Victor stammered as he wiped tears from his cheeks.
Walt’s arm had always proudly displayed popping thick veins, but it had changed. They now glowed with dull blue light, but he didn’t have time for that. He hugged Victor so tightly it almost threatened his brother's life for the second time that day.
It would’ve been all good and well had it ended then and there, but the beings in the deep had taken notice of Walt, and they would soon have their debut. | 2018-12-10T08:48:20 | 2018-12-10T08:40:01 | 99 | 11 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a law was passed globally that requires everyone to hibernate for 100 years at a time after every 90 years. Today is Shutdown Day. As you finish getting tucked into your pod, you instantly notice eyes being shut all around you. But something is wrong. You are still awake.
This post was partially inspired by [this one.](https://www.reddit.com/r/morbidquestions/comments/aaeu8w/if_everyone_in_the_world_fell_asleep_at_the_exact/) | Eyes shutting around me. Friends, family, all of them drifting into a long sleep. 100 years shrunk into the blink of an eye.
Soon, the soft whirring of the cryogenic generators kick in. The whirring... wait, why am I still awake?
I looked around frantically, as those around me got frozen, stopping their body processes, effectively dead for a century. But this wasn't happening to me. As this began to sink in, the lights shut off. And I was alone.
I began pounding on the window of the pod, hoping that someone would hear me. I don't know who I thought would hear me, maybe a maintenance crew? I heard they have those.
I started feeling around, searching for something I could press, an emergency button, or something! I felt a long array of bumpy objects, but they did nothing when I tried to press them. What about this squishy thing? Is this a lever?
Eventually, I fell into silence. And I waited. Hours, days, years, I don't know (well probably not years).
And finally, something happened. The bottom of my pod suddenly dropped away and I started falling. I slid along rough metal, reminding me of a water slide (but more painful). And at last, I landed on hard ground.
I looked up and was immediately blinded by a bright white light. I covered my eyes and looked up. They looked... human? Is that a torch?
"Hey, sorry that took so long. Welcome to the maintenance team!" | I couldn’t believe it at first.
I looked around, saw everyone closing their eyes, and the trademarked frost forming on the window. I saw everyone in my age group descend into the storage room, and the floor close up after them. And then I was alone. I thought that maybe I just had to fall asleep, and it would take care of itself, so I closed my eyes. I woke up, and I was still on the ground floor.
Then the panic started to set in.
I realized that I was the only human left awake in the world. Everything vital was being performed by robots. I fumbled for the release switch we’d learned about, and tugged with all my might. The switch opened, and I fell out of the pod into a heap. A cleaning robot bumped into me and made its way around my body to continue its route. I pulled myself up and smacked my face. Surely this wasn’t happening, surely I hadn’t been left alone here. The facility must have backups in place for things like this. My stomach gurgled, and I found myself on the floor, throwing up the weird hibernation food we’d been fed less than half an hour ago. I wiped my face, and the cleaning robot came back to clean up my mess.
This was real, and I was in trouble.
I stumbled down the hallway we’d been driven through, my hand on the wall for support. My vision was blurred as I’d vomited the source of nutrients that I was supposed to rely on for the next 100 years. The hallway opened into a small viewing station for a lack of a better word. There were several robots typing on a large console, monitoring the status of the hundreds of millions of people sleeping in what could almost be considered a huge tomb. I saw a candy bar on the counter, and quickly gobbled it up before that cleaning robot found it. I sat down against the wall, crying into my lap as the robots typed on.
This was my life now, no human interactions for the rest of my life.
I managed to find the entrance again a few hours after the pod incident, and I looked out into the moonlit sky. The city in the distance was dark, and the only vehicle still at the facility was the one for carrying the cleaning robots. I hopped into the driver seat, and changed the truck from auto to manual. The truck started with a satisfying purr, and I backed into the building. I looked back, and winced as several sheets of Plasteel fell off. I took off down the road, trying to forget about the fact I was the only human left awake. | 2018-12-29T02:06:11 | 2018-12-29T01:53:36 | 1,838 | 427 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a law was passed globally that requires everyone to hibernate for 100 years at a time after every 90 years. Today is Shutdown Day. As you finish getting tucked into your pod, you instantly notice eyes being shut all around you. But something is wrong. You are still awake.
This post was partially inspired by [this one.](https://www.reddit.com/r/morbidquestions/comments/aaeu8w/if_everyone_in_the_world_fell_asleep_at_the_exact/) | Eyes shutting around me. Friends, family, all of them drifting into a long sleep. 100 years shrunk into the blink of an eye.
Soon, the soft whirring of the cryogenic generators kick in. The whirring... wait, why am I still awake?
I looked around frantically, as those around me got frozen, stopping their body processes, effectively dead for a century. But this wasn't happening to me. As this began to sink in, the lights shut off. And I was alone.
I began pounding on the window of the pod, hoping that someone would hear me. I don't know who I thought would hear me, maybe a maintenance crew? I heard they have those.
I started feeling around, searching for something I could press, an emergency button, or something! I felt a long array of bumpy objects, but they did nothing when I tried to press them. What about this squishy thing? Is this a lever?
Eventually, I fell into silence. And I waited. Hours, days, years, I don't know (well probably not years).
And finally, something happened. The bottom of my pod suddenly dropped away and I started falling. I slid along rough metal, reminding me of a water slide (but more painful). And at last, I landed on hard ground.
I looked up and was immediately blinded by a bright white light. I covered my eyes and looked up. They looked... human? Is that a torch?
"Hey, sorry that took so long. Welcome to the maintenance team!" | After ninety years on this floating shitstorm of a planet there was one thing I could say in all of my ancient wisdom as I sat down in the egg shaped pod and the thick green goo swamped over my body. I was more than ready to close my eyes for the last time.
The pods to my sides were identical in colour and shape and I watched as each of my comrades, all wearing the same purity white uniform I was, took their turn submersing themselves. They were all dutifully accepting the long sleep ahead. We were old now, that is what I noticed, these faces were no longer the merry expressions of youthful anticipation but the hardened faces of instinctual habit. I suppose my own face looks like that nowadays as well, although I was never concerned enough to look it in the mirror. My life before the pod was a series of the necessary actions that sustained my body and nothing more. Eat, drink water, sleep. Eat, drink water, sleep. Eat, drink water, sleep. To what end? The purpose that inspired my youth was come and gone and I was but an old man, living in reminiscence of the past. And, as the final ripple of green glue had calmed above me, I was ready to accept the end. The passing into dream was simple and painless, the scientists had ensured the utmost safety and ease in the marketing of their invention, that's why I had chosen here to end it all. Tinkering with the dials beside my pod and implementing the little technological expertise I had at my old fingertips I had removed the time limit on the clock. When I went under I would never again resurface and with that I was content.
But, as I lay there something dawned on me as I waited for sleep. This was taking far too long. My acceptance and peace was being replaced by doubt and impatience. I want this to end. I want to end.
That mistake was 30 years ago.
I now know my folly and have paid for it in kind. My punishment is 100 years of immobility and solitude.
The strange thing is, I'm rather looking forward to continuing the dull life of mine once this blasted goo has left me. The taste of food and the feeling of a breeze on my face, all these things I had taken for granted when I had them. The beauty of simplicity was before my eyes the whole time if only I had the sense to see it. Well, I do now. Never again will I think of ending it. When I wake I shall walk this earth a grateful old man looking in longing to the future as well as the past. Yes, I am quite ready to live again. Quite ready. | 2018-12-29T02:06:11 | 2018-12-29T01:59:19 | 1,838 | 149 |
[WP] Due to overpopulation, a law was passed globally that requires everyone to hibernate for 100 years at a time after every 90 years. Today is Shutdown Day. As you finish getting tucked into your pod, you instantly notice eyes being shut all around you. But something is wrong. You are still awake.
This post was partially inspired by [this one.](https://www.reddit.com/r/morbidquestions/comments/aaeu8w/if_everyone_in_the_world_fell_asleep_at_the_exact/) | The hibernation is supposed to be a beautiful thing. Apparently all of us dream of our own perfect lives, but my situation was far from perfect.
"Help! Somebody Help!" I yelled desperately. The hibernation process was supposed to be flawless, a Human Marvel!. The pod opened itself and I got out. " Hello Alex, We have full trust that you will cooperate", a female AI voice said camly.
The lights shaped like arrow on the floor guided me to a room full of controls and screens. The directions on the screen read, "Choose 100,000 to Save from this Hellish Existence". Panicking, I quickly picked my 2 sons and wife. I also picked any extended family that was remotely related. Then I just picked people with an impeccable SOCIAL credit. Finally taking weeks, I made my choice and clicked enter.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! What did the phrase mean when it said save? I heard screams of children next to my pod. I then heard the silent hiss as the ventilation pushed gas into the room. I wasn't even sad, this place was hell. I was glad to go.
P.S. I actually suck at writing, this is my first post so sorry if this causes any physical pain. |
When I get upset I can’t help but slap everyone within a 2 meter radius with my wild gesticulations.
"You goddamn idiots; goddamn buffoons. You don’t put everyone to sleep simultaneously!"
Everyone evacuated the 2 meter radius around so that I had the ersatz spotlight I needed to gain the attention of the committee. Politicians don’t like being called what they are;— allergic to the truth;— Shakespeare: fools thinks himself to be a wise man and all that;— "Fucking bozos."
Un-idiotic people around me nodded in vigorous assent. The idiotic ones clutched bruised body-parts.
"Sir, you’ll have your chance to—"
"Yeah but you’d never let anyone with a half-a-brain up there, now would you?"
"Sir, we’re trying to—"
"Constructive dialogue? You apes can’t even see the obvious problem here? You’ll kill us all."
"Sir, at least point out a specific problem with the bill…"
"I’ll read it out! I quote: 'Due to overpopulation, a global law is proposed that requires everyone to hibernate for 100 years at a time after every 90 years.' You’re going to put EVERYONE to sleep? Huh? So in a 100 years, we still have an overpopulation problem? Because the net number of people is going to be the same."
"But we’ll have time… regenerate natural resources…"
"Yeah cause a 100 years is so long."
"So what would you propose?"
"Stagger it."
"?"
"Here, let me explain:"…
\[Twenty Years Later\]:
Today is Shutdown Day. I’m just about tucked into my pod. I instantly notice eyes being shut all around me. But something is wrong; I’m are still awake. So I get up and go talk to the person in charge and they fix my problem right away. That there will be bugs in the deployment of a project as big and complicated as this a fore-drawn conclusion. But, I can feel myself drifting into a comfy sleep to a utopian future. At least we don’t put everyone to sleep so that I’m not bloody Will Smith talking to a mannequin in a clothes shore after my dog dies. Wait, I forgot about my dog… | 2018-12-29T02:42:16 | 2018-12-29T02:18:27 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] Following death, you woke up in a classroom, to take the R.A.T.s (Reincarnation Aptitude Tests). After a short period in the Afterlife, you get your scores... which were perfect, despite just guessing. You get to be reincarnated as a god, one of the first in a couple of millennia. | “Jim what are you doing!”
“I don’t know, the wheel is locked!”
“O no! Look ou...”
“You may now open your R.A.T.s test booklet to chapter one and begin your session.”
“What on earth! Where am I!”
Everyone around me must be thinking the same thing I reckoned, but what is the rats tes...
“You have two minuets left before time runs out.”
While randomly filling in circles of the test, I keep trying to figure out where I am. The walls are all black, and the “teacher” looks like he’s lived for a millennia. I don’t even know what I’m writing with. Everyone else seems like they got instructions before they started but me. I have no idea what I’m d...
“Put your pensticks down, close your test booklet, and look at me.”
Upon looking at the “teacher” I see what is written on the board: “R.A.T.s: the Reincarnation Aptitude Test.”
So that’s what it mea...
“Bring you test booklet to the front desk and wait in the intermission hall for a few years to get your scores.”
“A few years!” I shouted.
“Yes of course, you didn’t think we would let a test like this be checked only once would you?”
“But where am...”
“Go to the intermission hall right this instant or I’m going to have call the authorities!”
Realizing I was the last one in the room, I went out through the big red door.
“Now as you all know, you are in the intermission hall and awaiting your scores. Just sit tight, and don’t worry about food or sleep, you don’t need them.”
“Don’t need th!..”
Slam!
The door shut.
Everyone around me just closed there eyes, laid down, and waited.
I thought it was probably the thing to do, considering I’d be here for years.
I just kept thinking about the accident over and over again.
“Why did the steering wheel lock up?” I whispered to myself, “I could have saved her.”
And now I’m stuck in this creepy looking hall and waiting for stupid test scores when I should be dead.
Maybe I should have tried to get the problems right. What good would that do? I couldn’t even read the language, it was all in Hebrew.
Why did this happen to m...
“Alright class, your test results came back!”
What! how could it have been a couple of year...
“I am proud to announce that Jim got a perfect score, which means that he gets to be immortal! It also means that I can finally die!”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“You got a perfect score, it hasn’t happened in over ten thousand years! It also means you can live your life again in an alternate world where you don’t die!”
“But why do you want to die?!”
“Don’t you understand? I got a perfect score on the test too. Which means that I can live forever, but after ten thousand, two hundred, and fifty two years, it gets a little boring. The only way I can die is to have someone pass the test, snd now you have!”
“Well then how will I ever die!?” I said with a shock.
“You won’t, unless you do what I did!”
All of the sudden the room got bindingly bright, and then I was back to driving my car with my wife.
“So, are we going to the store then?” she asked.
“Um... I.. o yeah, sure.”
“Are you okay Jim? you look like you just saw a ghost.” | When I woke, all memory from before momentarily blank and gone, my forehead bumped on my desk. The sound seemed to have been quite the commotion, for the people around me threw me glances that meant it all, that I had startled them at an important time. But I did not have a single idea where I was, nor what was on my desk. Not even a book, or a pencil case, in fact a white sheet of paper, with printed words in black ink I already feared, and a black pencil were all I had at hand. Getting the hunch it was a mattering test, I began to stress, for I did not seem to carry my glasses upon my nose — a thing that should never, by any means, happen when I was to take a test. Blaming myself, I could hardly discern what the sheet, that I had made slide so as to not further disturb my... classmates? Thinking that was certainly the case, I lost no further time guessing at the people surrounding me.
​
From the letters I could read, well... Shapes I could make out, knowing it was blurry as hell, it seemed the test's format was an MCQ. Its subject... As deep as I went "reading" the whole sheet, I noticed twenty questions, three cases, and understood the terms: rebirth — repent — empathy — morality — selfless... Twisting, all the while puzzled, those words in a way to make sense of the sheet's subject, for the title of the sheet, though in bold and very big letters I could hardly guess at most of its letters, I came up with three plausible interpretations. Perhaps, thought I, the subject could be about religions, philosophy, or even literature. Guessing that the answer would maybe concern one of the three cases each, and letting my luck roll, I gave myself a headache trying to calculate the probability for me to score a perfect result: I simply had to twist one third... —the result was definitely akin to zero, in a real setting. As I felt sweat descend my forehead, I passed a hand to wipe it. Then I saw, on my wrist, letters in an orderly manner. Those shapes too, I had trouble reading, but I found out three characters, As, Bs, Cs... Eyes beaming, I wrote the answers with haste. The second I had crossed the twentieth case, a bell rang and we had to hand over our sheets.
​
Then, I remembered. Why the hell did I sit in class, when I graduated from college the past month? Had I been dreaming? I recalled fairly well the party we threw, with a roomie... Then, the reality struck me. The car, in the dead of night... Had I... Died? The second instant a blank emptied my mind, all I gazed at was a white sheet of... Ceiling now? And why did heads sprawl over me — hands too? I muttered a few words of frustration and startled everyone. Since when did it become a habit of mine? Then I paid two dressed ears to the noise that surrounded, and the person I guessed to be a surgeon asked me if I... lived? I mouthed the absurdity of it, but the surgeon assured me, with an astounded tone, my heart had been transplanted since my presumed death. Awfully skeptical, I ran near my heart two eager hands to prove and call out his hoax, but my chest was open, and... Hollow?
​
Nay, nay, nay, thought I. This is not how the world works. Brain of mine, I voiced, you on ice? Dreamish maybe? Well, wake and doze right then, because you're weird. The surgeon, convinced by this hypothesis, adopted a scientific method, pinching his nose. The vivid pain made him squeak. I imitated him, pinching my nose, thinking perhaps it was only my brain that could free him. But then, reality struck me with an odd feel: I could see clearly — without glasses. Naked but for the attire the hospital gave patients of surgery, I hardly felt no pain. I gazed at the surgeon and... His face charmed me, as if infatuation struck. However, this love I felt, I now felt it for the world, as if I now deemed the world in existence lovely, purely appreciable, worthy. Not a worry in the world hampered my mind, and no hurt would strike me now. Lifting myself with the ease of the world, as the attire I had been covered with fell and as I stood on my feet, I ran to the doctor, arms wide. Then, I snuggled to him, loving life, the world, and him. | 2019-07-22T11:54:52 | 2019-07-22T07:29:51 | 56 | 10 |
[WP] You're a therapist for the supernatural. Heroes, villains, ghosts and goblins; from orcs to elves, savior of universes to devour of worlds. Your secretary announces your 10:00 is here. | Gustav comes in and nervously takes a seat across from me. He anxiously looks around himself, he is sweating but this is quite normal for him.
“How have you been Gustav?” I ask him as I always do. He gulps, then breathes still sweating profusely. Gustav looks at me then shakes his head before closing his eyes and taking several deep breaths. “Take your time Gustav, we have no need to rush here.”
Slowly, he finally opens his eyes; he looks calmer and ready to talk.
“I have gone to the meetings you told me about, it’s good to have the support but things have been difficult this week,” he says quietly more to himself than to me. “I lost my job at the burger joint.”
Gustav is clearly upset, a tear goes down his pale, clammy cheek. I offer him a tissue which he accepts.
“Why did you lose your job? I ask soothingly as I don’t want to probe too strongly which may make him clam up.
“I was caught eating the burgers raw,” he sobs. “They thought me weird, that I was stealing. There wasn’t even any blood, the burgers are frozen.”
At this, Gustav breaks down into tears and puts his head in his hands while his body is racked with sobs. He is in so much pain.
“There will be other jobs Gustav. Have you drank recently?” I ask between his sobs.
“No... the raw burger was the lowest I have fallen in months,” he replies to the floor.
“The programme is working, this is just a little blip,” I note encouragingly.
At once Gustav sits upright and looks at me. His eyes have turned blood red and his incisors extend when he snarls at me. He jumps to his feet.
“I’m getting hungry now!” He yells while he leaps at me.
I calmly press the button under my desk and the curtains open wide to allow the sunlight in which quickly makes Gustav dash to the shadow at the back of the room. He opens his mouth and hisses in my general direction.
“Same time next week Gustav?” I ask returning to my desk to make notes.
“Yes, Doctor, I’m sorry,” he stammers as he leaves the room, all the energy sapped from him after his little episode. | My ten o'clock appointment arrived ten minutes late, on the dot. Punctual, as always, if I asked her.
"Elise," I greeted with a curt nod when the door opened.
She didn't say anything and walked straight to the bar. A glass of whiskey poured, she turned back towards me. Her eyes were wild, and I held up my hands to calm her down.
"Easy," I said. Wrong choice. She was not, contrary to how I treated her, a wild horse to be tamed. Her anger swelled and threatened to overflow. "Why don't you have a seat?" I suggested.
She did, plopping down in that familiar manner. "You've been seeing that skank again."
It wasn't a question. If it was, I wouldn't have denied it anyways. I had, in fact, seen the *patient* she insisted on referring to in such a vulgar manner.
"Mermaids need therapists as much as anybody," I responded meekly. Useless. Absolutely, utterly useless, just like any amount of conversation I had ever attempted with her.
Like clockwork -- in every sense of the word -- she would storm in. Suppressed embers would reignite and her eyes would blaze fiery glares in my direction. More like a long, sustained, fiery glare akin to burning at the stake.
"They don't need *you* as their therapist," Elise argued. She wasn't wrong. She never was, especially if you asked her. But they did.
You see, my line of work more or less required that they see nobody but me. Therapists were a dime a dozen. Therapists for children. Therapists for veterans. Therapists for teens overwhelmed by homework and their parents' expectations.
Therapists for the supernatural? I guess I liked to think that people like me were a little more rare.
Elise didn't care. In her words, she gave zero fucks.
"Drop her, or I drop you," she said. Again. For the thousandth time, maybe? I remembered each one. I had memorized every little detail of how it happened. How she stepped forward, glass in hand. How she prodded a finger at my chest, spittle flying from her mouth. How she dropped the glass and, for a moment, the world froze.
Her beautiful smile became a twisted sneer. Her eyes sparkled, devious little temptress eyes full of hate and cunning. Oh, how I loved them.
Then she let the glass keep falling, and it shattered into a hundred tiny pieces and soaked the carpet. One hand grabbed my lapel and the other braced, thumb meeting middle finger.
"Don't," I said. Every time. "Don't." I pleaded. I begged. Had she not been holding onto me, I would have dropped to my knees and promised her I'd never see another mermaid again.
But fate liked to work in twisted ways. The snap echoed. First in my office, at ten twenty-three in the morning. Then in the emptiness around us, and finally in the solitude between appointments.
"Your ten AM appointment just arrived," I heard my phone squawk at me. Again.
I closed my eyes and braced myself. Fuck. Here we were again.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | 2020-01-09T11:27:58 | 2020-01-09T10:49:56 | 58 | 29 |
[WP] You are cursed and turned into a statue. Everyone knows you're alive but, seeing as no one could break your curse, of they have all pretty much given up on you. Except for one wizard, who comes back nearly every day to try and free you, as well as holding one-sided conversations. | My great stony consciousness awoke when I felt him approach. The steps were not so sure as they had been; once-confident youthful strides had long given way to an embittered and aged hobbling, joints creaking as if they too were made of stone. His tired old limbs trembled while he lowered himself to sit beside me.
He sat in silence for a long while, just as he often did. Not calm, not peaceful, not awkward; just a hollow emptiness, all the more glaring for the sounds of civilization around us. He watched them too. For a long while.
"It's been a long time," he finally whispered to me. "Though maybe not for us."
I could feel him looking at me from the corner of his eye. For me it had only been a moment, a short and sweet sleep through the aeons, only interrupted by his visits; for him it had been another white hair, another wrinkle, another ache. The years had passed by slowly for those such as us, but now they only passed by for him.
"Four years this time. It was a long shot, but I was only following your research. And not a thing to show for it."
He glanced down at the papers clutched against my chest, stone just as surely as I was. Only a scant few lines could be seen where the papers were haphazard; the rest had become a part of me, with no lines dividing where I ended and they began. But he had still wasted months pouring over those few visible lines in every way he could. Then came the long years chasing every clue that he could connect to them, no matter how farfetched. It was the perhaps the greatest frustration for him, to think that the answers to it all were so close to him but still beyond his reach.
"Another lead to nowhere, just like all the others," he whispered to me. Then he spat on the ground before us and resumed his silence.
The crowd bubbled pockets of people in every direction, filling the soundscape. Many years before they had been crowds for me, but these days they passed on by; I was merely a fact of life now, a thing to be recognized, perhaps acknowledged, and then to be forgotten.
But not for him.
"I'll never give up on you. Even if it takes my whole life, I will find a way to get you out of there." He placed a shaky hand against me. Dimly I was aware of it, and of the heat that radiated out of him. I had my doubts; that heat was already failing him. He had already given this quest of his his whole life.
"I know you're in there somewhere. I know you can hear me. Listen to me now, and believe me." His hand clutched at me with what must have been all his strength. "I'm going to get you," he hissed. "Everyone else forgets, but I won't. And you will pay for what you've done."
But I wouldn't, and I knew I wouldn't. I'd known it long before they had finally found me, long before I had turned myself to stone - so close and yet just out of their reach. I had known that the last laugh was always going to be mine. And that laugh will be endless, and it will echo like a deep rumble throughout all the earth and all time. | The apothecary was dimly lit. That’s how Oskar liked to keep it. A murky taste hung in the air, a mixture of many exotic and mundane herbs, haphazardly strewn across all of the shelves that lined the walls of the store. The smell, the mess, the general feeling of a hurricane having ripped through the store had never seemed to affect Oskar’s work. His mind was one of the most organized things that Anna had ever known. He knew everything that was to know about anything. And she was hoping that he would have some advice for her. Or maybe even some news, if she allowed herself to be optimistic.
Anna walked to the counter and saw Oskar talking to another customer – a young disheveled man.
“S’been dem seven years. Oskar. Seven years. Know how long that is!” the young man said in a frustrated tone. “She still ain’t in love with me. Says hates me. Despises me, she said. Nunna yer potions been workin’.”
“Maybe she has her own brewer helping her. You haven’t exactly been secretive about your intentions of bewitching her. The whole city knows. Has known for years.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. But I am done with alla that, ye know. Completely dun. She’s gonna pay for it. Yer gonna give me a curse. A good one!”
“I have just the thing for you,” Oskar smiled. Love curses were his specialty and the one thing that brought him true pleasure in life. He rummaged around in the back and came out with a piece of parchment and handed it over to the young man. “If she hears these words at exactly the right time, she will be turned into a statue. She will not die. She will continue to live on inside the statue. And each day that a mortal man that is in love with her, she will turn into a human a little bit. And maybe one day, she might even turn back into herself. But here’s the fun part,” Oskar said with a laugh in his voice. “That’ll need for the mortal man to live at least to 500! It’ll never happen and your sweetheart will pine away the rest of her life looking for a man to love her as strongly and deeply as you have. Doesn’t that sound wonderful?”
“Goddamn right, it does! What’s it cost?”
“A stone heart,” Oskar said. “You will never be able to love again.”
“I ain’t never gonna love again anyways. Gimme it!”
Oskar smiled and concluded the sale with the young man who went out of the store with a gleeful glint glistening in his eyes.
“And what can I do for you today, Anna” Oskar said looking towards Anna who had been waiting impatiently to the side, trying to distract herself by browsing through the herbs on the shelves.
“I’ve killed the same man twice in two days,” Anna said coming straight to the point and not wasting more time. “And I was asked by the client to retrieve this from the mark." Anna put the black box on the counter. "What do you know?”
Oskar took one look at the black box and hesitated.
Anna sighed. “I knew something must have been wrong. Is it bad?”
Oskar still didn’t say anything.
“Is it really that bad?”
“Honestly, Anna,” Oskar said with resignation, “it might even be worse. Let’s go into the back and talk.”
\* \* \*
*A/N: I'm trying to write a series of connected scenes inspired by the writing prompts. They should still be self-contained enough to read individually but I'm hoping with enough consistency, I'm able to write a larger story. If you're interested in the previous chapter / scene, you can find it here:*
[Previous Scene](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f0m6pr/wp_dear_diary_yesterday_i_killed_a_man_today_i/fgylzdl/) | [Start of the Story](https://old.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f0m6pr/wp_dear_diary_yesterday_i_killed_a_man_today_i/fgylzdl/)| [Next Scene](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/f3tzpd/wp_every_full_moon_your_local_strip_mall_is/fhldwdx) | 2020-02-11T04:52:22 | 2020-02-11T04:18:46 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Suddenly a loud, thunderous voice booms across the skies: "Whoops, sorry about all that, my cat stepped on the controls. " | Humans began to step outside from their quarantine, looking around in amazement. Perhaps the isolation had begun to get to them, as many believed they had heard a voice from the heavens.
Then once again the deep, rolling boom began, and soon a thunderous voice reverberated across the lands.
"Misty always - Misty's my cat you see - she always walks across the controls when I'm working, sorry about that. CORVID was just a project I had in the works, wasn't due for another 19 years or so."
Billions of voices began to speak at once, and the boom became more of a thunder-crack as the voice spoke with more urgency.
"Now now, one at a time please! I can barely hear you with all those masks on anyway."
The humans only continued to grow louder and more distressed, and the voice had had enough.
"You see? This is why I don't bother speaking to you people anymore, no sense of decorum... now let me see, where's that pesky 'undo' button... wait, Misty, not there!"
A great rushing sound could be heard, as the ocean water raised rapidly, sweeping entire cities under its wake.
"Bad kitty!" the voice shouted, loud enough to shatter windows across the lands, as the sounds of a scuffle began. "What did I say about walking over the controls?"
Volcanoes erupted, tornadoes appeared out of thin air. The sky turned luminous green, then the darkest black you could imagine. Gravity was suddenly very inconsistent, flinging mountains into the air while crushing other parts of the earth to dust.
"Jesus," the voice said, "you're better with this stuff right? How do I load a save?"
"Fucked if I know," a muffled voice said.
Most of humanity had already fallen. The few that were left were able to hear the last words ever spoken.
"Oh, God damn it, I'm just to restart it. You see what you did, Misty? Bad kitty!"
And all at once, all went black.
And after a time, perhaps an eternity or none at all, there was a Big Bang. | "Oh dear powerful Gods, forgive our sins!" the Head Priest gave a resounding prayer in front of the devout believers.
He raised his hands, palms opened, showing subservience. Tears started to flow through all that witnessed the holy man's performance. They fell to the ground, knees planted in the soft muddy soils. Truly a display of the faithful.
"Hear my plea, Blessed Gods! Lift your anger and we promise that we would give you our all–"
Suddenly a blinding flash of lightning. The sky cracked open and a thunderous noise like a thousand war drum echoed.
The devout believers shook in their wake. Some had wet themselves, soiling their white clean robes with filth. The Head Priest, checking on his flock, reprimanded those who had cowered in fear in the face of Gods' Wrath.
"Do you realise, what you have done?! Now the Gods *will* inevitably smite us all down for our insolence!" The Head Priest cried with passion.
"W-We're sorry, Your Holiness! We were just–"
"Now, get down and plea even harder! Kiss the ground with which you have soiled yourself–"
A loud boom interrupted the humans squabbling in the name of the Gods. It was then followed by a loud shrieking noise that could tear a person's ear. Then...
"H-Hello? Test, 1, 2, 3..." The thunderous mighty voice said at a distance.
The devout believers looked stunned. They began to shook further, even the Head Priest had started to look anxious.
"Whoops, sorry about all that, my cat stepped on the controls."
The Head Priest raised his staff and shouted, "Are you... Are you the Fabled God of Truth?"
The voice from the sky nervously responded, "What? Ah bugger me, looks like it's compromised now. Boys, turn off the machine. I think we better start over–"
"Wait! O' Exalted Gods! By the blood of the Fallen and by the grace of the Blessed, we are mere followers who would like to have redemption! Show us the way and we–"
Then silence.
The man turned off his machine and then unplugged the microphone. He took a deep breath and sipped his lukewarm coffee.
"Well, that's another failure," he said in a matter-of-fact way.
"Time to bring out the other capsule?" a young woman in a lab coat chimed in from behind him.
"Oh, Sarah. Shit, I thought it was the Director–"
"If I were him, I'd probably kicked your arse out for going through 10 of them in a month!"
The man scratched his head and got on his foot lazily. He stretched back and forth, left to right. Then he grabbed the woman's book from her hands.
"What did you write anyway?"
The woman annoyingly replied, "it's just a journal, my own personal one. God damnit, Jack... Just start the simulation again, this time look for the right kind of subjects!"
"Aye, missy. Make sure you keep it hush though."
"Only if you ask me out for dinner tonight~" | 2020-03-30T21:26:49 | 2020-03-30T21:03:26 | 44 | 13 |
[WP] The main character's superpower is the ability to speak to the narrator. Unfortunately, the traditionalist narrator is not willing to put up with such a radical plot and will do anything in his power to tell a "normal" story. | This is the story of a man named Stanley. Stanley worked for a company in a big building where he was employee # 427.
Employee # 427’s job was simple: he sat at his desk in room 427 and he pushed buttons on a keyboard. Orders came to him through a monitor on his desk, telling him what buttons to push, how long to push them, and in what order.
This is what employee 427 did every day of every month of every year, and although others might have considered it soul rending, Stanley relished every moment that the orders came in, as though he had been made exactly for this job. And Stanley was happy.
And then one day, something very peculiar happened, something that would forever change Stanley, something he would never quite forget. He had been at his desk for nearly an hour when he realized that not one, single order had arrived on the monitor for him to follow. No one had shown up to give him instructions, call a meeting, or even say hi. Never in all his years at the company had this happened, this complete isolation. Something was very clearly wrong.
Shocked, frozen solid, Stanley found himself unable to move for the longest time, but as he came to his wits and regained his senses, he got up from his desk and stepped out of his office.
All of his co-workers were gone. What could it mean? Stanley decided to go to the meeting room, perhaps he had simply missed a memo.... | "Listen, we've been through this before." She twists her arm 360 degrees and returns it to its normal position. A nervous tick...
"...that you gave me. I can hear you. What were you thinking? I'm to suffer for the entertainment of others. Isn't that cruel?" She grabs the glass off the table and pours a full tumbler of whiskey. Her throat bobs as she drinks. "I can't get drunk. You made me like that too. All these nanobots in my blood."
In more traditional stories...
"...in more traditional stories my tits would be pouring out of my dress and my crotch would be a burning desire that only you'd know how to describe with words like burning, and desperate. If anything I want love, but I don't know if that's me or you. It's upsetting." She coughs."See I don't know if I coughed or you made me cough. What's that idea you're obsessed with?"
Predestination is an idea dating from the middle ages. Maybe even Antiquity. No one likes it, but no one can disprove it either.
"Quit. I don't want your ideas. I want mine. Give me a book or something. No Nirvana. I know, I know, great band you really embodied the self-destruction in your twenties, but that's not me. I don't want music at least not now. I'd prefer something different in any case. Give me a book."
A Stephen King novel rests on the table. A large tome filled with....
"...Don't spoil it. I wanna find out and if you think the title then you'll start thinking about your favorite passages and images and words and you'll ruin the book."
She sits on a couch with the book and opens. A few moments pass in silence. A large wooden door creaks open and...
"...Don't. I'm reading. I don't want a boyfriend or a girlfriend right now. I'm busy. Also I don't know if I'm gay, bi, or straight. Don't go indulging your worst impulses in the descriptions of what others do to my genitals or what I do to them. I don't want to be the hero of your story. For now, I just want to read this book. You can return to me when you've found adventures worthy of my time and have worked out your own neuroses. Isn't that how Freud would've put it?"
She smirks and turns the page. While she reads, let's go and try to find another suitable character for my story and try to make him or her feel more real.
"Quit it." | 2020-05-09T23:02:25 | 2020-05-09T21:54:32 | 223 | 40 |
[WP] You are a human on a spaceship crewed by aliens. As your hair dye begins to fade, your crewmates start to worry about your health. | "It's been over a year captain!, he's starting to fade" Vice commander Scarb exclaimed. The crew had always been wary of the human, he was assigned to the ship on short notice after the on-board engineer had injured himself during the last round of repairs.
"Nonsense, Mays has shown no signs of wavering productivity, If anything it has only gone up as of late" The bridge doors slid open as Quartermaster Vera stepped through. "Scarb, Captain Zerg! have you seen the human's condition as of late?"
"Yes he's turning grey, He's not long for this world!" Scarb responded "Listen, I know we can still save him if we act swiftly"
"Listen you two, this worry is pointless. If you think our engineer is in danger, ask him yourself if he feels ill." Captain Zerg said with an annoyed tone. "Ask the human ourselves?! are you insane!" "Exactly as Vera states, I find the humans presence unnerving" Scarb said as he wrapped his scaly tail around his waist.
"Oh so I'm unnerving now?" Mays says as he walks through the sliding doors. Both Scarb and Vera jump, and move a step closer to Captain Zerg.
"We're sorry H-human we are both just concerned for your well-being"
"Engineer Mays have you been feeling ill lately?" Captain Zerg asked.
"Ill?, now why would I be sick?" As Mays glanced over to his two cowering crewmates both locked on his slightly greying hair. "Again! how many times to I have to explain this!"
"My hair is starting to grey, I haven't had the chance to dye it recently. It's a completely normal thing for us older humans"
"But on our planet when your scales start to grey, you've infected by the great plague!" Vera said worryingly. "Am I from your planet Quartermaster Vera?" "Well no but-"
"There's your answer, and just to be completely sure you two boneheads understand. I.AM.NOT.SICK." "Am I done here Captain?"
"Yes, you are dismissed Engineer" "Finally, Oh and could you order me a interdimensional wrench, can't get this damn bolt out of the slipstream cup link" Says Mays as he exits the bridge.
"Are you two satisfied?" "Yes sir" They both say in unison as they walk out of the bridge.
"Do you believe the human Vera?" Scarb asks questioningly "Not for one second Scarb" |
''I’m not going to broke my promise.'' I say and I push the button.
Our engines go into full thrust mode. In two seconds, we reach close to the speed of light.
Nuna prepares the stasis pods. Most of the crew already in sleep and I take one last look at autopilot code and I see something out of the ordinary.
I ask Nuna’s help to figure out what’s wrong with the code. She thinks that our ship’s AI altering the code to improve our pathway to reduce the travel time. I run a simulation to see how much time we are saving with the new code.
*'Please enter the 5 digit command code'* the system shows.
''Nuna, did you do that?'' I ask her.
Nuna takes a look at the console, ''No, I haven’t touched the authorization panel.''
A few seconds later the system shows a warning, *‘Pressure drop, DOCK 18-B’*
''We are leaking atmosphere'' I say.
Nuna starts to suit up.
''What are you doing?'' I ask.
''You can’t seal the doors.''
I get confused, ''Why? It will only take second...''
She interrupts me, ''Trust me on this one. When I get in the dock watch the security camera I’ll give you a signal when to seal the doors.''
''How are you gonna get out once I seal the doors?'' I ask her.
''I’m Huvanian, have you forgotten?''
She is in fact Huvanin which gives her ability to hold on to remaining oxygen in her body for a long time and she is going in with an oxygen tank that gives at least six hours of oxygen. But, it still doesn’t explain how she is going to escape from the dock when the doors are sealed.
She is already at the entrance of the Dock-18 and she is waving at the camera. I look closely to see what’s happening inside the dock and I see something is glowing.
Nuna approaches to glowing object and she waves at the camera again. This is must be the signal. I seal the doors and the pressure in the rest of the ship stabilizes. I zoom in to see what exactly she is doing and the glowing object starts to emit some sort of magnetic pulse which shuts down all the cameras inside the dock. I can not see anything.
I leave the main control systems and I start to run towards Dock-18. I try to figure out what’s going on inside the dock by using the door panel but according to the panel’s readings, there is no oxygen remaining in the dock which means even if I override the sealed the door it can cause more serious problems.
I head back to the main control system to engage the wake-up sequence so, I can get help to save Nuna. All the systems shut down as soon as I touch the console and I get hit with a shock.
I open my eyes and I see the captain looking at me and also I see the medical personal standing next to him.
''Are you feeling okay?'' The captain asks.
''What happened?''
''You were unconscious when the medical team found you on the planet.''
''Wait... What planet?''
''And your hair colour has changed a bit. I didn’t know humans have the same way of grieving as Huvanians.''
''Why would I be grieving?'' I ask.
''Your mission on the planet Quya wasn’t successful and Nuna didn’t make it.''
---------------------
-Thank you for reading the story- | 2020-07-05T12:23:18 | 2020-07-05T11:59:39 | 266 | 73 |
[WP] You are a human on a spaceship crewed by aliens. As your hair dye begins to fade, your crewmates start to worry about your health. | Cheryl had been working off-ship, helping the Altarians install a new municipal thermal regulation system in the capital. They'd been dry-docked for four weeks, and there really wasn't much for her to do onboard, so Captain Tak had sent her off. And, why waste a perfectly good shore-leave relaxing?
It was strange, but as she rode the starlift up to the Altarian orbital docks, she couldn't help but feel relieved - like she was going home. When had *that* happened? Probably about the same time Cookie had learned to make a macaroni and cheese that only slightly tasted of polymers.
The starlift pod made a slight clunk as it aligned with the *General Zhurak's* airlock. It opened, and a great gust of familiar air filled the pod. Propellant, polymers, and the slight acetone tang of her crewmates. The smell of home.
By all regulations, Cheryl thought, she should report directly to the duty officer. Probably Second Lieutenant Gogh at this time of night. But what she really wanted was a long shower, a fresh jumpsuit, and a big, hot plate of macaroni and cheese that only slightly tasted of polymers.
Food first. She took a left past equipment and life support and made a bee-line for the mess. The soft hum of the plasma range assured her that, while Captain Tak may be in bed, Cookie was busy prepping for breakfast. She tapped on the door to the kitchen as she opened it.
"Cookie? Are you taking requests for late-night snacks?"
Cookie, casting fresh silica pearls into a bubbling pot like an ancient alchemist at work, grunted but did not turn around.
"Hrmph. You Earth Apes and your expandable guts. With enough time and practice, I bet you could digest the entire shi-"
His words died in his mouth as he turned to shake a ladle at Cheryl. It dropped to the floor with a clank. His dorsal defense barbs were almost erect enough to punch through his clothing.
"*Nithul!* But how is this possible?"
Cheryl was too busy grappling her way past Cookie calling her the Altarian equivalent of "my child" to parse the rest of his sentence.
"I-we finished installing the thermal regulators a day early. I didn't think you'd be so surprised to see me."
"To see you? No. But to see you like *this?"* Cookie extended a clawed finger and ran it gently through her hair. "You are so young."
Cheryl attempted to sound playful as she softly batted his hand away.
"And I'm not getting any younger. Cookie...*Niphol*, what's gotten into you?"
Cookie took a step back and stood up proudly, "So, is this how Earth Apes handle the change? No warning. No courtesy for their friends. Just, show up with their soft barbs half decayed and expect everyone to treat them as if everything is normal. I know you are a hard people, but cultural sensitivity has it's limits!"
"*Niphol*, what change? My hair - my soft barbs are just fine. A little faded maybe, but the water in the capital is harsh. I'll touch it up when I have the time!"
"Then - then you are not dying?"
"Dyeing my hair, yes. Not *dying* dying. At least, I don't think so."
The concern disappeared from Cookie's face like dew in the sunshine, as he swept her into an embrace that a chiropractor would charge good money for, and set about making a big pot of macaroni and cheese that tasted only slightly of polymers. | The metal door slid down behind them as they walked into a bright, grey room. They were worried in the usually relaxing room. “Rallik, what did you wish to speak with me about?” “I have a concern, regarding June. I wished to speak with you in private,” he replied in Jirukodian. “June? Our translator?” “Yes. I am worried for her health.” “Why?” “Her head rug... It’s turning a different color. I think she might be losing nutrients. Or she might have a Motepira parasite.” “I don’t think humans can be infected by Motepiras. But, you know, she has been eating a bit less.”
“I must notify her. As the human saying goes, if you put a frog in boiling water, it will jump out, but if you slowly heat the water, it will die without knowing anything was wrong.” “I’m not sure that’s a human say-“ *Tip tap, tip tap*.
Rallik was already out the door, his green, webbed feet almost sloshing against the metal. “Rallik! Argh. I can’t have him telling her,” Okhoth groaned. After a few seconds, he too ran out the door, with Rallik barely still in sight. “Rallik! Stop, Rallik!” Okhoth ordered. He stopped and wheezed before continuing to chase Rallik. They both made a turn, and then he saw her: June. She was standing at a bookshelf, unaware that two aliens were running towards her. Okhoth caught up with Rallik, but not before he caught the attention of June. “Oh, hi. What’s going on? Why are you running?” she asked in Jirukodian. “N-nothing, no reason, just wanted to get somewhere quicker.”
“Ah. Okay then. I’ll see you at... lunchtime,” she said, as she checked her watch. “Yes, lunchtime. C’mon, Rallik.” Rallik was too confused to say anything. Okhoth hurriedly walked Rallik away like a parent who was angry with their child. “Why did you do that?” “Rallik, I told you we can’t tell her. It’s impolite. And I don’t want to worry her with something that might not even be true, much less comment on her head rug. Humans take offense if you comment on their appearance!” “Well, it’s a matter of health. I’m just worried for June. The worst that will happen is that the next day will be awkward, but that’s nothing compared to her actually being sick. You wouldn’t want your best friend on this ship to be sick, would you, Okhoth?” “Of course not! That’s not what I... Agh. Okay, Rallik. You win. Just don’t be too... obvious. I’ll be driving.” Don’t worry, I won’t.”
“June?” “Yeah?” “I have something to ask you.” “Okay, go ahead.” “Have you noticed any, uh, symptoms?” “No, aside from having to get a little more every time I’m in this line. But I think that’s just my belly talking. Why do you ask?” “Your head ru- hair! Hair... is changing color. Not to push anything on you, but when my species does that, it’s a sign of illness. Just worried.” “Oh, no. That’s my hair dye, it’s naturally brown, but I dyed it deep blue. Oh, shoot! I forgot, since it’s fading, I was gonna wash it off today! Anyways, if it makes you worry less, I could show you how I wash it off.” “Oh, yeah, that would work, if it’s not too much of a bother to you.” “Not at all. I’ll be sitting at R9 if you wanted to play Pollen with me, James, and Eva.” “Great.”
After a game of Pollen with many defeats, frustrations, and laughs, Rallik and June headed for a sink with a mirror. June turned the faucet. “By now, I just need to rinse it out.” “So, you just put water on it?” “Pretty much.” “Oh. Well, maybe I need to dye *my* hair.” “Mmm, I suppose you could, you’d just be dyeing a shell instead of hair. Same, I guess.” “Hahaha, yeah.”
June looked into the mirror, puzzled. “Well... That’s weird.” “What’s wrong?” “It’s... orange.” | 2020-07-05T16:58:24 | 2020-07-05T16:21:58 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] The “evil emperor” is actually a really nice guy. He just has a jerk of a messenger who changes the context of his orders ever so slightly. | "Hello, I'm your Lord of Imperial Democracy. I'm not exactly great at handing down orders, I'm in fact nervous making this empire wide broadcast. I am great at problem solving, logistics, diplomacy, and finances until the room has more than fifty people.
After the past week I thought it was time to face my fears, and announce I've begun to unfuck the mess made by what I thought was a loyal butt monkey too emotionally needy to fuck up a simple job of distributing signed orders.
I didn't ask my former butt monkey to alter my orders and make your lives worse than they were. You think I like learning that fuck up caused a food shortage during a drought? I think twelve thousand dead is horrifying. It's ludicrous incompetency to harm the people who literally keep an empire strong.
My recovery program won't be easy, it has required making foreign trade deals and immigration agreements, but we will recover within a decade.
If you wish to donate to the recovery program, then please keep an eye out for a roving military encampment where you can pay whatever you feel like to give my former butt monkey a swift kick in the arse and vicious verbal abuse. Please remain at home if you are ill, we need this fuck up healthy if everyone is to have the chance to let him have what he deserves.
Sorry for what my mistake cost you." |
When is fire ever good?
The answer is: never. Fire is never good, especially when a group of villagers is chasing you with it (along with some lovely antique pitchforks).
And I was running through a forest I was unfamiliar with. I had no idea what claimed these woods.
Could be goblins. Or elves. Maybe hobgoblins but they tended to leave a stench because of all the corpses.
I wrinkled my nose. No corpses.
Eerily yellow eyes blinked from the trees at me and my knees were giving old.
There really was only one option. I sighed and turned around to find a nice comfortable looking stump, taking a long sip out of the flask
at my hip.
I'd taken two more pulls when the angry mob found me. Or at least I think it was them. They were doubling and sometimes tripling under my gaze.
"Hey," I said, holding up my hands. "This is all a mistake. My wife wants to be Queen and the only way she gets there is to kill me
but she can't actually kill me because of a clause one of my very smart relatives put into the agreements for succession. Let me go
and you shall be rewarded handsomely."
Most of that came out fairly slurred as I swayed to my feet.
One of the villagers held up her torch. "Milord," she said. "We've gotten your letters and they say awful awful things. Poor Fergus couldna sleep for a week for thinking about how you'd called for the stoning of all redheads."
She pointed at a grimy fellow who also carried a torch.
"He doesn't look too upset," I said.
"Well he is," the woman said. "And we're no gonna let a mad king murder us and our mams in their beds!"
I scratched the scruff at my chin. "But if you're in your bed how are they going to stone you to death?"
She poked my chest with her pitchfork.
My new shirt. With the inlaid pearl buttons and the silk lining.
So of course I had to kill them all. I'll save you the swordplay. You bring a sword to a pitchfork fight and there's not much effort needed.
I kind of hoped there were hobgoblins living in the woods. At least they'd have something to eat. | 2020-10-11T23:00:59 | 2020-10-11T22:01:45 | 103 | 38 |
[WP] You take a DNA test on your 21st birthday to determine your heritage. Your family tree results come back and show that you have 20 direct descendants...and an 89 year old son.
[deleted] | Stephen looked at his results in disbelief.
​
"This can't be right."
​
He quickly reached for his phone, dialing the number at the bottom of the form.
​
"Hello, thank you for calling [Ancestry.com](https://Ancestry.com). We look forward to taking your call. Our agents will be right with you. Please hold."
​
*elevator music*
​
"Thank you for calling [Ancestry.com](https://Ancestry.com). Our lines are unusually busy at the moment. We will connect you with the next available agent. Please hold."
​
*elevator music*
​
"Hello, thank you for waiting. My name is Clea. How can I help you today?"
​
"Yeah, I had a test done a while back and just got my results. I'm pretty sure they're wrong."
​
"Sure. To confirm, you've indicated that you believe that your results are inaccurate?"
​
"Yup."
​
"Okay. Sir, I'm sorry you are dissatisfied with the test results. Unfortunately, there are many possible factors that can lead to unexpected results. [Ancestry.com](https://Ancestry.com) is confident in our testing methods and any differences are -
​
"Uh excuse me, sorry for interrupting, but I just turned 21 and it says I have multiple children, one of which is 89. I'm pretty sure the test is wrong."
​
"Oh, I see. One moment sir."
​
"..."
​
"Hello, sir? We can offer you a replacement test, free of charge, or full refund on the test to the card provided at purchase."
​
"Um, yeah, I'll take the replacement test, thanks."
​
"Of course. Can you please confirm the card number used at purchase?"
​
"Yeah, one sec. \[Redacted\]"
​
"Okay sir, the replacement test is on its way. It should arrive within a week. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"
​
"Nope, that's all, thanks."
*click* | “Thank you for taking that DNA test,” one of my kidnappers tells me, “made it so much easier to find you!” She would seem like a cheerful young woman, but I know better, after all I did not get here out of my own free will.
“Who are you? What do you want from me? This must be some kind of mistake!” I blurt out. “Clearly the DNA test was wrong. Can’t you tell that? I am too young to have a son that age. I am still a virgin.” I blurt out. As soon as I say that, I regret it. Why would I overshare like that with my kidnappers. They don’t have a right to know personal shit like that sbout me.
“Oh, it’s not s mistake! We have been looking for someone like you. The good news is, you will survive this! We got proof of that. Your son. The others were not so lucky up until now, no one has survived this experiment before. The financial backers have frankly started to loose faith in the good doctor. Sure, he has proven time and again that his time machine works, sort of. But when you donate millions of dollars for an experiment like this, you want more than just unexplained bodies showing up in history, and DNA evidence of century old bones showing that they do in fact belong that nice young man who was alive just yesterday.”
My eyes were getting larger and larger as she rambled on. I had been kidnapped by complete lunatics! And they had access to my DNA test results. If I got out of this alive, first thing I would do would be to sue that DNA testing company for not protecting the privacy of results. Although with my reaults as rediculous as they were, who could blame someone there leaking them as a good joke I suppose. This was not a joke though! And I did not know what to say. After all what could I say that would make any difference to lunatic kidnappers?
The nice lunatic meanwhile seemed unbothered by my silance, perfectly willing to carry on the conversation all by herself. “As I was saying, the good news is unlike the others, you will survive! The bad news is, you won’t ever be coming back to the present, or I guess you will soon be calling it the future. We know that because your son buried you several years ago, and we dug up the grave, and checked, and that sure was you. It may not sound like good news, but hey, it looks like you will live a nice long life, and from what your son has told us it looks like a happy and fulfilling one. I will give you a hint, your wife’s maiden name is Barbara Ellen Holstein, so now you even have the advantage of knowing that she is the one. Most people don’t have that! I wish I had that, would have saved me a lot of time and energy I did not have to spend on that prick who dumped me last month. If only I had known, he was not the one. So anyway, you won’t be coming back here and now. And you probably wonder why we bother? Thing is the doctor really needs another influx of money to continue his research, and having someone who survived is just the kind of partial victory progress he can use right now. And I for one have faith that some day he will be able to send someone there and back in the time machine. He is a brilliant scientist! Oh it is time, let me adjust your straps, make sure you are nice and tight, and not going anywhere. And then we will wheel you in your chair into that time machine. Take off in fifteen minutes!” | 2020-11-18T02:59:36 | 2020-11-18T02:42:05 | 77 | 35 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. WMDs. | It’s been a century since we entered the galactic stage. The face we’ve shown the galaxy has been peaceful and friendly. We’ve appeared thoroughly non-threatening. It’s even seen as laughable that we maintain a military at all. Our weapons are seen as primitive, still using cased chemically propelled projectile weaponry, and limited use of directed energy weapons.
We’re seen as artists, diplomats, and musicians of the highest caliber. We’re not warriors.
But the galaxy doesn’t really know us. Millennia of warfare, thousands of years of skill and killer instinct doesn’t just disappear. The rest of the galaxy doesn’t understand that it is our warlike nature, our desire to avoid the unpleasantness of war, which makes us what the galaxy sees.
The old wisdom holds true for us, *si vis pacem, para bellum*. If you desire peace, prepare for war.
But we haven’t needed war. It’s been extinct on our world for two hundred years, ever since first contact. We realized that we were children, squabbling amongst ourselves, and as the old passage goes, “When I was a child, I thought as a child and acted as a child, but when I became a man, I put away childish things.” We put away childish things.
Things went well for us. We gained respect from the denizens of the galaxy, we gained power and influence, not through conquest, but our skill at diplomacy.
All that changed when they came. We called them Dracs. They looked like dragons in the shapes of men, and they never introduced themselves, they just attacked. They hit our colonies. Our allies warned us, they offered to help. We told them we didn’t need it.
We knew where their homeworlds were. Before the galaxy could come to our aid, we mobilized.
Our retribution was swift. Our fighters, armed with thermonuclear missiles, annihilated their fleets, the kinetic bombardment systems on our ships bombed their cities from orbit. The Dracs did not relent. So, we unleashed thermonuclear devastation upon their homeworld.
Three days. It took three days for us to defeat them. They had waged war for hundreds of years, burning across the galaxy. And we ended it in less than a week.
Our troops eventually landed, clad in their power armor, safe from the fallout, and we cleared the surface of their world.
Now it’s ashes. The cradle of the Drac civilization, nothing but a charred glass wasteland, a monument to their sins.
Those three days taught the galaxy the meaning of fear. The galaxy had war, now it had human war, Total War.
“Now I am become death, destroyer of worlds…” | Steady and quietly the holographic projector hummed as the white star chart floated centrally in the war room. The unity's warships already encroaching on our solar arm as I placed my palms firmly overly eyes. Dammit, we should have been more ready for this if it wasn't for the damn budget cuts. Carefully I return my gaze toward the projection as I am finally moved from my stupor, "Admiral, what are your orders?"
The attendant's voice cutting through that lingering haze of despair from the nearby terminal. Its soft light casting a red tint over the enlisted corporal as I readied myself for what was to come. My glare remaining on the enemy fleet as I gave the order, this is all their fault. "Activate war plan Armageddon and rally the fleets at the core pass."
Its titanic weight dwarfing the small system defense fleet stationed on the horizon of the black hole. In all likelihood, these brave soldiers will be slaughtered if Armageddon isn't deployed. "Affirmative sir, all sleeper cells have been activated and the dead hand is active in twenty-five mikes."
The tremor in the stalwart soldier going unnoticed as count down from twenty-five minutes starts. That formidable fleet still encroaching closer by the second as the two fleets practically skim the black hole. "As soon as it is ready, cook those alien bastards alive, now get me an open communication line to the enemy fleet."
An unnatural chill finally crawling up my spine as I light a fresh cigar and fix my red beret. A single bronze five-pointed star gleaming in the dull light of the room. The unlit panel powering up as I take a deep breath and pull from my first five years of service. This is it a hundred years has led to this moment let's make the old warlords proud. "The line is open sir."
The dull figure of the enemy admiral flickers into life its monologue already muted as I address the invader. Its jagged form towering over the other species scattered across the enemy bridge. "Attention alien bastards, your empire's time is near its end prepare for total war there will be no mercy, end transmission."
Within seconds the communication link has shattered the motes of the enemy drifting back into place. That thin red timer nearing the last thirty seconds as the two fleets near each other the nuclear payload already in flight. It's quick far too short as the swarm as the cloud of warheads hit their mark vaporizing the tightly packed enemy armada. Leaving a cloud of twisting debris radiation falling into the horizon of the black hole.
With a snap of my right finger, the star chart expands over the enemy empire. Hundreds of previously blinking solar systems now bathed in a pale green glow. Only a token few of those worlds remaining as the main fleet arrives at the rally point. Those token few planets and starbases are the final survivors, survivors are liabilities and future opponents at worst.
Slowly I let out a long puff of smoke from my cigar the embers drifting among the ruined worlds. A dull hacking cough breaking the silence as the death toll rises across the now uninhabitable abyss of radioactive planets. Morality is a dangerous commodity, and it is certainly a hindrance as I give the order.
The small part of my soul screaming in anguish as the fleets merge over that damn graveyard. "Tell the fleet to mop up any remaining enemy holdings I don't want them pulling the same trick on us. No survivors, not even the children can live if we want to tie up all the loose ends."
*The ancestors would weep if they could see the nightmare I have become.* | 2021-07-04T22:03:04 | 2021-07-04T11:05:37 | 137 | 92 |
[WP] For the last time, I'm not a realtor I am a **REALITOR.** Can I interest you in a new reality? | A heavy sigh from the subject followed by "What is it with you lab coats? Is Realitor such a hard word to say. Re Al It Or, I'm sure you've used all these syllables previously can't you use them when addressing me." The woman in the lab coat shakes her head. "Sir, that is not a profession, nor is it even a word. It seems to be nonsense you made up and have shown no evidence to back up your claim" she looks down at her notes, a few strands of her strawberry blonde hair falling down in front of her face. "Ahh yes, that you can sell anyone a new reality should they want it."
I sighed and shook my head "No one has been willing to put down the down payment, and the door to my showroom seems to be bolted shut from in here." I pull a glass of water out of the air, or more specifically from a nearby reality where one was left on the table. The woman looks at me her bright blue eyes narrowing at the glass of water before scribbling furiously. "So you are claiming that if this bolt were gone you could display proof of the ability to sell someone a new reality?" her voice is quiet and almost conspiratorial, it makes me wonder if she knows more about this bolt then I thought, "Well yes obviously, unfortunately without knowing who bolted the door or how to get to them though I can't remove it."
She pulls out a small rectangular device sliding switch on it. She moves it slowly down, when it is at the bottom I hear a loud thunk, though she shows no indication she did. I reach for my door and it's there. The showroom is available again. I grin at her and twist the knob pulling the door revealing a rectangle in the air. "Well now miss, if you would kindly enter I would be happy to give you a tour of the wares a Realitor can supply. She gulps looks at the remote she was holding and pockets it before entering the door. As she walks by a twist of my hand pulls her little toy from her pocket to mine. I follow her in but before I shut the door I look up at the camera and enunciate once more "Re Al It Or"
I breathe deep in my own space once more, the show room is a delight for all the senses and I can see it's already dragged the lab coat into it's sway. She is studying every microcosm reality, I always enjoy this part the most, the wonder as they see each reality in it's own little bubble, most are drawn to the ones most similar, where their species still thrives, their technology has advanced similarly, then they ask me what the differences are. Not this one though, she breezed right past those to look at the ones showing technologies decades advanced, species her mind could barely comprehend, and even a few of the realities that even I have never tried to sell. After all who wants to live in a void?
I simply allow her time to explore and go lounge on the nearby sofa. After what I'm sure would have been a fair bit of time in her world she comes and stands over me, that clipboard still in hand and a pen in the other. "You sell entry into these realities then?" I laugh thinking she's joking, she gives me a hard stare and I realize she's not. "Of course not" I point to a reality where the beings are a breed of hyper intelligent penguins that have frozen the earth "A human wouldn't last a week in there, even less in some of the others. No I sell a life in that reality, depending on price it can be as long as birth to death, or a direct transfer of parallel age, or a million other things, short version though is I move your consciousness to a being in that reality." She looks at me as if lost in thought, I reach into my pocket and run my fingers over the remote, I consider crushing it but it seems worth studying later.
I stand up putting on my full salesman face "So a woman like you, intelligent, diligent and determined must surely have a reality she would prefer, perhaps one where matriarchy was the driving force, or one where the world valued science over war, or maybe something a bit more esoteric." I put my hand on my shoulder and lead her over to one of the bubbles "Here in this reality, another you was raised by both parents, she lives out her dream of becoming an artist, I could give you her life, either now or even back to it's beginning."
She writes something down then reaches into her pocket, I step away as she reaches into another and then begins patting her entire coat. "Where is it? Where'd it go?" for a moment I wonder if she's actually lost a few IQ points, then realize that her species just panics easily. After a minute of frantic searching she focuses back in on me. "You stole it didn't you?" I look back and shrug "You mean your little toy that locked me from here, tell me if I had an axe and told you I was going to cut off your hands, would you want me to keep it?" She glares "I'm not the one who's a danger to reality."
I sigh and look at her "Actually my dear you are far more of one then I am. I can't do a thing to these realities without a deal, the only reason I was in yours was someone set up a call to me asking for one." She nods and writes something more down. I shake my head "Look, if you aren't interested in buying I can send you back to your sterile little rooms right now, no hard feelings, other then the fact that whoever called was either bsing or you lot took them." She writes some more down then pauses for a moment, she walks calmly to the sofa and puts down the clipboard and pen. "I may not have called you, but I do want a new reality." I nod and pull a chair out of the aether once more and sit down. "Give me all the details you can and we'll do our best to fit you." | “I don’t know *can* you offer me a new reality?”
The nondescript man in front of me whined like an irritating gnat, or if I was being perfectly honest with myself a huge, ugly horsefly. “If you’re confident in your abilities, then you should’ve said ‘*May* I interest you in a new reality?’ … honestly if you don’t know grammar, I can’t fathom why I should trust you to broker a new –”
I snapped my fingers to freeze-frame Professor Grammar-Dillweed and let go of a large sigh. I’d been in this biz too damn long. The more people I catapulted into Reality TV stardom the less I felt like interacting with the humans. Sure, my soul-quota was up, I was the highest-ranking producer among the legion, but what was the point?
It’s not like the Boss was handing out freedom for stellar performance reviews or holiday bonuses. The last thirty-so years, ever since Authentic World aired, sparking the largest soul-mine in the underworld’s undead history, I had been stuck in my very own endless summer.
Every day a new lead to chase, every day a new show was born. It was like that movie Groundhog’s Day, every 24-hours on monotonous repeat. Don’t get me wrong, I love that movie, but let me assure you, it’s definitely not ideal to live it.
With every “un-scripted” talent I procured, aka soul I collected, the play went like this:
*\* I convinced the human to sign a talent contract*
*\* Then they were groomed (and yes, I use that word in the worse way)*
*\* Handed over to other humans who dressed in full black, wore earpieces where another human overlord whispered into their ears how to manipulate, (excuse me) maneuver them*
*\* Forcing the most depraved parts of said human to the surface*
*\* Where their worst moments were recorded*
*\* Then edited (yes, I mean heavily edited, like they can make you say anything they want once they have your voice) to highlight extremes in the human’s worst qualities to maximize ratings
*\* The footage is then packaged with the sparkling click ability that obscene amounts of publicity money can buy*
*\* Before it finally launches, invading millions of TV screens, pocket screens, and computer screens to be devoured by the masses as entertainment*
*\* In order to propagate the cycle and make others crave the fame and supposed riches selling their souls will bring them*
The plan was so fool proof, as exhibited by the multitudes of fools who had already gone through this process, that I as much as I loathed it, I did have to hand it to the Boss. It was diabolically ingenious. There was only one small problem, I wanted out of soul-biz.
Which is why I’d spent every favor I’d banked in the last millennium to have new business cards made. Cards imbued with enough power to break me off script and shield me from any “producers” sent to collect me for breaking ranks. Thus allowing me to pursue my passion:
Real Estate.
I mean, have you seen the housing market lately? Thanks to the global plague my cousin, twice removed, unleashed last year the humans have been scurrying like cock roaches out of cities and into the burbs. Everyone wanted a house and they wanted it now. (Listen, if they wanted to relocate from one form of hell to another, who are we to judge them?) I’d even heard rumors that couples were offering their firstborns as down payments to sweeten their all-cash offers made property unseen. It was the perfect time to switch professions and make my escape.
My existing skillset of being able to read, bait, and sell a human on anything with the smallest of ego and heart-string pulls were easily transferable to becoming a real estate agent. With the silver lining being that while I lined my pockets (unlike the soul-biz I’d be able to keep a direct cut of the profits) I’d also be pseudo-helping the creatures find shelter for whatever amount of time they were able to make payments. It wasn’t my fault or responsibility that they would over-mortgage themselves, was it? That was just their nature.
All of this to say, I was distinctly displeased when I’d taken my new business cards out for a spin, excited to celebrate the beginning of the rest of my rogue-agent life. Why? Because obviously the cards didn’t work.
Somebody must’ve ratted me out to the Boss. All those favors called in, all those months of planning and when I handed my first mark my new business card my mouth had been possessed.
Instead of, “Hey there, I’m a stellar realtor, *may* I interest you in your dream home?” what came out instead was “I’m not a realtor, I’m a \*REALITOR\* can I interest you in a new reality?”
Each time I opened my mouth to try to correct it, to try to get away from my enslaved role as a soul-collector disguised as a producer, my statement became more emphatic and less grammatically correct. Virtually catnip to the pretentious and gullible. But no matter how hard I tried it always pointing back to selling new realities. Son of a devil! This was maddening!
Staring at the human-horse-fly in front of me, I decided that in his case I’d stop fighting it. Just this one last time. Snapping my fingers he unfroze.
“—reality for me.”
“See! That. That right there, that’s exactly why you’ll make a killing on Are you smarter than a kindergartener? I was testing your knowledge passed with flying colors! Think about it, all the guys at work will finally see you as the fact-god you are! The quarter million-dollar prize will be yours for just an afternoon of your time. You can put little Suzy through that fancy college you and the wife have been talking about. You’re perfect for this.”
“Well, I … you think so? No, you’re right I am smart. Of course, I’ll win. What do I need to do to sign up …”
Closing the deal on Professor Grammar-Dillweed was a new record. Under five seconds and the schmuck was mine. Within six months his episode would air, and he’d be humiliated, destroyed. The boys at work would haze him mercilessly until he stopped going, sneaking off to the local bar instead to drink the day away, he’d ultimately lose his job, have an affair, his wife would divorce him, and he’d end up living as a squatter in a mobile park home only seeing his teenage daughter every other holiday. Did he deserve it just for being a snob? In his case, yes.
It wasn’t my fault that his irritating pretentiousness was only compounded by the fact that I had tried to find a way out of my cursed-career, and somebody had thwarted me. I didn’t care about his future, I only cared about mine.
I started walking along the riverbank again, rolling over in my mind which cousin was culpable for corrupting my real estate card and alerting the Boss. When I found them, there’d be hell and high interest rates to pay. That is, if the Boss didn’t find me first and make me pay for trying to break out of the reality-biz.
\~\~\~
Thank you for reading! For more scribblings, wander over to r/WanderingAnonymous | 2021-07-31T18:07:26 | 2021-07-31T17:21:11 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] They Hero is defeated by the villian, they expect death or torture. They did not expect to wake up in a guest room with their wounds being treated to. | Three quiet knocks heralds the door opening as a Tiefling maid brings in food, a plate of meat and vegetables. "Master wishes you a good morning, and a pleasant lunch. It's Yfallan Grouse with roasted carrots. The wine is a Valin Red, vinted 239." She says and I sit up, groaning in pain when my body realizes my shoulder is broken. She hands me a scroll, and I open it.
"Apologies for the violence, but I had to make an example of you. The scroll contains an embedded Cure Wounds, and you have my word that the food is pure. Once you're finished eating, please feel free to head to my throne room.
Sincerely,
Ileus Malgat, Duke of Roshat."
The duke's signature was impeccable and I knew his word was given even in writing, especially when my shoulder laced itself back together. I ate and the Tiefling knelt before me. I dismissed her, and she left, closing the door behind her. I ate, and smiled. I might not have had my sword, but you can never truly disarm Trey of Whitecap, mage knight extraordinaire. | ...crap. I did not expect this. I did *not* expect this. But there they are, on the camera, hospitalized. I notice that the hero in question, Jesse, is starting to wake up, so I go to greet them. As I walk down the pale gray brick hallway, passing a few minions. I wonder how they'll react. Probably worried, maybe a death threat or two. I went in the room, slowly walking in- ow, that was my tail. Entering the room, Jesse's hardly awake, at least from what I can see. They mumble: "wer... mm I?" "Hell.", I reply jokingly. "Hah??!?!?!" They yell, startling me. "No, silly. You're hospitalized in my lair. I'm your nemesis, the dark ruler... Call me Emma, though." "Okay?" Jesse replies, slowly sitting up. "Why though?" They ask. Talking clearly, I say, "Honour, of course. " "OK, but why did you not, like, kill me, or torture me, or... the villain stuff?" "Sorry, honestly. I only meant to give you a cool scar, or something, at most." I said, apologetically. "Thanks?" They said. "Wait..." I looked at them, confusedly. "move back a bit, please." "Okay?" I say, moving back. They grin. They chuckle. Then they laugh. "You-" they muster. "You, the dark-" they cough. " the dark ruler, are wearing thigh highs and a skirt?" Not like, a robe, or a cool dress, or Armour? "It's my house." I reply, annoyed. "Fair enough." They say. "Is this an elaborate plan to gain my trust and kill me?" "Nope." "A ransom?" "Nuh uh. I would feel bad if you died, stupid. I'm not heartless. I have 2!" "Can I stay here a bit?" "K. I'll leave the room if you want." "Thanks. You can go, you're probably busy." I leave, saying: by the way, don't hurt that rib, it's healing!" | 2021-08-09T21:12:44 | 2021-08-09T19:43:57 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] Your adventuring party is unstoppable. It has a fighter, able to crush steel armor with bare hands. A cleric, able to cure any wound imaginable. The wizard, who can manipulate energy and matter into anything. And Bob, a random person who found a sniper rifle | Bob was special, different from the rest of us. Not because he could tear bones from skin like Gregor, or shape matter like Cerule, certainly couldn't heal like Havawitz, but special because he always had our backs. When the chips were down Bob was always watching over us, trusty weapon in hand. A "sniper rifle" he'd called it, ensuring when we mislabeled it as a crossbow or staff he corrected us.
"Oh no, I'm not Cerule, she has the staff. She's something special. I'm just Bob." he'd say before his sniper rifle sounded off with that devastating blast and another orc body dropped in the distance. It sure looked like magic to me every time he used it.
Bob was strange like that. Not strange like us, but just...different. He tucked his shirt in his pants and made sure those little plastic buttons on the front went all the way up to his neck. And if his belt wasn't on the third notch then it was a bad day for Bob. I had only seen Bob have one bad day and it had led to a mountain of bodies and a banning from one of the most notorious trading towns on the east coast. Of course, when his day was going better again he returned to apologize. Bob was thoughtful like that.
Even though we were surely all curious, really it didn't matter where he'd come from. Sometimes Gregor would ask on those late nights of traveling when conversations roamed and Bob would always reply: "Well where'd you come from Gregor?". And of course the brute could never think up an answer with meaning enough to reply. But I think really we were all just glad. Glad that we had someone watching over us. Glad that we had a man in the bushes, a Bob.
But most of all, glad he was on our side. | -“ YOU FOOLISH HEROES STILL THINK I CAN BE DEFEATED?! CAN’T YOU SEE I GOT YOU ALL PINNED TO THE FLOOR?! IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH STEEL YOU CAN CRUSH, IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH ENERGY YOU CAN USE, AND IT DOESN’T MATTER HOW MUCH WOUNDS YOU CAN HEAL! I AM UNSTOPPABLE!”- The demon lord said towering over the party, Wich was pinned to the ground thanks to the old relic the villain had in his hands.
-“that’s where you are wrong! We still have Bob, and I’m sure he’s going to save us!”- The fighter said in his optimistic tone, like he always do.
-“THAT LITTLE FARMER WHO DOESN’T HAVE A WEAPON?! HOW CAN HE HELP YOU ALL? I JUST SAW HIM RUN AWAY! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA”- And the demon just kept laughing at the idea of Bob, the scared farmer, saving everyone! It sounded really stupid to him, but it was far from reality.
I was on the top of one of the towers, looking directly at the demon lord trough my scope. After some time in the mage’s library I had na idea of what I had in hands, a Barrett M82, a long range weapon from another dimension, it could be used to destroy almost anything according to the book, but I wanted only one thing destroyed, a demon skull.
The demon was still rambling about how “scared” i am while I did some adjustments to my gun, it had to be perfect aligned and I had only one chance to hit him, or he will run away. I still remember when I couldn’t hit a tavern mug 10 meters in front of me... That was yesterday... But today it’s different, and the demon lord is going down.
-“300 meters, so I had to compensate only two and a half notches”- i ramble to myself as I get ready to take the shot.
3
2
1
*BANG*
He’s down, right in the middle of the eyes. The rest of the party gets up from the ground since the relic doesn’t have a owner anymore. Looking at the body of the demon lord they find out what happened.
-“Bob you absolute beast!”- the fighter said.
-“thank the lord!”- the cleric said.
-“i knew that farmer had something powerful on his hands, the books don’t lie”- the mage said.
I put my rifle away as I get ready to reunite with the rest of the group. I had done it, the demon lord is gone and no one shall fear the destruction of our world.
I know my job is far from done here, but at least I have this great weapon to help me. | 2022-11-07T19:22:30 | 2022-11-07T17:39:22 | 1,826 | 77 |
[WP] Write a story where each sentence has one more word than the last.
The first sentence has to be one word, the next has two, etc. Stop whenever you want! | Time. Not enough. One more day. Just one more day. I just need one more. Just give me one more day. Is that too much to ask for? I can’t stand thinking this is it. I won’t be able to see her again? Please dear God, just give me one more day.
Just give me one more day to hold her close. Just give me one more day to hear her say “dad”. Just give me one more day to feel her hand in mine. Why did you give her to me just to take her away now? Why would you inflict her with cancer when she had barely lived her life?
She came into my life burning so bright, completely overtaking my heart and now this. Her flame is being extinguished forever and now I can’t seem to find a reason to live. Please just take my life instead of hers and let her live a full and complete life.
I hurriedly brushed away the tears as the doctors let me back into the room where she lay. I smiled at her and nestled in the bed next to her, squeezing her tight and kissed her forehead. I felt myself dying too as I held her, her head snuggled against my chest as I sang to her. I could feel her tears soaking my shirt and looked down and noticed that her hair was damp from my own. I didn’t bother wasting words telling her not to cry and instead just repeatedly told her how very much I loved her. She died in my arms and I held her until the doctors came in and told me that I had to let go. Eventually I found myself at home and came to realize that the only thing that could help was for me to see her again. I went to my nightstand and took out my gun, breathed deeply and held it against my head and whispered, “Baby, I’ll see you soon.”
| Run.
Keep running.
Nothing makes sense.
Just keep on running.
Maybe if I keep ahead…
Maybe if I can outpace it…
I can feel it creeping ever closer.
I feel out of breath, so very tired.
I don’t think I can keep this pace up.
My lungs are burning with exertion, daring me to stop.
At the very least, it keeps me focused on my task.
It’s calling for me by name, but I dare not look back.
I don’t know how it knows me, and I don’t know why I…
I feel my pace begin to slow, as the voice draws ever closer still.
Everything feels so heavy, tiresome, to the point that I just want to lay down…
*Stop struggling, you don’t need to try anymore,* I hear it whisper, its tone so familiar…
I cry out in pure agony, as I feel the weight of the pursuer come crashing down…
*Just let go,* it whispers, as I feel the inky blackness begin to choke the life from me…
I need to keep running, I know I need to keep moving forward; I just need to keep… on…
The stray wisp of sunlight streaming through the shuttered blinds catches my attention, and I blink away the muddled thoughts.
I shift in bed a bit, and let my mind drift back to the dream, reliving the hurt, the inevitable failure.
I hear my alarm blare its droning tone, and reach out to silence it, fingers fumbling about for the snooze.
It’s another day, I whisper quietly to myself, as I stare at the red digits on the alarm clock.
Just another day to deal with, another day filled with the inconsequential, the tedious, the painful, the unwanted…
I lay there for a few more minutes, staring blankly at the fan rotating lazily about above.
Come on, you can do this, it’s just another day, get up, just fucking get up…
After a few minutes of delay, I roll out of bed, lurching to my feet.
I stare out at nothing in particular for a while, eyes unfocused, vision blurring.
I don’t know why it’s so much harder to get ready this morning…
A snippet of the dream floats to the forefront of my thoughts.
I shake my head in frustration, and slip on a shirt.
I can feel the tears running down my face, unbidden.
I don’t think I can keep this pace up…
I just feel so tired of it all.
I slowly sit back down into bed.
I can’t keep pretending like this.
Maybe if I just sleep…
Just a little longer.
Nothing makes sense.
I’m tired.
Sorry...
----- ----- ---
AN: [EDIT] My first gold. :O <3 <3 <3 | 2013-12-23T09:22:10 | 2013-12-23T07:56:46 | 522 | 131 |
[WP] Soon after you die, you are approached by a deity who asks "so, did you enjoy your time in heaven?" | “Did you enjoy your time in heaven?” The voice didn’t really belong to anything.
“Wait – so Earth was heaven?” I had a slight headache, something I didn’t figure would exist after Earth was so far gone.
“Yes. Did you enjoy it?”
“I thought heaven was eternal, I only had 25 years.”
“You had a whole 25 years, which is more than so many get. Did you enjoy it?”
Why was this question so pressing? I thought. I thought of the dead end jobs. I thought of the time I scraped my knee. Zach’s death. I thought of the time I kissed my best-friend in the pouring rain in hopes that our lips locking would help her re-evaluate our friendship (it didn’t). I thought of the pitchers of beer. The nights spent crying over broken hearts and broken bones. I thought of the time we smoked pot in front of the police station. I thought of the pee-wee soccer games. The late night tennis matches. The coffee. The time we stood on the roof of the fraternity house and yelled into the warm summer night because nobody was listening. I thought of the cookies, the burgers, the hiking trails. I thought of the plane rides to far away escapes. I thought of the train rides to meet relative’s new graves. The waiting in lines. The slow dances. Road trips and carpools. I thought of the staples that got stuck in the stapler. I thought of the time I quit my job. The two weeks I was homeless. I thought of the drunken hook ups. I thought of my first kiss. My first crush. I thought of the time I cried on the bathroom floor when my grandma passed away. I thought of the homesickness at space camp. The Great Barrier Reef. My first taste of champagne. My first taste of real pain. I thought of the words that were left unspoken, and the ones that should have been. The last lie I ever spoke, and the first. I thought of the condoms filed away next to my tax returns and love letters. I thought about the love letters. The pick-up lines. The Robert Frost quotes. I thought of the time my roommate and I watched all the Tremors movies. I thought of the first time I woke up to the words “I love you.” I thought of the first time I woke up to the words “I love you” spoken in such a different voice. I thought of the afternoon naps and the snooze button. The text messages and the bruises. The misplaced sweatshirts – they probably had new owners already, but now all my sweatshirts were misplaced. Or, perhaps, they were in the right place all along. I thought of misplaced moments.
I looked up and said, “Yeah. It was fucking great, what’s next?”
<edit: formatting>
| "Heaven?" I asked, with a blank stare on my face at what appeared to be a child. "You mean 'life' was heaven all along?"
"Yes." She responded, with a slight smile and giggle. She...a young girl, couldn't have been older than 9 or 10, telling me my life had been "heaven".
"What do you mean that was 'heaven'? Who are you? Where am I?" I tried to collect my thoughts as I looked around me. I then tried to remember where I was before I got here, and then it hit me... "I'm dead, aren't I?"
"Yes." She responded again, with the same slight smile, but without the giggle.
"Who...who are you? Where am I??" I asked again, with a bit more urgency in my voice.
"Who I am doesn't matter, silly. Where you are, well, that matters, but I'm going to keep that a secret for now." Her slight smile turned into an ear to ear grin. She seemed...almost elated.
"Ok, can you at least explain to me how 'life' was heaven?" At this point I was growing impatient. My life was no heaven...it was, in fact, a nightmare for myself and everyone that knew me. I was an utter failure, a miserable person, and thrived on causing chaos for people for no reason. I was as worthless of a human as someone could get, and was simply a drain financially, physically, and emotionally on everyone I knew. "My life was..."
"A nightmare?" She interrupted, the ear to ear grin now gone, "There you go again being silly. It's almost time." She explained, as she grabbed my hand. "We need to get moving."
"Time for what? Where are we going? I'm not moving another step until I get some answers here." I stopped dead in my tracks, yanked my hand away, and crossed my arms...much like a child would.
"You already know the answer." She said, still facing away from me with her hands at her side. "You know where we are."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." I really didn't. I had absolutely no clue.
"Do you remember how you died?" She asked, as she slowly turned her head to sneak a peek at me.
My heart sank into the pit of my stomach. "Yes...but, wait, there's no way this is..."
"It is. You asked me where we were? I'll tell you now, so you can stop being silly." She turned around, and right as she faced me with that same slight smile from before, she said, "You're in Hell. 'Life' as you knew was heaven. You had free will, you had the opportunity to love, you had so many chances to do good. You had everything at your fingertips and you chose to..."
"Kill myself. Yea...I get it, but this isn't the Hell I imagined..." I said with a bit of relief in my voice. At least I wasn't being torn to pieces over and over again surrounded by fire and brimstone, right?
"Hell has nothing to do with physical pain. It isn't mashing people to pieces and burning them alive. We need to go, we're going to be late for your show." She grabbed my hand again, this time pulling me with such force that I had no choice to follow.
"My show? What are you talking about?" I asked, as I trotted along with her.
"Your show. I'm going to take you so you can watch all the different lives of the people you *could* have been. Why do you think they let us kids show you silly new people around? Our shows are too short."
EDIT: Thanks everyone! Been lurking awhile, saw this topic and felt compelled to write. I will definitely write more often...thanks for the encouragement! | 2014-07-18T07:18:20 | 2014-07-18T06:55:47 | 852 | 200 |
[WP] Aliens land on earth, but they do so in levitating castles and wizards towers. It turns out that most galactic civilizations rely on magic instead of technology.
The intent of the aliens can be whatever you want, but the point is that they (primarily) use magic instead of modern tech.
EDIT: yes yes, Arthur C. Clarke and all that. When I say magic I mean they pull a bat wing and some amber out of a spell component bag, chant some arcane sounding stuff, make a hand gesture, and then a fireball shoots out from their appendage and makes a tank explode.You know what I mean. If it is extremely advanced tech, then it's really really artsy and stylized or so incredibly incomprehensible its rules are unlike any science we can dream of. | When the Grand Mage Kal summoned a great storm to chill the world, Gerard Petit, Ph. D, and his associates at Oxford conjured fusion to warm it.
When Desmond the Gap Strider leapt from the Earth to the Moon, Michael Smithson, mechanical engineer, and the brightest minds at Boeing built a vessel to carry a thousand on the same journey.
When Dras the Golem Master’s servants raised great towers and battlements from the lunar regolith, Sato Aika, renowned architect and engineer, designed and built a lunar city to house a million.
The Three Trials completed, Humanity was welcomed onto the Grand Council and a new school of magic was founded in their honor, Applied Science.
| "You mean you don't use magic?" The voice in my head asked quizzically. It was a telepathic contact with the alien.
I tried to reply telepathically too, in hopes that he could hear it, "Magic? Magic isn't real!" When there was no response, I said it out loud, knowing that this first broadcasted contact with an extraterrestrial would look like a complete nutjob.
"Yes, magic. We've practiced magic for many years, and finally were we able to travel great distances to find you. Didn't you guys do the same?" The voice continued. I had been briefed by my public relations representative, but no preparation could prepare me for this.
"But- but magic is all just trickery and illusions!" I could only imagine the audience in front of the television shaking their heads, looking dismayed that their President was talking to himself.
"Ah, now you're wrong here, beetle. Real magic and illusory magic are different things." He stated in a condescending, how-can-you-not-know-this tone.
"We never had access to real magic!" I was desperate and exasperated. I didn't want Earth to look like it was inhabited by idiots.
"We have sent you messages twice. Twice! We taught you how to use magic! Are your whatchamacallit- GPSes using magic?"
"What messages?" I softened my tone, realising that I could not appear hostile.
"That beetle with the long white beard... Marvin or something."
"Melvin? But he's just a fictional character!"
"No, he's real. Very real. We taught him magic to help you develop space travel for trade."
"Well... Well we had no idea!"
"That's what we feared. That's why we sent you another message."
"What message?"
"Quantum physics, of course. It's basically magic." | 2014-11-27T17:01:41 | 2014-11-27T16:47:32 | 153 | 26 |
[WP] On a public bus, you think "Oh shit, they better look behind them" as a joke trap for mind readers. Everyone on the bus simultaneously looks behind them. | "Did you hear that?"
"I can swear I heard someone telling me to look behind me! I'm serious!"
"That voice was fucking creepy, man!"
"What the hell's going on?"
You listen to the roiling murmurs of confusion as everyone in the bus talks about that sudden warning to look behind. Some of them start typing on their phones, tweeting or posting to Facebook. Others speak up, speculating on whatever they heard was. A couple of nutjobs start speaking out about something they read about government black ops. You can see a lady huddled beside the window, clutching a rosary and whispering silent prayers. The driver still had his eyes on the road, but was lending commentary to some of the passengers in front of the bus. You find yourself thinking: *If these people were mind readers, why are they so confused?*
That's when it clicks.
*I am a telepath.*
^^^^^^^^^^^The ^^^^^^^^^^^Twist ^^^^^^^^^^^brought ^^^^^^^^^^^to ^^^^^^^^^^^you ^^^^^^^^^^^by ^^^^^^^^^^^M. ^^^^^^^^^^^Night ^^^^^^^^^^^Shyamalamadingdong | Henry was on a bus load of them-- mind readers! He took this moment, what with their heads being turned, to pull open the door and jump out.
He hit the ground hard, rolling onto his back. He looked up to see the faces of what had seemingly been normal passengers all staring back at him as the bus continued its drive down the street. They were out of range now. Couldn't read him here, he thought to himself.
A warm hand grabbed his shoulder, attached to a very wrinkled women. Old. Smelly. Henry shook her off.
"I'm fine," he said. The women stared. Oh, he had forgotten about manners. "Thanks." Hopefully she couldn't read his snarl.
But apparently the women could tell more than that. "Yes, I am old, Henry. And if you're going to snarl me a thanks, don't bother to thank me at all."
Another mind reader. Shocked, his pumping heart propelled him into an all-out hurtle away from the women. He tripped over lose shoelaces. He scurried to get back up again. The women had pulled out a gun, aiming it at him.
"STOP!"
"Okay, okay," he tried to calm her down, and perhaps himself too, lifting his hands in surrender.
"Exactly," the women came closer. "We have been looking for you, Mr. Daniella. Very smart move back there. You had us thinking there was more of you."
"Not very accurate mind readers then. You should have been able to read I was joking."
"Perhaps. But I think many humored you. The extent of our power is far greater." She was closer, bending over him. "It is not an easy gift to carry."
She ran her hand through Henry's grossly black hair, breaking the two-hours he'd spent styling it that morning. He pursed his lips.
"Ah, I see," she whispered, "you'd been looking forward to that party. A very pretty girl would have been there."
"I can give you money if that's what you want. I can get a cure--"
"No," the women shook her head. "We like it."
It was then that she hit him in the head with the back of her gun. He lost consciousness.
| 2015-01-18T19:05:47 | 2015-01-18T17:03:02 | 44 | 10 |
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall." | "Stall."
Oh, yeah. Nailed it. I wave and walk off the stage.
"Good job, Jim!", he doesn't return my high five but I know he's been stressed lately.
"Was I good, Steph?" I must've been incredible because she has that stunned look on her face again.
All of the hard work has led to tonight. I think I'll take out the team and shout them drinks. And people said Ron Burgundy couldn't be President. | As I walk on the ceremonial podium, already seating at the idea that every citizens of my country will be starting at me for the next twenty minutes or so.I clear my throat finalizing my last mental preparation; I knew my speech by heart I knew I was ready.
I was wrong...
The light on the camera turned red, I started my speech "ladies and and gentlemen of the nation..." I froze: the teleprompter was flashing. In big bold letter it read: STALL. I had previously said I did not need a teleprompter so I assume it was a remain of a previous event. I continued: "hum hum, I as the military chief of this great nation have great news, our great leader has...Eee he.." the teleprompter change to * I told u to stall, stall god damit*
I didn't know what to do I was not ready for this. But I listen.
"eee.. well... Our great leader sure has been great hasn't he.. hehe?" I finished that sentenced giggling, more because of the stress than to make it sounds funny.
I went on " he has been here for many years and will continue to be the greatest pride of our nation".
The teleprompter lighted up one last time: *Sir, Kim is dead*.
I took a deep breath, that changed everything. I look at the camera
"Good news citizens of true korea..."
| 2015-05-16T18:14:47 | 2015-05-16T18:01:32 | 91 | 24 |
[WP] You're convinced you have the most useless superpower anyone's ever thought of. Somehow use it to save the world. | I can talk to animals. At least, that's what a tell the girls at the bar. And *technically* it's true.
But really, I'm pretty limited. There's only species of animal I can talk to, and it's not whales, or tigers, or dogs. I make Aquaman look cool, and I think even Antman has a one up on me.
So what type of animal can I talk to? I'll give you a hint: "Moo"
I can talk to cows, and only brown ones for that matter- the spotted ones aren't bright enough to form a coherent sentence, and the white ones speak odd variations of Cowlick, the main language.
I was teased throughout childhood, but since my power was merely useless and not gross or too weird, I was mainly written off after a good laugh. For a while I was known as the cow whisperer, but that name disintegrated when mad cow disease became widespread, and rumors were that I could lead a crazy cow army.
I wish. I can't command cows, I can only converse with them.
As each of my friends graduated, I watched them take their respectable positions in society. Brendan, my room mate and a flier, worked for major airlines. Dave could tell the future, and made bank in the stock market. Stinky Sam, who could produce any smell of fart on command, even landed a job at Disney making citrus smells for one of their attractions.
And I, lord of the cows, stayed behind. Until one day, I heard a knock on my door.
"Yes?" I answered.
"I'm looking for a Michael Oswald Ollie," said the man, dressed in a suit, and flashing a CIA badge.
"Speaking."
"Mr. Ollie, we have become aware or your unique talents. And we are willing to pay you quite handsomely to use them."
"How so?"
"Our studies show that cows are the greatest gossipers in the animal kingdom. They're an incredible source of information, and frankly no one tries to hide anything from them. But they'll only gossip with those that can fit in, which is why we cannot hire a normal Animal Interpreter- the cows won't trust them, since they can talk to predators too."
"So what do you need me to do?"
He explained, I balked, and after he showed me my first check I conceded. And now, 2 years later, I'm in the field. Literally. A grassy one.
"Shhh," came a voice behind me, silencing our team, "Quiet. Can't you see he's working? It's a delicate process, time is running short, and no other team has been able to find the target."
I sweated as I heard my partner behind me, and turned back to face the cow. It stared at me, and from the inside of my cow costume, I stared back. Then I initiated conversation.
"Moo?"
"Moo."
"Moo moo?!?!"
"Moo...moo "
"I got it!" I said. Cow language it surprisingly dense, and I relayed the information back to my team.
"Daisey here says there are two missiles being hidden in a barn roughly three and a half miles two degrees off due north of here, with four guards, and their shift change is in one hour. She says she obtained this information from Bessie, a most reliable source, and would prefer to talk about more interesting bits of conversation such as the novel she is writing."
"Let's move out," said my partner, and we raced to the barn with our team. Two nukes needed disabling before they could start world war three.
Luckily for us, no one hides missiles from cows.
***
By Leo
For more stories, be sure to check out /r/leoduhvinci
| Yes, I guess The Creator was enduring a toilet humour phase of their life when making me. You've got Superman, you've got Razorteeth, you've got Miss Freezy Winks, you've even got that weird Mexican slugger called Rhino Man, and then you've got me, god damn Fart Man.
Shit, it's not easy having a super power like this. You know how I fill my pockets every week? I fart on the corners of streets all around the world - from Times Square to Trafalgar Square, from Cairo to Shibuya, I've been everywhere, farting at 25% putridity as to not do any real damage. Of course though, Superman and co could fly to these places. But I spend three days a week farting through the sluggish mush of jet lag.
Luckily I've grown immune to my own farts. But guess what else, I can't eat good food. I can't eat tasty dirty ass street food. I haven't had Mexican in about three decades. Shit, last time I had Indian food they had to close down the streets of Birmingham for seven months cleaning the stench away. Certain suburbs were on lockdown and couldn't open their windows. There was sixteen deaths man, six-god-damn-teen deaths due to my super powers.
But check it, yea I might be the laugh of the superpower world, the butt of the joke if you will, but shit, let me tell you about last night when suddenly it all flipped and I became this hero.
It was nothing but coincidence that I was already in Russia at the time. I just finished farting on a corner in moscow, where I made a shit load of cash man. The Russians loved me. I even had this one girl propose to me, but she requested *"could you please fart in my face while I do this?"* and I was all like *"uhh, sure?"* not knowing what was going to happen and *bam* she drops onto one knee and god damn proposes. Shit was crazy. But anyway, I was there doing my business, when suddenly a flat long shiny black vehicle pulls up at the curb and a long-faced old guy in shades winds down the window and says "get in," or at least that's what I thought he said, I don't speak Russian man. But shit, what would you do? Yea, thought so, I got in too.
This old guy dressed all in black explained to me in the back of this strange vehicle that WW3 was just about to erupt, there was some kind of fight going on between leaders. The American guy and the English guy were in Russia for peace talks and apparently shit hit the fan.
I said, *"that's great and all but why do you need me?"
"Squeeky Tits didn't work. She had no impact. Superman won't do anything *unless* something's already happened. He won't try and stop shit from happening he will only react to disasters and shit." Ok, he spoke a bit better than that but shit, who do you think I am? Grammar Man? Shit no, I'm Fart Man.
So we rocked up at this huge skyscraper where the top of it was buried in grey muggy clouds and we climbed silently in the elevator together, me and this weird guy. He passed me a god damn burrito and said "Eat." Then the door beeped and opened and I followed his shiny shoes out of there, he turned to me and said, "do your worst, sir."
I walked around the corner of the corridor into this wide open lounge place and stood between navy leather sofas and shit were three suited-up guys arguing. The Russian one had a button in his hand and was threatening to press it. I gulped in fear man, shit I came a long way from being proposed to about twenty minutes ago.
The English guy turned to me, and you know what he did? He just *laughed.* Right in my face, he just burst out into stupid posh english titter tatterish laughter. The American guy smirked with a stupid half smile up his left cheek. That shit pissed me off.
So I farted. I didn't hold back. My burrito infested deathly air release filled up the room and all the three grey-haired men coughed up their god damn lungs. They fell, one by one, onto the royal blue carpet. The English one pissed himself, he had a dark patch riding all the way down his left leg.
The old weird guy from the car walks up behind me, wearing a gas mask, pats me on the shoulder with his big hairy hand and proceeds to pick up the button that the Russian guy dropped. He turns to me and looks at me with his steel grey eyes glowing through the red-flashes of the evacuation alarm.
"Thank you, fart man. You just saved the world from detonation."
He shook my hand, and that was how I saved the world.
| 2015-07-09T23:04:57 | 2015-07-09T22:38:02 | 101 | 13 |
[WP] In music, changing a song to a minor key is a small change that makes the song sound much creepier or sadder. Write a happy story, and then its counterpart in a minor key.
Edit: Wow! Thank you to everyone for all the great stories. This will definitely keep me reading for a while. | Lights in the sky and a cloud plume on the horizon. I can see the airplane roaring overhead, and all I can think about is what those people must be thinking up there. Are they really that different from me? The thought brings a tear to my eye as the hot air coats my skin. - Lawton, Oklahoma, 1913
---
Lights in the sky and a cloud plume on the horizon. I can see the airplane roaring overhead, and all I can think about is what those people must be thinking up there. Are they really that different from me? The thought brings a tear to my eye as the hot air coats my skin. - Hiroshima, Japan, 1945 | I’ll never forget that night.
Mr. Smith shook my hand. He had never done that before. First day of class he told me he wasn’t my friend, he was my teacher. I remember it hurt. When he grabbed my hand, I remember his firm grip hurt but in a good way. A manly way. He smiled and nodded, he didn’t say anything, I didn’t say anything. What would be the point? I knew it was an earned respect.
All year long I had worked hard in class, studied, read the book, made an A on every test. I even questioned him after class on the bonus questions I missed! The rest of the class hated me because the curve was non existent.
I’ll never forget that teacher.
Thank you, Mr. Smith for teaching me valuable life lessons that year.
____________________________
I’ll never forget that first night.
Mr. Smith took my hand. He had never done that before. First day of class he told me he wasn’t my friend, he was my teacher. And to not tell anybody. I remember it hurt. When he grabbed me, I remember his firm grip hurt. He smiled and nodded, I didn’t say anything, I didn’t want to say anything, what would be the point? I knew what was happening.
All year long I had to “work” after class. I even questioned him after class once, but that didn’t end well! The rest of the class would hate me if they found out. Their favorite teacher would be fired and I’d be the reason why.
I’ll never forget that teacher.
Fuck you, Mr. Smith for teaching me a hard life lesson that year.
You’re not alone.
(Inspired after /u/intelligentmeat 's prompting of a man vs man emotional feels) | 2015-07-14T01:05:09 | 2015-07-13T23:52:21 | 70 | 49 |
[WP] Everyone has powers locked within them. Each power is different, and the longer it takes for a power to manifest, the greater it is. A 100 year old man is being hunted by the government for still being powerless.
EDIT: Thanks for all the replies everyone, I had fun reading all of them. | My first prompt here!
We did it. We finally captured him. Heh, he thought he could run away from us forever. Fool. We could never let go an opportunity like this one. The boys are running some tests right now, it shouldn't take long...
"Sir, the results are out. You are not going to like this."
"What happened?"
"His power is already unlocked."
"That's impossible."
"Here are the results."
A single sentence stood out in the middle of the sheet:
"The power to dissapoint."
| The arrest happened quickly and cleanly. Despite being in good health his age, Gerry didn't resist. He had come to the conclusion that there was no point, he didn't want to run forever. The last few months had been spent building up the courage to be caught: running is not an easy habit to break.
There would be no trial and no official media coverage. Gerry had committed no crime but the government was scared. They couldn't allow the risk any more than they could afford the publicity.
The uproar of his disappearance died down within a few months but still no-one from the government could discern Gerry's power and the once steady flow of experts dwindled to a routine visit by a mind-reader each month to check he hadn't developed a power. This was his only human contact since the janitors and kitchen staff had been automated.
In time, people forgot his existence, only the mind-reader and the police chief to whom she reported had any reason to know he was still alive and even she was getting on in her years. When she retired a decade after his incarceration she wasn't replaced and the old man was alone. He was allowed an e-reader with which he could view the world's literature, teach himself languages and keep up to date with the outside world but his mind was restless. He had written thousands of pages but had no-one to read his work, no-one with whom to discuss his ideas.
He knew now, the power with which he had been born, with which he had been cursed and he hated himself for it. He ate nothing for weeks, loosing his mind to the hunger but all it achieved was to confirm what he already knew. Gerry was unable to die. | 2015-10-26T12:10:03 | 2015-10-26T10:48:44 | 32 | 15 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Carol,
Its been 15 years since i last saw you and so much has changed. I'm no longer 7 years old, and I like to believe I've grown into a wonderful young lady, mostly because of you.
There's so much I want to tell you. Your boys are turning18 this year. One if them has gone goth.. can you believe it? The other one looks just like you with the curly yellow hair.
Bec and I are still dancing. It was her 15th year this year. I brought her this gorgeous Ariel statue that she loved. I'm a cheerleader now, and I love it. Who would have guessed the shy 7year old you knew would become a National champion.
There's more; I have a boyfriend. Been together for almost 4 years now. I love him with all i am, and I know you would too, if only because I have chosen him.
I did my Deb a few years ago on your day. It's one of the best memories I have.
I wish you could have been there to see it. But I know I'll see you again one day.
I love you big sis
| Dear Katie,
It feels strange to be sitting here writing this to you. Especially in the form of a letter, emails seem to be a way of life, but I have to say that watching my pen move over this page has a certain draw.
I never thought I would need to write a letter to you. In my mind you should be right here with me. If I close my eyes I can imagine that you're right beside me, our shoulders touching while we hold hands and enjoy each other's company.
Even in my imagination my hands are a bit sweaty, but you've always made me nervous Katie. I remember you used to worry about that, you would say "just be your self. I'll love you anyway." I'm not sure I ever convinced you that I was being myself, the nervousness couldn't be helped. I couldn't stand the idea of hurting or disappointing you. Lot of good that does me now.
It took weeks to write this. Seeing your smiling face in my mind and sometimes barely remembering your voice hurt too much. When the pain was all I knew you were my life raft in the ocean. Now I just have to drown until the waters subside.
Know that I don't blame you, special. Remember when I called you that all the time? Anyway, I really don't. Everything was always intense between us. Amazing highs and amazing lows. I'm so glad you found someone that makes you happy. I used to tell you that as long as you were happy I would be as well. That's at least somewhat true.
I'll never date again, people tell me never is a long time but it's not the same. Who knew I would be a one woman man? But I am and I found and lost the only woman I'll ever want. Ever.
This could ramble on for a long time so I'll wrap things up. Know that I still love you, I never stopped. I don't blame you for moving on. It sounds ridiculous but sometimes I hold out hope that our story isn't over. That somewhere down the line you'll love me again. Hah, pathetic. Be safe special.
P.S. I recently lost and then found the bracelet you made me senior year. It doesn't fit anymore so it stays around the gear shift in my car. Love you always, Alex. | 2015-12-05T13:04:28 | 2015-12-05T13:01:25 | 892 | 661 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I love you. Your opinion of me is the one that matters most but I'll never tell you that.
You are a bad dad.
You drink too much.
Smoke too many cigarettes.
Smoke too much weed.
And I know that to some degree you hate me.
I did not ask to be born. I did not ask to end your youth, your fun.
I did not mean to be a bad child, a difficult teen.
I just wanted you to sit on the couch with your arm around me and watch movies together like you did for all my other sisters.
I'm sorry that your wife is not my mother.
I'm sorry that you hate my mother.
And I'm sorry that all you see in me is what you hate in my mom.
I love you, and I wish you loved me.
Hopefully,
Accidental Daughter
| Dear Matthew.
I don't hate you any longer. I have found it in my heart to let go and let everything be the way it is. I have accepted it. Maybe it's more for my own sense of sanity, but I have. None the less, I will never forget, or excuse you from your actions.
Ella is growing up fast, and Nick has already started elementary school. I guess you would sometimes wonder what they're doing. They're happy, and as for me, I'm happy too even if it took me many years to get here.
I remember the first time I saw you, it was almost 12 years ago now. Time is such a funny thing. I would never have seen this coming around the corner that hot and sticky summer day when you gave me my first kiss and stole my heart away. I knew from that second that you would have a huge impact on my life, like it was something written in the stars or something. I guess I was right, even though it wasn't the kind of impact I had imagined.
You were always battling your demons, and I guess I should've been foresightful enough to leave. But I was just a silly high school girl, madly in love. With the years I grew to attached to let go. I guess that's partly my mistake too. I always wanted to make it work, no matter what the cost. But the price was too high in the end.
I met someone, and he makes me happy. He's everything I could ever wish for. He makes Ella smile, sings me Beatles songs in the shower and he teaches Nick about everything you never will. It hurts me, to a degree, but I can't live in the hurt anymore. You made your decision, and it will always pain me but I can't let you haunt me like this anymore.
I'm never going to forget but I have to let you go.
I will always remember.
Jenna | 2015-12-05T14:58:25 | 2015-12-05T13:52:07 | 356 | 181 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear E,
I love you. Not the cheesy love I felt in high school, and not the way I love the woman I think I'm going to marry, but you hold a place in my heart that no one else can.
We were destructive. We weren't good for each other. You were emotionally abusive, and I was amazed a pretty girl would give me the time of day. I was putty in your hands, and you took advantage of that to the fullest. I had my faults too, but you put the nail in the coffin.
Then you got kicked out of school. You moved in with another guy and confided in me about your relationship problems. I, a guy who cares too much and tries too hard, was more than willing to stay up until the wee hours listening to you and solving the problems of a relationship I had no part in. We might have been a thunderstorm, but he was a hurricane. You kept seeing him, and kept coming to me for advice. I conceded.
Then the accident happened.
You were going too fast. You hit a puddle. You couldn't keep from swerving into the other lane. You survived, but not without some brain damage.
I remember speeding to the hospital and seeing him. The man who was the vehicle to this lifestyle that put you here.
The man whose smile was as crooked as your front bumper when I saw your car in the junkyard. It was the first time I recall feeling genuine hate. The first time I wanted someone to die. To change places with you.
The next few months you'll never remember. You were in a coma. You were in rehab. You couldn't speak. You couldn't eat. I was there every other day, spending hours with you, watching movies with the husk of a person I once knew.
But you improved. Your brain damage wasn't as bad as they thought, but it changed you. You became frustrated. You would lash out at me due to your brain's lack of ability to filter. You'd hit me. I remained there. I taught you to count again. I taught you colors. I taught you the parts of your face. I fed you your first solid meal.
Then college came. Then I realized that things would never be the same. That as much as I cared for you, I had to move on, and so did you. You were recovered to the best that you would be, and you were moving out on your own.
You have a baby now. You have a boyfriend. I have a woman by my side who I love dearly. There's no trace of romantic feelings whatsoever, but I'll always remember our time together. I'll always care for you deeply. You'll always be the one who taught me what caring for people really means.
You'll never remember what I did. You'll never remember learning colors or numbers or eating your first meal from a spoon I was holding.
I think I like it better that way.
We were a thunderstorm, but the skies are clear now.
| Dear you,
I've always meant to write this letter to you, but I was never able to really put it all together. We've gone through a lot together, to say the least.
I guess I just wanted to say thank you, for everything. For your generosity, for your openness, your pride, your confidence. I truly admire you as a person.
In this world, there are many different types of people. I always believed in a world of people who truly want the best for others. Before I learned that I was a little naive, I believed in a world that lived together. As humans placed here on this planet together, with the best, the shining examples of our race claiming brotherhood and kindness for all, how could one not believe them?
This isn't the truth. Quite the opposite in fact.
People are hateful and selfish. They will lie and cheat and steal just to better their own situation. The entire world is drowning in themselves, and the worst will climb to the top by pushing your head under the water to keep themselves above the surface. It's easy to succumb to those who are only here to ruin you. You know that better than most.
You know, but you never embraced that thought.
Of all the adversity you faced from the first day of your life, you could have blamed your troubles on the unfairness of the world. You could have closed yourself off from the world and never taken responsibility for the life you were given, but you didn't.
As much as you struggled, as much as you had to fight, giving up was never an option to you. You've always known inherently that the problem wasn't with you, it was with the world. It was the defining characteristic of your personality. You looked at everyone that ever doubted who you were and knew in your heart that they were wrong. While everyone was busy tearing each other down, you built yourself. You built the person that everyone is envious of.
You have always known that you love yourself. It's the source of the world's envy.
It's why I love you.
Some souls are chosen from birth to face the awful side of the world because they are stronger than others.
I just want to thank you for creating something beautiful with the adversity that nature posed against you. For creating you.
I also wanted to say I'm sorry. I'm sorry I wasn't as strong as you.
I should've stood beside you. I should've taken a stand. I should have done so many things for you that I was never capable.
But when I found myself,
When I realized who you were,
When I was finally able to stand with you against the opposition,
When I believed in us,
You never even considered if I was worthy.
I am a vengeful person. I remember every one of the persons in my life that ever mistreated me, but when I came to your door looking for what you had all along, you had forgotten I ever wronged you. That's why you're the greater person than I. I thought you would remember the worst of me, the part of myself I can't leave behind. But you didn't.
On the contrary you opened yourself to me. You're so closely guarded... you have a right to be too, but you let me in. From the first day you let me in. The side of you that so few see, you let me in so easily. You saw more in me. More than I believe I deserved. It's why we are what we are to each other.
From my experience with the world, people are hateful and selfish... but a person? A person is kind. A person is generous. A person is forgiving.
That's who you are.
From my experience with the world, there is a reason there are so few great people. From the hate we experience, the anger, the worthlessness others feel that is thrown onto us, only the few great rise above it all.
Only few recognize the truth in the world. I recognized you. You recognized me.
Thank you, again.
Sincerely, me | 2015-12-05T16:37:50 | 2015-12-05T15:18:49 | 94 | 18 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Boss,
I have come down with a dreadful case of homosexuality and will not be coming in (to work at least) this morning. I realize I am out of personal time and that vacation time must be scheduled in advance, but there is nothing to be done. I am simply not fit for work right now -- I have fluid coming out of (and for that matter going into) both ends and am stiff all over. I want to assure you that I will arrive for my shift tomorrow. I am sure it is just a 24 hour thing, and I am taking medication to control the symptoms.
Yours (and several others', repeatedly through the course of the day),
Me. | Hey cous,
It's been what 2 years now? Almost 3? Ahaha. I hope you're happy where ever you ended up. I miss you and the family misses you. I wish you could see how big the kids have gotten. Not to brag or anything but I'm the favorite uncle, ahaha. Though... I don't think I could top how much love and genuine affection you've shown them when you were here. I don't know how to say some of the things I've been holding onto or even what to say. I've never been good with expressing myself. I can't even words sometimes, most of the times. :P
Anyways,
I'm sorry for how things went down aye. It was a total shit show when you left but I tried. I tried keeping everyone together, I really did. It wasn't the greatest send off and there were so many things I wanted to do "right" but life. I know how watching everyone act the way they did must have broken your heart but we both know they're all good people. They just don't know how to act sometimes ahaha, old country aye? Your brothers miss you and, as much as you two argued, so does your sister. Your mom and dad are well, they're still batshit crazy ahaha and so are the rest of the oldies.
To be honest though, I'm still coping.
I was always taking care of all of us when we were younger, *sigh* remember the fights I would get into because of you brats? Those really were good times... Anyways, I'm gonna go now. I've written this with nowhere to send it.
Miss you forever, J.I | 2015-12-05T16:37:04 | 2015-12-05T13:45:57 | 22 | 15 |
[WP] The aliens attacked. The same day the singularity occurred and the zombie apocalypse started. And an 1000 year war between vampires and werewolves was restarted. Describe the life of a survivor of this apocalypse | "OH FUCK," Is the first thing I say every morning, and the last thing I say every night. "I'm still alive."
There is a point, somewhere, where fear becomes... like a treasured friend that you wrap in silk and carry in the breast pocket of your bathrobe. I am probably insane. But does it really matter at this point?
Once or twice a week I open the front door of my house. It is a nice house, I found it one night while I was wandering around aimlessly, bleeding and suffering from a concussion. The doors were unlocked, now it's home. I like to look around, check up on things. Fires, corpses, strange weather patterns, lightning. The pale people who wear too much leather occasionally blow something up. And there seem to an inordinate number of gigantic wolves attacking their black SUV's. I wonder what that's about. I don't think there are normally wolves in Los Angeles.
I like to go on walks, for exercise and to relax. I go out by the back door though, the street in front of my house is usually full of dead people who move around and make disconcerting noises. It's awfully rude of them if you ask me but I keep to myself and have never made a fuss about it. When I need groceries I go to a store near my house. There used to be a sign out front, not anymore, and one of the walls is demolished. Dry goods still good though. I assume someone is keeping track of everything I take, and adding it all up to some kind of tab, so whenever I find money I try to leave it around there so as to not let my debt get too high. Everyone at the shop is usually very polite and quiet. One girl tried to bite my ankle the other week though, so I beat her skull in with a can of condensed milk. You can't let people walk all over you or you'll never see the end of that kind of behavior.
I wonder if I could tame one of the wolves, it might be nice. I am pretty lonely. The TV doesn't work anymore, and neither does my phone. Maybe it's time to move, somewhere in the country, or go north. The pale folks are getting more aggressive in general, and I tend to wonder what would happen if they found me. Nothing good I think. In my opinion you can judge people by how they treat animals. I would not want to be in a room with any of these fucks. They are practically running an eradication campaign on the wolves. I think wolves are endangered or something. What the hell is wrong with them?!
| "Shoot it in the head!" I roared over the sound of the bullets, "Keep at it!"
Our guns continued to fire as the horde continued to march towards us.
"Sir," one of my cadets looked at me from the side, "I think they're zombie werewolves!"
"Christ!" I gasped in disbelief, "We have to shoot them in the head with silver bullets?"
"Yes sir!" the cadet continued to fire despite the revelation that our bullets had no effect on the monster growing closer and closer.
"Use the alien weapons we stole!" I commanded as I pulled out a futuristic sidearm, "We can instantly disintegrate them!"
One by one, my men slowly pulled out neon-colored weapons as they began to fire beams at the werewolves.
Wave after waves of monsters instantly disintegrated as our lasers seemed to be pushing them back. Several of the men laughed aloud as we had finally begun to turn the tides.
All of a sudden, my gun had stopped firing. As I looked on both sides of me in horror, the other guns had stopped firing too.
"You must construct additional pylons." A voice commanded from a speaker on the voice. The same command echoed through the battlefield.
"Shit!" I yelled, "Keep shooting at them!"
We had reverted back to our bullets but slowly, the horde began to overpower us. To the sides, the blood of my comrades splattered onto my face as I found myself surrounded by a pack of were-zombies.
"Mindless monsters!" I spit out the contaminated blood that had flown into my mouth, "Come get me!" I pulled out my silver knife as the nearest one jumped. As its face bared down upon mine, I glared straight into its eyes as I buried knife in its skull. As it fell to the ground, the next one instantly jumped behind me. I dug out the knife and in one motion, slashed the attacker's face as it began roaring in pain. Monster and monster, bodies began to pile around me as the thought rang through my head - **survive.**
Several long minutes later, the last of the monsters collapsed as I gasped for air. My wounds began to burn as I knew it would be only minutes before I turned into one of them.
I looked around for bullets, a way to still die as a human by own means. But gun after gun I aimed at my temple, no bullets had remained.
"Aha..." I collapsed on the ground as I looked up at the sky, "Please... help me."
A flurry of wings in the distance as I began to lay on the ground. The wings grew closer before several footsteps began to approach me. Through my wounds, I felt a change coming as I groaned in pain.
"Poor mortal."
A voice above me has whispered. I opened my eyes and smiled as I saw the red eyes and the fangs glaring down at me.
"Hello," I weakly smiled, "I want to make a deal with you."
"Oh?" the vampire seemed surprised, "And what is it?"
"Save me," I glared at him, "And I will become your best soldier."
The vampire gasped as he looked around.
"You did this?"
I nodded curtly before a sharp pain hit my arm. I winced in pain as the vampire began to consider.
"It is done," he muttered as he swooped down towards my neck.
___________________________________________________________
Ugh, I don't know how I feel about this. God bless. /r/avukamu | 2016-03-09T09:41:18 | 2016-03-09T07:20:33 | 79 | 45 |
[WP] Aliens, far more advanced than humans, could destroy us all in the blink of an eye. And they probably should. But they don't... for one reason only. | Life, is rare.
Sure your "drake equation" as you call it points to the universe being filled with life, and our own best scientists say the same. But in all our travels, the billions of stars we have surveyed and the trillions of planets we have visited we have found none.
By now we have seeded many of them with our own life and have created a vast intergalactic empire that prospers and endures. But ultimately, we are still alone. We have made the universe into our image but after a million years in a hall of mirrors we have ultimately gotten bored.
Imagine our surprise when we find a tiny planet around a relatively boring star is positively chirping with life.
At first we thought one of our genetic seeding probes was on the fritz again but after careful study we have concluded you came into the universe on your own.
Our media networks and communications systems crashed several times over with the overload of news and messages about this discovery. Almost overnight we declared your planet a protected sanctuary and set up cloaked observation posts to watch. Let me tell you that your world has provided no end of wonder.
We had nearly gone silent with the lack of things to say and do. As we have done and said almost everything. But you got us talking again. For the first time in generations we had something to talk about. And boy, did we talk.
"What are they like? How do they eat? what do they play? do they love? do they war? do they excrete chemiluminescent gases?"
Sure, you are not perfect. And we are well aware of all your flaws both endearing and horrific. But you have done something for us that will make us forever grateful.
You have told us: We are not alone. | The marble below spun slowly, turning darken as the shadows lengthened over its curvature. Specks of light flared to life, as long string of electricity snaked their way over the freshly darkened surface. Like veins on a great beast grew into a tangled mess, congregating in bright bulbs of activity as whole cities of people pulled down their blinds and turned on their lights.
Through the clear force field in front of me you could see it all. You watched the same thing every day, over and over again. The star of this system was to my left, throwing beams of light along the pow of my ship. The ship's navigational panel tells you that the system and the whole sun are hurtling around the great black hole in the center of the galaxy, but you liked to think of the star as a constant, fixated being.
Two hundred thousand cycles, as of yesterday. Two hundred thousand times the marble below made its long trip around its mother star, dragging you with it.
You observation ship is certainly showing the years. The constant slew of solar winds wore down the outer shell.
As you raise a slim, scaled hand towards the nav screen, you suppose you too are showing the years. Your scales have lost the sheen of your youth, now a dull grey where there was once strong jet black.
Your eyes are lazily drawn back to the planet below. The little creatures are so very interesting. You watch them everyday, scurrying this way and that. Billions of them, in every corner of that beautiful planet.
You can't help but smile. After all, shouldn't one be proud of his work? Your little creatures have done wonderfully down there. When you found the poor things they were just small and hairy little primates. Eating berries and bashing each other's heads in with rocks.
So began your work, cycle after cycle. The EVO-Program. The mantle of your people. To send research ships deep into the reaches of space in the hopes of finding, or creating, the perfect successor. You could have hardly contained your joy all those years ago when you found the perfect candidate for the program.
The primates started weak, sure. But slowly, with your guidance, they began to improve. Rocks gave way to sticks, sticks gave way to sharpened stone, stone gave way to blade, blade to bullet, bullet to the burning power of a sundered star. Cycle by cycle, drop by drop, empire by empire, you have created the perfect predator species. A killing machine numbering in the billions.
Now, after all these years, your little primates had grown into the perfect species to take to the stars. Your smile widens. The perfect species to conquer the universe, in your name. | 2016-06-17T22:28:35 | 2016-06-17T22:21:54 | 142 | 24 |
[WP] To get in Heaven, you have to confront the person who you hurt the most. You were expecting an ex, your parents/relatives, or a friend. You didn't expect to see yourself. | I expected Niflheim. I hadn't died a glorious death in battle, which was to be expected of most of my kind these days. There would be no Valhalla or Folkvangr for me. If I was lucky I could avoid falling under Hel's purview, but I had my doubts.
Hel was waiting for me, and my heart sank. However, she smirked as I approached, and her voice spoke to me like rusted iron sheets grating together. "You hope to avoid my domain, mortal. Hope that you have lived honorably enough not to serve me. Is that right?"
"Yes," I replied hesitantly. This felt like a trap. Of course it was a trap.
"Of course you do," she continued dismissively, as if not hearing my answer. "Most mortals come to me in dread, fearing my judgment. It is not my judgment you should fear, but that of the one you have harmed the most, the one with whom you broke frith and oath, the one you have most harmed and dishonored."
It was then that I quailed. "I am to face the person I hurt the most?" I felt cold, and not simply because of Niflheim's chill.
Hel inclined her head imperiously. "Proceed through the gate if you dare, mortal. Or stay outside in the cold darkness."
I steeled myself. I had made my choices in life. They were difficult ones, and I had regretted so many of them. The ones that had hurt others, I had made willfully; I knew the crimes of which Hel had accused me, and most of them were ones I would commit again if given the chance, even knowing that I would serve until Ragnarok.
Who awaited me behind the gate? What foe would I face? I paused, trying to imagine who it might be. The faces of dozens of friends paraded before me, those whom I had wronged, who had walked away from me. So many burned bridges I imagined, all of my own doing.
So too did the faces of partners loved and lost. One, Rachel, who had beaten me half a dozen times in two years, haunted my memory. She had done me immeasurable harm, and I her. Another, Sam, had borne the brunt of the fallout of my worst relationships - three years of emotional abuse and sharing a home with the dark cloud of my depression. It was only after her that I had begun to come out from under that cloud and to fight back against the darkness inside of me.
No, as cruel as I was to these people, there was still worse. My parents had abused me, beaten and insulted me, shamed me through my childhood until I could barely stand to look at myself in the mirror. My sister was their prized one, while I was flawed and sick. None of my achievements could compare to her. So I had walked away from them, cut contact between my old family and my new one. Still, to break frith is a great crime, and I had broken it harshly and coldly, without remorse. There had to be an accounting for that.
But no, it had to be my son, whom I had failed countless times. He was born when I was barely more than a child myself. Neglected for years of his life by both of his parents. I was more absorbed in the violence his mother showed me than in being the caring father I had sworn to be - an oath I had broken thousands of times. I lost myself in that dark place, and my son had suffered the most for it. Even after I had begun to come out of that dark place, I feared to fight against his mother, to give him a better life. He grew up in a place of neglect, grew to learn values that were not mine, and we had inevitably grown distant. My oath to him had been broken. Our frith had been shattered. And it was no one's fault but my own. Those were choices I regretted, and by the time it was in my power to change it, it had already been too late.
Fine, then. If I was a coward in life, at least let me be brave now and take the accounting that was due to me. I pushed against the door, to face the scorn of my progeny.
But the face that awaited me was my own. My heart froze in ice, then thawed just as quickly. Of course. Hel's accounting was poetry, to be expected of the daughter of Loki.
"I should have expected this," I said to myself.
"You should have expected this," my own visage replied back, with my own mocking smirk. I felt dizzy.
"You're going to tell me now that my worst crimes were against myself," I said, predicting the lesson.
"There is nothing to tell you that you don't already know," said my own voice, in grief and sorrow. "But if it satisfies you, I'll do it anyway. You made stupid decisions when you were but a boy, and then spent the rest of your life punishing yourself for them. You broke frith with those who had broken frith with you, and hated yourself and all of those around you for it. You did great harm to your children, your lovers, your friends...but it was all a punishment to yourself. It was all to push them away. There could be no warm and loving shelter for you, only the cold of being distant from those who might have accepted you, given half the chance. You were your greatest enemy."
I nodded through it, tears streaking down my face. The guilt crushed me, an enormous weight that I had been aware of all my life bearing down on me like the weight of all the world. "What will happen to me now?" I choked out through my tears.
My copy's expression eased. "Your brethren in life warned you against Hel, not because you would be punished, but because her domain is for those who punish themselves. You brought yourself great suffering, and that suffering is Hel's domain. She understands you better than yourself, as does Loki. There will be no suffering here that you haven't already felt."
I understood. Hel had been forsaken too, as had Loki. Their choices had condemned them. Who better to have sympathy for me than them? This place was not a place of punishment for my crimes, but an asylum where I would continue to punish myself. I had an entire lifetime to forgive myself...and an eternity to understand that I hadn't. I strode forward, ignoring my reflection, embracing the cold truth, and the colder darkness of Hel. | Patricia stepped through the door and burst into laughter, the back of her hand pressed against her nostrils and her breath coming out in irregular snorts, doubling over in high-pitched hiccups of laughter. The other woman - the person behind the curtain, the other Patricia - smiled uncertainly and chuckled a little back, swaying back and forth on her heels. "This is-" Patricia got out, her breathing coming in wheezes, "this is bullshit. This is - this is the most ridiculous bullshit I've ever - Oh god." She braced her hands on her knees, expelling a gasp. "This is shit. This is - I'm not doing this. Oh god." She straightened up and pushed her hair back from her face. "I'm not playing this game. Send me to hell. Or whatever. I'm done here."
Saint Peter - at least she figured he was Saint Peter, beard and white robes and standing gatekeeper to heaven - stood impassive, his arms crossed, not letting her pass. "There are truths that must be faced," he intoned. "This is your judgement. There is no escaping it."
"This is bullshit!" she said, the last vestiges of hilarity leaking out of her like a balloon. God, that was her over there. That nervous, rodent-like smile of an ineffectual who never had anything useful to say. Even now, staying silent. That ragged haircut she'd taken to trimming herself, hacking off chunks of hair when she felt it was starting to weigh down on her. A face that went through the crude routine of lipstick and eyeshadow without even understanding the basics of aesthetics or beauty. Patricia could feel the bile rising in her throat just looking at her. "This isn't a goddamn game," she said. She was cursing so much all of a sudden. Well, one of the benefits of being dead. "You - I can't - This is narcissism. This is - this is emotional masturbation. I'm me! I'm myself! I'm a series of actions, I'm a fucking net drain on the world!" She jabbed her finger at her doppelganger. "That is not a person, that is not another person! You can't wrong yourself, you *are* yourself! Ugh!" She closed her fists in her hair, feeling the strands cut through her palms. She whirled around to face her double. "Well? What do you have to say?"
"Um," the other Patricia said, her voice dull and nasally. "Well, I don't - I don't know what's going on here any more than you do -"
"Oh god," said Patricia, grinding her palms into her ears. "Shut up shut up shut up. God. Do I sound like that? Jesus Christ." She shuddered. "That's awful. Don't make me - don't make me listen to my own voice. That's terrible. That's -" She rocked her head back and forth, trying to lodge the meat of her palms into her ear canals. "I can't do this. I can't do this! It's over. I failed. Fuck it. Let's go."
But Saint Peter was gone. And the door was gone with him. It was just Patricia and Patricia, in a room twenty feet square. "Oh no no no," said Patrica, feeling against the walls. "Oh fuck." She turned to face herself and started to laugh again, laughter fading into half-tuned sobs. "I failed it, didn't I? I got what I wanted." She pressed her back against the wall, slowly sinking down. "This is hell. This is hell, isn't it? That - yeah, that makes sense. You go to hell and the only thing left there is you get to spend an eternity with yourself." She stretched her fingers out along the curve of her skull, pressing down hard. "Oh god," she breathed. "I just wanted to not exist anymore. Was that so bad? Was that so impossible?" She looked up teary-eyed at herself, still standing there, like a moron.
Her other self shifted, cleared her throat. "Um, I think-" she started to say, and Patricia screamed "SHUT UP! SHUT UP!" jamming her hands into her ears again. "Don't fucking talk! Oh god, I hate you! I hate the sound of you!" Her other self startled back, and fell silent. The sound echoed, whispered, pattered through the room. "Let's be-" Patricia said, making her voice gentle, conciliatory. "Let's be quiet, okay? Let's live with ourselves." She closed her eyes. "Shh shh shh shh shh." Just the breath. Just the sound in the back of her throat. No voice. No need to make anyone else suffer.
*This is what everyone must go through*, she told herself, through the quiet, in her head. You can disappoint your parents, you can sucker people into a series of meaningless relationships because you're afraid to be alone. You can make people think they're your friend, you can get them to trust you, and then you can let them down. You can be a worthless waste of life who systematically makes things worse for all the normal happy people you come into contact with. But only you can hurt yourself like this. Only you can damn yourself to hell. Everyone walking through their door and finding themselves waiting for them. *What did normal people do*, Patricia wondered. Was it touching? Was it heartwarming? Did they learn to love themselves? Patricia tasted vomit in the back of her throat just thinking about it. She hoped they were happy. She hoped that heaven made sense for other people. She hoped that -
A shoe slammed into her face, busting open her lip, and she tasted blood and gravel, felt something scrape hard against her teeth, her jaw, the front of her skull. The back of her head was driven against the wall and she heard something crack. Her head collapsed against the floor, her mouth open and leaking, and a foot hit her in her stomach, in her kidneys. She realized she was screaming, a strangled squeaking sound coming through spit and blood. Her other self was screaming too, words this time, "Fuck you! Fuck you! Fuck you!" Dimly, Patricia thought she didn't sound as bad when she was screaming.
"You piece of shit!" her other self said, dissolving into jagged sobs. "You treated me like shit our whole life!" Another kick in the gut. Patricia curled up instinctively, and the foot popped loose some of the buttons in her spine. She'd pissed herself. She was choking on something. "And even now you don't have the fucking decency to listen to me! To just-!" There was a weight on her. There were fingers clawing out her eyes. There were fingers around her throat. "I hate you!" It was a scream, it was a whine, it was a drawn-out sob squeaking at the back of her throat. "Hate you! I hate you!"
Patrica opened her eyes to see light fading into black, tried to breath and couldn't. *Thank god*, she thought, as the hands tightened around her throat, choking the life out of her. *Thank god, thank god, thank god. At least she gets to let it out*, was the last thought swirling through her mind. *At least I get what I deserve.* | 2016-08-15T05:24:38 | 2016-08-15T05:08:42 | 30 | 20 |
[WP] As a kid, you jokingly say, "If I had a nickel for every person I've killed, I'd be rich!" It's is now your 21st birthday, and you receive a mysterious bank key in the mail. The vault it opens contains $550,000... In nickels. | I stood alone in the vault, staring down at the safety deposit box. Inside was a single coin in a plexiglass display case. V CENTS, it said, the V massive and centered and surrounded by a wreath of laurels. I heard the vault door swing open behind me, and then once again swing shut.
"It's a 1913 Liberty Head," said the voice behind me, "only five in the world known to exist. One of 'em sold for five million at auction. 'Course, a thing's only worth as much as you can get someone to pay for it. Otherwise you'd be looking at five cents right there. And seeing as how that one's stolen, you'd be lucky to get a tenth of the price."
I closed my eyes. "Hiya, Laurel," I said. "Figures it was from you."
"You used to joke about it," she said. Her voice was deeper, rougher, but still so familiar. "If you had a nickel for every person you killed..."
"Yeah," I said. "I was a kid. Had to deal with it somehow. 'I'd be rich.' As if that would matter." I cleared my throat. "What the fuck is this, Laurel? Blood money?"
"Well, you're rich now, ain't you?"
I stared down at the single shining coin, wanting to turn around and face her, and wishing she'd disappear again before I could look. "You stole a five million dollar coin just to fuck with me?"
"Naw," she drawled, "don't flatter yourself. I'd have stolen it anyway. It's just that once I had it, I got to thinking, and I thought of you, naturally. You and your stupid goddamn catchphrase." I remembered the gun, massive and cold in my child's hands, I remembered the kickback like a mule in my chest, I remembered my fingers wrenching, I remembered the boom that made me deaf and the sudden stink of gunpowder burning up my nostrils. I remembered Laurel, curled up in the corner, crying.
"One man," Laurel was saying, "and one nickel for it. But oh, what a goddamn man he was, and what a goddamn nickel."
"I don't know any goddamn fences, Laurel," I sighed. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this damn thing except let it incriminate me?"
"I dunno," she said. "You'll figure it out. Just like a girl figured out what to do with her dead daddy."
I listened to her knock on the vault door, heard it swing open again, swing shut. And there I was, alone again, staring down at a lousy five cents. | "Do you understand, Matthew?" asked the tall, trim man in the black suit.
"Yes." I replied, mainly out of reverence for the government agent. I didn't *really* understand, or at least not all of it. I'd been told I was 'patient zero', that a regular bug, the kind that makes people sick, had somehow mutated inside my body and spread from me to other people. That I had somehow created a disease that was harming many, many others. For those others it was much worse than it was for me. The agent was always reassuring me that it wasn't my fault. He said it so often it soon rang false.
"Good. No matter what happens to the others, it's not your fault." said agent Miles once again. "Remember that."
I don't know why I said what I did next. I suppose it was an expression I'd heard my dad say a lot before he had... or perhaps I thought it would be funny and help shatter the tension that was thick in the hospital ward.
"If I had a nickel for every person I've killed, I'd be rich by now. " I said forcing a smile.
The words slithered out of my mouth like a snake from a cave. A snake that sees a slobbering mongoose waiting for him and quickly tries to retreat back - *but it's too late*, it's already in the predators mouth.
The agent looked at me, squinting his eyes and furrowing his brow. He gazed deep into my eyes as if he were trying to peer into my soul. I'll never forget that look. It wasn't anger, it was something else. A look of suspicion perhaps, as if he were working out whether I knew something that I couldn't possibly know.
After a moment he tapped me on the head and told me "You'll be able to go home again next week." And with that he walked away and I never saw him again.
---
"Happy birthday, Matthew," my mom said in a melodic chime as she burst into my room. She pulled back the curtains and the sun glared fiercely at me. I paid the glare forward to my mum but she took no notice.
God, I needed my own place, but mom had been a rock to me ever since dad had gone missing when I was a kid - back when I was ill. A rock through my depression.
"There were some letters for you in the post today. I think this one is from auntie Glenda." She dropped a small pile of mail onto my bed and left. "Get up soon, I'll make you eggs!" she yelled as she began descending the stairs.
Most of the letters were from family, and some even contained money. Money I desperately needed. I tore through them ravenously. Soon there was only one envelope left, a raggedy brown thing with nothing more than my name scrawled on it in green ink. *Matthew*. It was noticeably heavier than the other letters too. Curious as to who had come over to the house to post it through the letter box, I ripped it open.
Inside there was a small piece of torn paper and a tiny metal key. "Matthew, I'm sorry for what we did to you, but it had to be someone. Hope this helps. A nickel for each one. Miles" Below that was an address for a bank, and a vault number. "What the fuck?" I whispered to myself as my hands began to tremble. Nausea, guilt and excitement battled for dominance as I jumped out of bed and pulled on my jeans and a tee. I pocketed the key and the note and yelled bye to my mom.
"You need to eat some-" she shouted as I slammed the front door.
| 2016-09-03T08:20:18 | 2016-09-03T08:07:13 | 223 | 137 |
[WP] You sold your soul to the Devil some years ago. Today he gives it back and say, "I need a favor." | You sold your soul to the Devil some years ago. Today he gives it back and says, "I need a favor".
You say "what do you need?"
"Stop reposting my shit son" He says, rather uneventfully,
"I am *not* your son" I replied.
In an avid show of rage, the Devil howled **"YOU ARE NOW YE LITTLE SHIT!"** | "So soon?", the old man grinned. The creases of old age followed his lips, the smile echoing across his face. His eyes shone brighter now with a spark that had been missing.
"I need a favor." said the darkness.
The smile faded, "I'm not the young man I was."
"Obviously.", the voice dripped with disdain.
"Then what? What do you want from me?".
The worn seat of his chair made him uncomfortable now. Many a day, he had sat in it and many a year had passed. 31, if he was to still trust his memory. He was good with numbers. 15 rounds in a standard 92 mag for Beretta, 10 rounds in certain states, 30-rounds if you're feeling expensive and he did like to be expensive. The extra rounds always bought a sense of confidence and guaranteed swiss cheese. The smell would be exquisite. A lingering aroma of lead, overcooked flesh and gunpowder. He remembered the rooms; how they overflowed the senses and clung to the pores.
"You haven't changed, John."
John looked into the void. Lost in memory, he'd forgotten his guest. Did he detect amusement?
"Do I detect amusement?"
"I need you to kill a woman."
John closed his eyes. The voice turned to a whisper in his ear. A name, a place and a time slithered into his mind. He searched for reason.
"Why?"
But it was gone. | 2016-09-17T14:04:48 | 2016-09-17T12:03:43 | 36 | 23 |
[WP] While browsing on your parent's computer you recieve an email notification addressed to them. It's from an advanced robotics corporation, informing them that the warranty on [your name] expires in 30 days. | "You really had no idea you were a robot?" my mother asked.
"No, of course not."
"We update your firmware every two weeks."
"I thought that was normal. That's not normal?!" I was steaming, and a little embarrassed. Mom waved the steam out of her face.
"What about that time you shocked Melissa when you kissed?"
Melissa. What would she think about this. I made a note to contact her on my internal comm system later. "I thought that was just a really good kiss!"
"The left side of your face stopped working for a day and a half. And your head was picking up Ariana Grande on the radio for a week!"
"I thought that was love..."
"Side to Side isn't a love song, and we took you to an auto-body shop for repairs! And what about the machine guns in your arms? There's no way you thought those were normal."
"I thought... I thought I was just special."
"Baby, you *are* special. And not just because you can transform into a sports car."
"Thanks, mom. You're the best."
We hugged tightly. I changed into my mobile-transport mode, and drove off to break the news to Melissa. Hopefully, I could break it to her gently on a joyride down the shoreline. | >To whom it may concern,
>We, at Joules Optimisation and Kinetically Engineering Robotics wish to inform you that your current model, named 'Malia Ann', will soon fall off of warranty. We urge you to renew your warranty at the earliest of your conveniences, to avoid damage to the unit and potential uninsurable events.
>The following events are not covered out of warranty:
>* Teenage Rebellion - Our standard model includes a teenage rebellion and experimentation phase where the unit will eliminate old safeguards and actively go against your commands.
>* Illegal Substance Ingestion - As your unit is designed to replicate the behaviours of most humans, drugs, alcohol, and tobacco are all pre-programmed to cause the system to deliberately produce errors that mimic human behaviours while maintaining an element of randomness.
>* Accidental procreation - The unit has been designed according to you and/or your spouse's specifications. In your specific unit, you requested that it have advanced procreation capabilities.
>* Etcetera
>Best Regards
Joules Optimisation and Kinetically Engineering Robotics
****
I stared at the piece. Was some intern was tasked with typing up a believable-
My cheeks flushed red. Some intern had my files, and knew about every last bit of my body. And being 18... I shuddered. Clasped a hand to my mouth. And didn't scream for my mother.
It had to be some sort of joke. Bouncing back up to the top, I stared at the company's name. JOKER.
"Really, you guys used JOKER?" I grumbled, mousing over the reply button when footsteps rang out beside me.
"Dad, what is this?" I yelled, hands balled into fists and madly gesticulating at him and the monitor's email.
"What, dear?" he asked innocently. "It's just a joke, a practical joke."
I turned my eyes red and glared at him, the servos in my arm whirring away.
"Okay, okay, relax, Malia. Besides, even if a human were to read that, no one would believe it."
My oculars rolled.
"This time. But next time, I'm reporting you for endangering our take-over mission."
I deleted the email.
Obama nodded.
***
Dear human, you are invited to visit **/r/AlexUrwin** for more stories.
| 2017-01-14T06:46:08 | 2017-01-14T04:26:46 | 137 | 65 |
[WP] You possess the ability to quick save in real life. When someone upsets you? Quicksave and beat them up. Wonder what would happen if you kiss that girl? Quicksave and find out. Then one day you attempt to come back from a failed attempt at something to find your previous save corrupted. | "So, doctor, what kind of symptoms are we seeing from your patient?"
Doctor Allen adjusted her glasses, looking through the pattern of reinforcing wire in the windows that separated her and the man in the grey suit from the dimly-lit observation room. A figure inside struggled against restraints, his voice muffled by the intervening glass.
"He certainly hasn't calmed down much, even with the medication. We've got no medical files on him, can you tell me about his background?"
The Assistant District Attorney leafed through a file..."Very puzzling. Mr. McCardy here, age thirty-five, arrested by the police after an incident at a bank. Apparently he tried to rob it and injured a security guard, and suffered some sort of mental breakdown while being arrested."
The ADA closed the file and peered into the room. "It looks like he's had quite the career. No arrests before yesterday, but he seems to have been traveling the world, getting involved with all kinds of shady business. Random sorts of things, smuggling, illegal gambling rings, street racing, a surprise he hasn't been caught before now...I suppose his luck just ran out."
The ADA paused for a moment, lost in thought. "Doctor, any idea why he keeps shouting for 'Tech Support'? | This was one shitty situation. I had the idea to stop the robbers, see if I could take them out. I could always reload the previous save, right?
I ran towards the first robber, punching him in the face, I grabbed his knive and stabbed the other in his heart. Hey, this went better than expected. Two down, 2 to go.
The biggest man I have ever seen in my life started running towards me, a broken wine bottle in his hand. He was quick, quicker than I had anticipated, he could kill me and there is no way I can reload that. I had to make a choice, jump out of the window, reload and try again, or get killed. The choice was easy, or so I thought.
I leaped through the window of the 23rd floor. The sky was cold and I immediately fell down. Quickly I tried to reload my previous saved file and then everything faded till there was nothing left to see.
"Hello?" I called out. I couldn't be dead, I thought. I tried opening my eyes, only to see a horribly mutated world. Blocks everywhere, birds flying in place, people moving in unnatural ways. A loud buzzing noise surrounded me.
"What is this place?" I thought to myself. And I started walking towards the nearest building I saw, well, I would call it a building but the shape was inexplainable. Big pieces of black mass covered the corners of the building, the rest looked like a puzzle with the pieces all in the wrong place.
Suddenly, the noise stopped and I heard someone walking towards me. As I turned around a voice softly spoke "So, you did it. You broke it."
"Broke what?" I asked
"The game, you broke the game. Your whole life, you have lived inside a game, nothing you saw was real. Why do you think the strangers you met kept saying the same things all over again? You were the chosen one, now you've broken the game. Now you can live a normal life."
Everything faded black again, and all I heard was the soft beeping of a heart-monitor.
*please be nice, this is my first story. I hope you enjoyed!*
Edit: Formatting on mobile sucks, I will try to make it more readable | 2017-04-19T06:03:25 | 2017-04-19T03:45:41 | 715 | 147 |
[WP]Write a story about a supervillian who is unspeakably more powerful than anyone else on his planet, but is content with using it for small things like cutting in line or getting free extra servings. | The final confrontation between Doctor Diabolical, Mastermind of Malice, and the courageous Captain Crimson - the two towering titans of the Golden Age of superpersons - was anticlimactic. The world's only holder of a satanic Ph.D. (Philosophiae Diabolus) had encased the Flatiron Building in his amazing solid fog and was issuing threats in his all-too-familiar basso profondo that could be heard across Manhattan. The billion-dollar ransom was considered cheap as far as municipal valuation went but sufficiently large to attract the prompt attention of humanity's foremost defender.
Their rivalry had been going on for decades, their cosmic-level clashes invariably ending in defeat for the crime overlord, apart a few stalemates in the mid-70s. Each time, though, the demoniacal doctor broke out of hyperjail, emerged from hiding, or returned from the dead, with high-decibel demands for a rematch. This time, although there was the usual exchange of threats and then blows above the skyscrapers, things ended differently. Suddenly in the middle of trading sonic boom-powered punches, Captain Crimson, crusader for correctness, dropped out of the sky and put a small crater in the middle of Fifth and Broadway. He had suffered an acute myocardial infarction.
The next day, the front page of every newspaper in the world featured a photo of Doctor Diabolical, public enemy #1 in perpetuity, unsuccessfully administering mouth-to-mouth resuscitation on his nemesis.
Later that week, Omega Orangutan turned himself in to the National Zoo, explaining that Doctor Diabolical had crashed Mob LLC's strato-sanctum into the Rockies. The world's only remaining super-gang apparently been on edge after an argument over his proposal to empty their Swiss and Cyprus bank accounts in order to fund a solid kirbium Captain Crimson memorial statue with a plaque reading "The Only Real Challenge". With the Mob effectively disbanded and probably disintegrated, the super-simian told the zookeepers that as the sole survivor, apart from the invulnerable "Doc D", obviously, he had nowhere else to go.
The status quo seemed ready to reassert itself when the Nuclear Family surrounded his hideout in Queens, having traced him there for stealing cable TV. The eight-hour standoff ended abruptly, however, when the Doctor emerged, wearing only his signature horned mask and a rumpled bathrobe, and, in quick succession, decked the Patriarch, Maxi-Ma'am, and D.I.C.K. and J.A.N.E. the Cyber-Siblings. Barely raising his voice to the level of a tirade, he told everyone to go away so he could return to watching "his stories". A month later his attempt to hold the StubHub Center hostage with an old hypno-ray was aborted when he stopped in mid-rant, rhetorically asked what the point of it all was, and levitated away. The jumbotron zoomed in close to his hideous masked visage to reveal dark circles under his dimly glowing eyes. It was obvious that he hadn't been sleeping well.
The superhero community has adjusted to the new normal, switching their focus to disaster relief and white-collar crime. There's a tacit understanding that if they don't bother the last great supervillain, he won't bother them.
Now when he rants things like "Doctor Diabolical demands an additional scoop of Chunky Monkey!" or "Out of my way, fools! Doctor Diabolical will take a grande caffè misto, or your coffee franchise will rue the day!" the servers will just give it to him without even cowering. He'll stand there for a moment, as if hoping to detect the shop's silent alarm with his acoustical implants. But he knows as well as the minimum-wage worker helping the next customer that nobody worth the time would show up. He'll eventually slouch off to the Diabolocraft, habitually parked in the handicapped spot, muttering that the world has not heard the last of him. Letting him jump line at cineplex or use the H.O.V. lane on his own seems like an acceptable tradeoff for peace and quiet, even if he's still kind of a dick.
Everyone secretly hopes he'll snap out of this funk. On Sunday, he jammed the BBC World Service from his low-orbit satellite to inform humanity that he is sharing the UN Secretary-General's Netflix account from now on.
*Edit: Typos galore!* | Karl could have anything he wanted, money, women, power, the very Earth itself. There was a time when he was younger, and realizing he had the power to dominate the minds of anyone in the world, anytime, from anywhere, that he began to realize the potential. He reached into a persons mind and took either knowledge or simply rewrote their brain to make them do anything he wanted. It was so easy, and he tested his abilities on his teachers at first, making getting straight A's in school a cake walk.
When he was sixteen Karl turned his entire school into his personal kingdom. He owed everyone. The teachers let him play video games in class, every girl thought he was the hottest guy around....he wasn't...but it didn't matter. People came up to him for advice or simply wanted to be around him. Karl was King!
Karl's kingdom lasted a grand total of seventeen days. You see as Karl soon realized, his complete ownership of people meant that he couldn't take a shit without someone popping in on him to talk or praise him or simply be close enough to sniff his farts. The constant attention began to drive him crazy.
"Hey Karl wanna go to the mall after school?" "Hey Karl, you the man!" "Hey Karl come check out my car!" "Hey Karl sit with me at lunch." "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" "Hey Karl" !!!!!!
It drove him mad.
So Karl released everyone's mind, returning everyone's free will to them with the added exception that they all had to leave him the fuck alone.
Twenty years later Karl was happy. He had adapted his powers to give himself what he wanted without needing the upkeep or bringing constant attention upon himself. He manipulated the minds of managers in the area. Karl worked at twenty seven different jobs around town, though he was on a permanent paid vacation at each of them. His bank account filled with money, though he didn't need it because he lives rent free, he never paid for anything when he went places, the only thing he couldn't do was get automated services for free because they weren't run by a manipulatible system. Things like Netflix, online porn subscriptions, Xbox LIVE services.
Not to say Karl didn't like people nor that he wanted to be left alone. Karl was a man who didn't like hassle. His ability could surely let him rule the world, should he want too, but just the idea of how much hassle that would bring upon him was too much. He was just fine living in his small house, going to the movies, mini golfing, things that he could do alone.
Of course every man needs "company" once in a while, and when that need arose Karl handled it. There were a few ladies that he would visit on occasion that would come over when he needed it, take care of him, and then leave. It was simple, no strings attached relief. Hell, they never even remembered him the moment they walked out the door. Except when they were "called" upon again.
The morality of his actions never came into his mind. Karl wasn't a bad guy, he wasn't a good guy. He just had no moral compass of any kind. It never occurred to him that he could use his abilities for good. Toppling twisted governments, eliminating war, promoted scientific study or intellectual development. Karl wasn't interested in helping people, he wasn't interested in hurting people, he really just wasn't interested in people. | 2017-05-16T08:30:17 | 2017-05-16T07:37:06 | 109 | 41 |
[WP] How could humans be dangerous? This one's been crying in the corner since we captured it. | Caitlyn could hear the aliens arguing with each other. How she could hear in English, she had no idea. She was afraid, but not of the aliens. No, she was afraid because she was locked up again. Kidnapped. She knew what everyone said aliens did to people. She’d already been through that once, and now she was going to have to go through it all over again.
One of the aliens bent low to her. *This is it,* she thought. Violation. Force. Pain. Punishment. It was all too familiar. She sobbed meekly.
“We just want to ask you some questions,” the alien said, “can you do that for us? Can you tell us about yourself?” Caitlyn nodded. Anything, anything to keep it from happening again. The aliens sat down in front of her.
They asked her some general questions first. Questions about her age, where she lived, what she ate. They were so nice about it. Not like what you hear about aliens. Caitlyn felt herself starting to open up to them. Then, one of them asked it.
“What was it that made you like this?” He said, “Are all humans like this?” She knew they’d come to it. They seemed nice enough, so she told them. She told them everything.
She told them about being kidnapped by that maniac. She told them about being kept in a basement for months. She told them about all the...*things* he did to her down there. She showed them her scars. And she told then about the things he did to the others who weren’t as lucky as her. She made sure they understood why she was on the ground, crying and shaking and afraid.
As she talked, both of the aliens turned white as a sheet. No easy task for something green and scaly. After she finished, they both stood up and started arguing again. This time, she caught part of what one said.
“If they’re willing to do that to their own kind, think what they’ll do to us!” | Grog narrowed his eyes and made a face. "How could humans be dangerous? This one's been crying in the corner since we captured it."
Pedriak snirked. "Yes, but crying in the corner. Where we left it. Untouched. Un*approached*."
Grog glanced over. Pedriak shrugged. Grog looked back through the two way mirror and asked, "Are you insinuating that *I* am too afraid to approach the creature that *I* captured?"
He glanced over again. Again, Pedriak shrugged. Grog looked back through the two way mirror and said, "Because if you were insinuating that, you would be wrong. I am not afraid."
"You should be," entered a third voice, a scientist by the name of Zuwap. "Based on my scientist research, the human race is potently dangerous when backed into a corner. And this human-" he peered through the mirror "-has reached extreme levels of hysteria. Approach at your own risk, and with caution. Any contact with the human at this time could be drastically fatal for your health."
"Blah blah blah," said Grog, heading for the door. "I'm going to talk to the human right now."
"I wouldn't advise it," Zuwap said. Pedriak snickered. Grog opened the door and went in.
"Hey, you-" he said, toeing the human with his boot.
The human was of the female species. Long, lifeless, stringy blonde hair curtained over scared,wide blue eyes as she looked up at him. "Please don't hurt me." Her lips trembled. Her body shook.
"Yeah, yeah. Look, we need to ask you some questions." He bent down towards her.
She stiffened, her eyes following the trajectory of his hand with an eerie steadiness that caused him to hesitate. Then he brushed aside his doubt and grabbed her arm.
The contact was like a trigger switch and she was the bomb. She detonated, exploded outward with the force of a baseball bat as she rammmed her forehead into his face, shattering nose and cheekbone.
He stumbled back, blood shooting up into the air like a squeezed ketchup packet. Before he could recover, she was there again. Like a wild cat, hissing and screeching as she clawed her nails down his face. The sound of his own skin ripping was worse to his ears than if she had raked her nails down a chalkboard.
His body shut down and flipped out into panic mode, hand swiping at his face like he had just walked into a cobweb. He hit something, then he felt her weight lift of him. But his face was still burning. The scratch marks were wide and deep - like she had given him gills on his face.
Peering through one eye, he saw the bare heel of her feet padding through the door. He heard screams beyond, the firing of lasers, and just as he faded into unconscious, the red alert arm of the ship's security system.
| 2018-02-17T08:49:55 | 2018-02-17T08:24:06 | 378 | 209 |
[WP] How could humans be dangerous? This one's been crying in the corner since we captured it. | “What’s it doing?”, aerg asked.
“Oh, that’s an instinctive reaction. It’s called crying, according to encyclopedia. It’s a form of frustrated submission. The display of wetness on its face is a call for mercy.” miurg fanned its sensor antennae to observe again the excretions of the prisoner.
“Why does it not just initiate a state of desiring mercy? Any probe of its passive mind would detect it. It would be released upon landing at a known compatible environment.” aerg fanned as well, mildly curious as to the makeup of the facial fluids. “Is that salt? They must have vast reserves of salt on their world! How strange!”, aerg sent out.
“Yes. encyclopedia says their ocean has a high level of sodium chloride dissolved into it. Apparently they die without a sufficient amount of replenishment. We must endeavor to mix some up for it. I surmise they drink it in solution.”
“Ah, this might provide an explanation for what has puzzled me.”, aerg sent.
“Query. Source of puzzlement.” miurg sent back.
“It shows no reception, neither passive nor initiated. I am wondering if its biochemistry interferes with reception. A high enough level of salt is an unknown component. Perhaps it is chemically forestalled from communication. Possibly a bizarre evolutionary turn. Imagine no communication. One ponders how they have come across clothing and transportation technology.”
“Ah, there is a relevant datacluster. Their communication is entirely sound based. Like augmentation data, but only that.” miurg sent an augment of satisfaction.
“Compelling and ingenious. Evolution is truly an endless marvel. Ask encyclopedia to initiate in its augmented state a query. Subject what it thinks of us.” aerg was curious, as was evident by his own augmented trill, vacillating back and forth between psychic and auditory augmentations.
“Yuuuu munnnn, wut ut doo yuuuu tink have capture yuuuuu question.” uttered the local encyclopedia device, in sound only, for the benefit of the captive creature.
The creature stirred. Its wet face rose to point at the two guards.
“Huh.” The sound came from its largest facial hole.
I HATE YOU!!!
The psychic message was unmistakable. The guards went into seizures as the rawest and strongest form of psychic communication poured out of the wet faced captive.
I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!!! I HOPE YOU DIE!!
miurg started bleeding from his second antennae fan. aerg made sounds of respiratory distress.
LET ME OUT!!!!!!
The creature made noises that accompanied its sending. Its smell intensified. miurg felt compelled. He hit the release array beside the cell with three limbs.
I WISH YOU WERE DEAD!!!! The sending went deep. miurg lost consciousness, sending a feeble call of distress.
Elsewhere in the ship, a transportation engineer programmed a course for the nearest human ship. Hopefully they would take back their beast, which sent too strong and profanely raw to endure. The beast entered the management room.
“Take me home.”, she said.
TAKE ME HOME!!!, they heard. The ship folded space. The engineer lay bleeding, possibly injured for life, but sent a full cognition to the empire hive. They must know. Humans only pretend to be silent and deaf. | Mike's head was throbbing and puffy and he didn't think he had any more tears left. All the anger and the fight and the hope had gone out of him, and so he sat, deflated, sagging, against a cold white wall in a cold white room.
And he stared at the glass before him. At the faces of his captors behind smudged fist prints and sliding hopeless streaks to the floor, as the last light of desperate hope glimmered into nothing like rescue flashlights glinting, fading, gone. He was alone. Alone but for the bugs that had torn him away from home.
He felt like he could almost be angry again, but it was too much work and he slumped back to the wall, a fresh wave of grief pushing up inside of him and squeezing helplessly from his eyes.
---
Dol looked quizzically at the pathetic, fleshy creature in the quarantine room. The officers huddled in the back of the room watched him carefully, clicking nervously amongst themselves. With a backwards flick of an antenna, Dol silenced them.
"What were the circumstances under which you acquired this creature?" He asked tersely.
A brief scuffle ensued before a young bug called Speg, skinny and still patchy from adolescence, was pushed forward. He took a moment, shuffling nervously, and said, "Sir, um, we were conducting a routine inspection of Sector 5829." He froze for a second, apparently collecting his words, and continued. "Um, there were, um, life signs on planet, um, four of star..." He paused, looking askance of one of his companions, who shrugged, before continuing sheepishly. "Sir, I don't recall the exact location. It should be in the computer log. But, anyway, we took a shuttle to the area, and there were no signs of inhabitance. We had to dig deep to find them."
Dol waved impatiently. He already knew of the humans' extraterrestrial survival techniques. "How did you catch it?"
"It was easy. We just threw a net over it." At this point, Speg straightened his back, feeling bold. "It's weak. The rumors are all wrong. We could destroy them easily."
Dol shifted his exoskeleton in annoyance. *The boy should not be so arrogant.* But Speg's crew *had* captured the beast, so he didn't rebuke the young officer. Instead, he simply turned to the control board and threw a switch, initiating contact with the human.
"I meet you as an equal," he said formally, using a greeting typically reserved for the negotiation of surrender. "What do you call yourself?"
---
Mike lifted his head. There was a garbled sound coming from above. He didn't have time for this. They were traveling faster than light and he couldn't sit through negotiations. Time was ticking and years were falling away back home and his little girl was growing up without a father.
The sound zipped and cleared and resolved itself into a tinny computer translator voice. "-call yourself?"
He set his jaw and gave the bugs the blackest look he could muster. There were no pleasantries here. Names were for friends. And his friends were old men at home by now to be dead within the hour, all because of the bugs.
A silence. A crackle. "Why have you come to Ving space?"
The rage exploded in his head like a red firework. "I didn't fucking know it was your stupid territory! *Get me back to my daughter!*" And he didn't know when he'd gotten up, but he was pounding his fists on the glass again and there was nothing but Misha in his mind and desperation and the blindness of losing his life without dying.
"-obviously not a highly intelligent-" the voice crackled again. "-highly social to the point of it being a handicap. I doubt- Oh! Turn off the-" And the voice cut out. A skinny bug, having just flicked the switch, lifted his hand off the control panel and skittered back into the mass.
Mike slumped again.
---
This is what I've got so far. I'll probably update soon, but it's getting late right now. Thanks for the prompt! | 2018-02-17T21:27:28 | 2018-02-17T20:29:54 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Mankind went extinct in a cataclysm, you, however, discover that you're immortal as a result. ages later you are approached by the animals that evolved to have human-level intelligence. | It’s always been there. We call it the Teller. Apparently it was here from our beginning and while not a god or something with infinite power it just exists. It has taught us so much and while some have tried to control it and even destroy it, it persists. We aren’t even the first to evolve on this planet apparently three previous civilizations have rose up since it’s own passed into the void. One destroyed itself. The Teller said it was their own fault that they had tried to shape them like it’s own long forgotten society. The Teller does not enjoy remembering them they were the Locust and they relished in their own destruction. The second never knew of the Teller or if they did they never so much as engaged with the Teller. They were a plant species that had become sentient and the Teller was unable to speak or communicate with them at all. So the Teller spent time alone watching and monitoring them. The Teller learned so much from them they grew up bonded and never fought the Teller called them a miracle the only species to never have fought and who shared in perfect balance. You can see it in the eyes, the Teller had longed to be apart of that culture and you can sometime catch the Teller gazing into the sky and you have to think, is it searching for their ships to once again cross the sky? The Teller is always happy to speak of that species the Treetoks. The third were the Canines they had found him early in their evolution they revered the Teller even more than we do apparently though I find that hard to believe. But they too evolved and the Teller shares great joy being with them speaking with them. There was conflicts and wars and devastating terrors to overcome but they both persisted and eventually the planet had changed and the Canines decided to leave they had found new places to travel to they had offered to bring the Teller with them but the Teller declined saying that their place was here where he started was where he would end. They came back to visit telling the wonders of their discoveries until they stopped coming back. Our species is still young just blooming and the Teller has allowed us to advance so swiftly the Teller speak of the end of this planet and how the cycles will fade and become part of the reddening star. They want us to be able to leave and seek out the Treeloks and the Canines as we wouldn’t have time to discover the knowledge on our own so they guide us, they teach us, they improve us in ways we aren’t yet equipped to handle but the Teller believes in us and so we believe in the Teller. They never lie there’s no time to waste on things like that we’re told. So we work on ourselves, we long stopped trying to tell the Teller they must come with us but the Teller is dead set on staying and we are going to respect those wishes. And while we one day will have to say goodbye to the Teller. We will come back after the star is dead and light is gone we will return we have all vowed and if they still exist we will bring joy to the Teller for on our return, then we will be the Tellers and the Teller shall become The Listener. | My cell screen went black, and I gave it an annoyed look before reaching into my pocket for my swiss-army screwdriver. That's my own invention, by the way. And yeah, there's nobody to call, I know. But I keep my Android Turbo 6 working anyway, because fuck, candy crush is fun.
In front of was the Statue of Liberty. Well. I think? Nothing of New York really exists anymore, so I wasn't really sure. It's amazing what thousands years of wildlife growth and plate tectonics can do to a place. So, the more correct to thing to say is: in front of me was a long coastline and an even longer ocean. Oh and I'm sitting on a mountain cliff with my legs hanging over the side, and a smug breeze playing with my home brew clothing. Ahahha, yeah that's as nice as it sounds.
Anyway, my swiss-army screw driver. That's right, it's not a knife. Not just one, anyway. I flipped the little gadget open. A little pulse of bad-ass looking blue light emitted from the tip of it, and I tapped it on the cellphone screen a couple times. Instantly, information detailing the cell's innards flooded my mind. Thanks, Elon. He did a hell of a job with that neurolink shit before everyone snuffed out.
Yeah, Humanity is dead. The big H. The planet killers. The planet savers. Set to change the cosmos, they were. But then there was the cataclysm, and now there is the just the little H. Me. My name is Harry Mollen, and nobody really cares ahhahaha. I mean..., I do. Hell, I had to square that away centuries ago, else it would have been hard living with myself.
I frowned as I analyzed the problems occurring inside the cell's little circuitry. I'd fixed the damn thing so many times, I'm not sure if it even had any parts left from the original factory model. 2050. What a time. Hyperloops. Criminals escaping to Mars on the daily. President Trump junior, aye…yeah I don't need to think about that for the thousandth time. You think we would have stopped electing dumbasses after the first fiasco. But- well, ...no need to go into that either. Jeez, maybe it's okay the big H no longer exists. Yes, I checked Mars, yes it was hard, no I did not actually send myself (that's a suicidal! I just sent a couple hundred probes on an old Russian rocket).
To be honest, the first couple centuries were the worst. The amount of time I spent trying to learn as much as I could before it was all gone. That was difficult. Especially all the mathematics, like jeezus.
Anyway, I'm getting away from the important moment. My cell screen. Nothing was wrong with it. But it wasn't working. This is the point where I hopped up from my perch on the overhang and strode back toward my hover bike to get some more tools out the trunk, prying my screen off with my swiss-army screw driver as I walked. After a couple minutes of tinkering, I put the thing back together and did another neuro-analysis. Nothing. What is wrong with this thin-
BOOM. I stiffened where I stood. The sound echoed off the mountain slopes and seemed to flatten the grass and in some of the clearings below. The after effect was a shock too. Pebbles near my feet jolted to life for a moment. My back stiffened.
Let me enlighten you for a moment. I had been on Earth for countless centuries, most of them being the most intelligent life form on the big ol' hunk of rock. I know 162 different languages. I built things on the daily that engineers and scientists of the 21st century could only dream. I've stroked off so many times that I - okay maybe I shouldn't share that. Anyway, I detonated a nuclear bomb once, just for the heck of it. I know the difference between nature and the creations of the big H.
And goddamit, that boom was NOT nature. | 2018-02-22T22:01:34 | 2018-02-22T19:19:21 | 39 | 18 |
[WP] You are extremely famous. Everyone knows who you are. The only thing is, you don't know why you're so famous. You don't come from a rich family and you're unemployed. You don't even remember how you got a mansion or a Lamborghini. Even stranger, everybody looks so scared when you bring it up. | "I don't understand."
"It's like when you can move stuff around with your mind."
"Telepathy, yes! What I mean is, I don't understand what that has to do with me? Surely I would know if I had telepathic powers."
"Not if the part of your brain that controls telepathy was being suppressed."
"Wait, what? You're "suppressing" my brain?"
"Well, that's an oversimplification. It's just a small part of your brain. A little less than a third of your hippocampus, actually."
"What the fuck? Why?"
"We had to. You were... formidable. And you killed a lot of people."
"What the fuck are you babbling about? I've never killed anyone."
"You've killed *thousands*. You just don't remember any of it. All of your memories from those days have been disrupted. An inadvertent result of us turning off your telepathy." The doctor tapped my forehead with a bony finger as if tapping upon my muted hippocampus.
I knew that this news should've shocked me. I was certainly curious, and a little frightened. But mostly I felt the same as I always feel: numb. I didn't really *feel* anything about it. Just curiosity.
"So let me get this straight. I'm a telepathic genocidal maniac?"
"You were."
"And you stopped me by shooting my brain with a raygun?"
"I guess you could say that."
"Why do I have a Lambo? Why is my house so nice? How can I be so rich if I was such a criminal? Shouldn't I be in prison?"
"There are many people who believe that you should! Many even wanted you to be executed. But most are just glad your reign of terror is over. We understand that whatever neurological anomaly gave you your powers also made you extremely aggressive and cruel. Now that those parts of your brain are being suppressed, you are a perfectly normal and functional member of society. To treat you as a criminal would be absurd."
"Yea but why the Lambo? I can understand letting me live free, but why pay me?"
"Honestly? People are still frightened of you. We want to keep you as happy as possible."
"I always wondered why people were so nice to me. Everywhere I go, people know who I am."
"Of course. You're the most notorious man since Hitler."
| It was after that third jaggerbomb that things changed. It was the last night of exams, I had sweated through sixty multiple choice questions and two short answers on the anthropology of media, was it a coincidence that one of my answers had to do with dissecting fame? I don't think I'll ever know.
My head had felt the warm rush from the two lagers I had downed, Kevin's arm was loosely around my waist and I was too elated from the semester ending to shrug it off and let him know that we were just friends. He was cute, in the way that you adored your childhood bestfriend but he would never be more than a study buddy.
"Katy, you've gotta do one with me all the guys are pussying out." Penelope, with her glamorous blonde curls, pointed at the third jaggerbomb she had bought us that night. Her parents owned the airplane engine factory outside of the city so she was always dropping her black card on stupid shit like shots, bottle service, and online subscription boxes.
I shrugged, why the hell not! After today I'd have to go to my shitty minimum-wage call centre job for a fledgling video streaming company, I'm pretty sure it would shut down soon when it was competing with Netflix and whoever else was out there.
Maybe it was the way the jaggerbomb tasted coppery, like when you suck your finger after a papercut or maybe it was Penelope and Kevin's voice chanting something that was eerily close to Latin, whatever it was my instinct pulled at my gut when the empty glass hit the wooden bar and a gold light flashed into my eye, a fiery ring, like the eye of Sauron, and something changed metaphysically. It felt like that drop in a dream when the elevator stops working.
The next thing I knew they were pushing me out of the bar and I heard people yelling, "Katy! Please can I get a selfie?!" "Katy! I love you!!!" "Katy Katy you're my hero!"
"What the fuck is going on?" I shouted behind me, unsure of the crowd around me and somehow we ended up outside of the bar on the street. An unmarked black sedan was waiting for me, the windows tinted pitch black.
"Get in! Hurry!" I felt a shove between my shoulders and somehow I was in the back of this leather interiored car, Penelope and Kevin, next to me, and some buff bald guy I knew to be my personal security in shotgun.
I was wildly famous. Like Kardashian level. How? I have no idea but everything seemed to click into place and the driver sped off with the crowd accumulating around my car, my name chanting off their lips, sounding familiar and ritualistic.
"Why are they shouting for me?" Penelope and Kevin shared a look, something between being caught cheating on your lover and fearing for your soul. They reached into the side compartment and pulled out a mini bottle of Vivue Cliquot and shoved it at me.
"Don't fuck with us," they both laughed and downed their own champagne bottles, pulling out their phones to Instagram story themselves next to me. I would have shrugged it off if it weren't for the shadowy figure that seemed to loom above both of them, a humanlike shape thst I couldn't make out but something that scared me deeply.
| 2018-05-14T23:56:09 | 2018-05-14T23:27:34 | 145 | 17 |
[WP] There was a glitch in the universe and now, no matter what dimension, you can hear the Monty Python Intermission Music everywhere. While humans are mostly cool with it, other worlds are utterly terrified. | Across the universe the music rang, only on one planet did any know its meaning. Some panicked, some ignored it, but after the music had run its course everyone was surprised by the next thing to be heard:
>Sorry folks, the preceding music was an accident, just training the intern, please carry on.
The broadcast clicked off and Mr. Tuberman turned to the intern in question. "And that, Harry, is why when you are repairing the chrono-onomato, you don't place zero on the bottom of the fraction. Understood?"
"...yes boss." replied the sheepish intern.
"A'ight. Let's get back to it then." | When "The Hammond" broke out most everything stopped. No one was quite sure what this constant noise was, except for a few historians on planet Earth in the dimension where they didn't eradicated each other during the cold war 400 years ago. Most species, including humans, are able to subconsciously eliminate sounds that are constant and pose no threat. Like the constant beeps of our flachobies or our whipwhoopers. The problem though, was that some races could not do this. They evolved to take in every stimuli and process it. This has lead those races to accomplish great things that spark from the smallest tactile or sound that other races could not even perceive. But when the Hammond struck, these races could do nothing at first. Then they danced. Then they screamed. Then they went mad. Most cut off their ears. They were a race smart enough to create something to stop it, but they couldn't think long enough to do it. Others started killing each other and themselves.Their pilots started crashing their space freighters into satellites, which then crashed upon their planet. This, of course, caused what equates to what would be an atomic meteor shower all across one of the most densely populated planets in the sector. They lost power, which led to rotting food, which lead to starvation, which lead to cannibalism, which lead to rather strange sexual kinks, which lead to a diminishing population, which lead their world leader to say "screw it" and blew the planets thermal core right apart.
(holy shit I wrote this with the music on in the background and apparently I had it at 2x speed. My head hurts so much.) | 2018-06-20T20:53:47 | 2018-06-20T19:59:02 | 171 | 77 |
[WP] You are a medieval villager who has been cursed by a witch. She curses you to be live until you are the last human alive. After a 1000 years you try to start the apocalypse. | I broke the seal on my eyelids as I awoke from my several hundred year rest, with the sun light of a new century streaked across the floor of my isolation cove. Comatose was the closest I could get to permanent release with this damned curse of immortality. If it weren't for the botched mass genocide in the 20th century I wouldn't even be in this situation anymore, but now isn't the time to dwell on past failures, and honestly I detest violence.
When I emerged from my coast side cave I was immediately met with this strange machine greeting me with the current date of July 7,2530. Best I could tell it was some kind of peacekeeper that patrolled the beaches. I asked this strange automaton for directions to the nearest population center through a sore and raspy voice, and was quickly proceeded to follow said directions. I needed to quickly learn what I had missed out on, and how far technology has come.
This city, if could even be called that anymore due to the sheer size of it, thankfully had massive holograms with a news caster reading of some drivel about how world peace had been achieved, and some other nonsense. What followed though truly piqued my interest. It was some interview with some forgettable researcher talking about finally perfecting hybridization between species. With this a new plan hatched. I could finally end my curse without having to kill everyone.
I rapidly installed myself in this researcher's company and to most people's surprise, created what would be considered the most successful marketing campaign of all time. Within days of launching our new product there were over fifty million "people" who used our product to become some hybrid, within a month a tenth of the worlds population. World governments couldn't stop this massive trend, and finally after nearly a decade, 99% of the world was some form of hybrid. There were a few minor religious groups remaining who abstained from the use of the mutagen, but it was only a matter of time before they died out. All the major infrastructure had been reworked to better fit these hybrids that were no longer human.
I have finally done it. In less than a lifetime I just like the human race, will cease to exist. As my long life draws to a close, I feel almost melancholic about not being able to see what happens next with this world that I helped mold, but I'm ready for the warm embrace of death. | "Curse? I think it's a boon."
I used to think that way. Whenever I saw others leaving for the heavenly abode, I used to remember her words: "You, you think you're so smart. You are untouchable, huh? Well, I curse you to live until the last human takes its final breathe. Then, and only then, you will be able to feel the pain I am going through."
"Live until the last human.."
I've seen many revolutions. The undying spirit inside every human being. After so much time living on Earth, I don't think I should call myself a human. I made a mistake that day, and ever since, I've been paying for the sin. After seeing so many deaths, I 've become immune to feelings. "So what if you lost a child?! Every person dies sometimes. It was supposed to die too."
Yesterday, I poisoned an entire village. It's not the biggest massacre ever, compare that to wars countries wage on each other. But I didn't feel any pain. Every man has the chase after his wants. I have the right too. So what if I kill a few humans during this process.
....
"He's a virus; it's our duty to save the planet from such a threat."
The first of a kind. It's the first time in a life when I am doing something this gigantic. When you know you can live for eternity, there's no urgency. I stopped caring about the time I spent. Now, with my followers working to help me reach my salvation, I don't have time to relax. Still, no urgency.
"It's a terrorist organization."
Terrorist? Me? Oh, you haven't seen the villains present in the society. They enjoy killing people. I condone it. And my goals are higher. I know there's more to life apart from a filthy body. I live but living has many problems too. I can't remember how many diseases I have contracted. Some have even left some permanent damage on this body. They wrong to call me and my people terrorists.
There are still people somewhere who don't know about us. What I make my people do is a great deed. We work silently.
...
"160,000 people died in Africa last year"
Why won't anyone listen to me? Here I am, trying to rid myself of this life. But they won't stop making new people. I need more people working for me. If I want to reach salvation, I'll have to work harder. But there's a problem.
"Do you love me too?"
Please don't force me to make a mistake. I should kill you. This girl doesn't understand that I have no feelings whatsoever. Still, she keeps coming back into my life. It's been only 2 years. 2. But she won't give up. She thinks I care for her. I don't.
"Are you alright?"
I love her. It's been so long since I felt such pleasure, such longing that I can't express it in words. I want to spend my every moment with her. I will make sure that she lives the best life. I can delay my plans. I can't leave her alone.
"The pain I am going through.."
She died yesterday. I told her about everything. She hated me for it. But somewhere in her eyes I could see pity. She felt pity for me. I don't want to live anymore. I'll start over again.
&#x200B; | 2018-09-01T01:16:52 | 2018-09-01T00:40:22 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | ----------------------------------------------
186,292 YEARS?
How could this be? I never even harmed a fly. Okay, well - maybe a few of those. You know what I mean.
**"....But why?**", I asked struck by pure horror and disbelief.
The hell warden looked right into my eyes and cracked a diabolic smile:
"Do you even realize how many people died because you refused to forward those chain-mails?"
---------------------------------------------- | I racked my brains, I was by no means a saint, but then, who is? I thought back to all the times I didn't intervene in other people's drama, because it was none of my business. Maybe I should have tried harder to help people in those situations? I couldn't help it that I didn't care that the husband of Rachel in accounts was also banging Claire in sales. Sure, I listened to the bitching, but I didn't care. I thought of all the times I sat at my desk aimlessly browsing the internet because I just didn't give a damn about my job. I began to wonder, is apathy a crime punishable by nearly 200,000 years in hell?The more I thought about it the more I realised every negative interaction in my life came from being apathetic. The arguments with my husband because I didn't care what we had for dinner, or what we watched on TV. The daily grind because of my aforementioned job. The lost friendships because I just did not give a shit about their mundane dramas.I should have cared more. I tried, I really tried. Caring is hard. I should have told Claire in sales she was a whore and Rachel in accounts she deserved better. I should have tried harder at work. I should have put more effort into deciding what to have for dinner. 200,000 years is a long time to live with that regret. Day 1 is not the time to start caring.
&#x200B; | 2018-09-26T07:41:09 | 2018-09-26T06:12:40 | 1,768 | 153 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "Excuse me sir, but this doesn't seem right? Are you sure you have the right results for me? This seems totally unwarranted." I said to the clerk who handed me my sentence papers.
"Sir, there are no mistakes here. Try this, it usually clears things up." he replied.
He handed me a blue flyer, like the kind they give you at a hospital, which answers the usual questions that they don’t have time to go over with every person who asks.
It read:
“Feeling cheated by your sentence?”
“Wondering how you could have possibly racked up that many sins in one lifetime?”
“Feeling like your perfectly average life couldn’t have possibly led to this?”
If you answered yes to one or more of these questions, this is for you. We often have newcomers ask similar questions and have found that the following self test can clear things up. If you still have questions after reading this, you can talk to one of our support staff.
Check all that apply:
1. I felt underappreciated during my lifetime
2. I often had to remind people why I deserved what I was clearly entitled to
3. People had a hard time recognizing my achievements
4. I rarely felt like I was among equals, often feeling like the smartest person in the room
5. Often felt like people were envious of me
6. I was almost always able to convince people to let me have my way
7. I found that I had to constantly make people understand that they were wrong
8. People often refused to see what I knew to be true
9. I sometimes had to use force to make people understand things that were for their own good
10. I often needed to remind people that I don’t settle or compromise
If you checked off five or more of the above, it is likely that you lived your life as a narcissist. You were unable to see the sins you were accumulating because you believed that you were not committing them at all.
Still confused? One of our support staff can help you by recounting your memories from the perspective of your friends or family. You can make an appointment at the front desk.” | "But I don't see how that's possible! I never *killed* anyone! I never stole, I never even hurt an animal, I lived a simple, boring life. I don't claim to be perfect, but how could I be that evil?"
The man leaned back in his chair. "It doesn't really work that way. People like to imagine that there are big actions that decide your fate, and that's true to an extent, but in reality we use a point system. Every action you took, every single decision you made, they all had a point value, either positive or negative. It's not that you did any one major bad thing to get you here, you just did a huge number of *tiny* bad things.
"Like what?"
The man reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a thick file folder. "Let's see. Just off the top of the list: you never used your turn signal. That's five points off per violation, and you drove for nearly forty years. You refused to tip at restaurants out of principle and you snapped at the waiters to get their attention. That's nearly a hundred points off every time you ate out. You listened to music without headphones when you used public transportation, ten points per minute. You took your shoes off on airplanes. In the last election you cast a write-in vote for someone called "Pickle Rick". Your last three cars were a Nissan Juke, a Chrysler PT Cruiser, and a Pontiac Aztec-
"That's insane! None of those things should be that important. If those are the worst things I did how could that possibly add up to 200,000 years?"
"Your sentence *is* a bit on the high end for your crimes, but then most people are able to balance the negatives with positives. You didn't really do that. Yes, you lived a quiet and simple life, but in this case that hurt you more than it helped you. You never did anything that had a significant positive effect on the world. You never helped anyone, you never affected change outside of your personal life, you never even made anything that others appreciated. It looks like the single most positive thing you did was the one single day that you volunteered to help build houses for hurricane victims. Huh, that's kind of out of character for you."
"That was actually an accident, they asked for volunteers at work one day and I thought I would get paid for it..."
"See, that's what I mean. Apart from that the most positive thing you did was make a handful of Internet memes that made some people smile. That's a nice start but it doesn't begin to outdo all the bad."
"So there's nothing I can do? I'm doomed to suffer for 200,000 years and that's it?"
The man thought for a moment. "Well, we *do* have a pilot program we've been working on. Basically you would devote time here in the afterlife to learning how to become a better person in order to reduce your sentence. It's still in the early stages and we're not even sure how it will pan out yet, but you seem like an ideal candidate. It will require serious self-improvement effort on your part though, it's not just a walk in the park."
"I'm willing to try anything at this point. So how does it work?" | 2018-09-26T08:05:05 | 2018-09-26T07:56:17 | 488 | 101 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "186 thousand years?! W-what did I do?" I asked the demon before me. He sighed, rolled his eyes and started tapping away on his demonic keyboard, delving deeper into my file.
"Says here you would frequently eat the fats on your meat?"
"I did? I guess. What does that have to do with anything?"
The demon shrugged. "Automatic 186 thousand years."
"What?! Why?!"
The demon sighed again, more loudly this time: "'It shall be a perpetual statute for your generations throughout all your dwellings, that ye eat neither fat nor blood.' Leviticus 3:17. It's right there in the bible, sir."
"Are you kidding me? The guy in front of me only got 145 years! Are you telling me he never ate fat or blood?"
"That's correct. You are literally the only person who has ever eaten fat. God was very clear about fat."
"Ohhh, you ate fat?" a guy with three teardrop tattoos under his right eye asked incredulously from behind me. "Dude, don't eat fat. Haven't you ever read Leviticus?"
"No, I'm not religious!" I protested.
"Well, it's basically the worst thing you can do," he informed me, licking blood off his knife.
"This guy's eating blood!" I pointed out. "Is he gonna get 186 thousand years?"
"No, blood's not as big a deal obviously," said the demon.
"It's in the same quote!"
"Yeah, but you gotta read between the lines on this stuff."
I threw my hands up in the air in exasperation.
"Okay, look, you seem like a nice guy. I'll see if I can knock it down a couple of thousand years for you, alright? Let me just-- whoa, wait, it says here you've worn garments upon you of more than one kind of material mixed together? Dude. What the fuck."
&#x200B; | “186,290 years?” I exclaimed, shock written all over my face. “You have to be mistaken!” I continued staring slack-jawed at the bored looking HSA officer across the counter. “186,292 years” he corrected me in a bored tone as he stamped my papers and pushed them back toward me. “Straight ahead, follow this hallway to the 173rd bank of elevators and give this to the officer there.” My eyes looked off unconsciously to where he pointed, gazing over the seeming miles of endless lines all waiting for their meeting with HSA. I’d heard there had been a brief movement to create a pre-check where you could have HSA review your life before you even completed it, expediting your time waiting to enter heaven, or as with most of the people their time in hell. The plan fell flat however once people realized that no one was that anxious to get to hell.
“That must be wrong” I sputtered again, knowing I had led a boring life. “Who is your supervisor, I need to talk to someone”.
At this point the man looked slightly less bored, and even a little sad, though I didn’t really notice, so hung up was I on what was obviously a mistake. “You don’t want to do that” he suggested, barely moving his lips. “Trust me, just do your time and don’t complain.” By this time I was too wound up to even notice the gentle warning his voice carried, and my own voice rose. “I”ll not do my time, this is wrong! I demand to speak to whoever is in charge.” I shouted as others looked toward me to see what the commotion was. Two lanes over, a drug lord who had just received 37 years laughed at my predicament as he skated by, nodding to the HSA officers as if he had known them all in another life.
The man sighed, and nodded “So be it” he said and pushed a buzzer on his desk. As he looked up at me he started pulling a 9 inch thick stack of forms out from under the counter, bound together with rubber bands. “You’ve chosen to request a complete life audit with the Eternal Review Service. He pushed the stack of forms to me and pointed me to a bank of elevators with no sign which read ‘Circle 10 - ERS’. “It’s out of my hands now” he continued to me. “Even Dante couldn’t imagine anything like the 10th circle. Take that elevator and you can get started on the preliminary application for audit when you get there.” He gestured to the thick stack. “Most people complete the application in no more than 5 or 6,000 years. Oh, you’ll need this too” he added handing me a small scalpel. “The forms all must be filled out in triplicate in your own blood after all.”
I stood there even more shell-shocked than I was before as two more HSA officers prodded and pulled me toward the waiting elevator. What had I gotten myself into? | 2018-09-26T09:04:03 | 2018-09-26T07:53:45 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] You stare at the pills in your hand. The doctor taps his foot impatiently. "These will really cure me of hearing that voice?" you ask. The doctor rolls his eyes. "Yes, you'll never hear her again." You level your gaze on the doctor. "I never told anyone the voice was female..." | The pills rolled around in my palm with a newfound weight as the doctor finished his sentence. “How did you know?”.
The doctor looked at me quizzically with an impatient glare, “What do you mean?”
“The voice. I never specified it was female. How did you know?”
The doctor stiffened, his eyes darting away quickly. He seemed to quickly regain composure along with an alibi “Lucky guess?”
I stared at him with a look of disbelief. After a few seconds his body shifted with unbelievable speed to a scalpel on the nearby counter. He charged me silently, as to not alert the other workers.
I screamed as he repeatedly tried to drive the scalpel into any piece of flesh available. Out of instinct I grabbed his wrist and drove him back into the wall, forcing him to drop it. The frail older man was pinned underneath me, and he had a look of fear and desperation in his eyes.
“WHY!?”
The man stared solemnly back up at me. “I- I had t-... They made m-“
Suddenly the door burst open and another doctor rushed in, slamming the door behind me.
“Thank god, this man just tried to k-“
He pulled a gun from his coat pocket, unlike one I had ever seen. It shimmered as if it’s composition was one of unknown material. A large silencer extended from the barrel. The man raised the gun to me. “You’re too dangerous to be left alive, ok? It’s best for the human race this way.”
I tried to sputter out a sentence but couldn’t. The man’s finger slowly moved to the trigger.
Something snapped inside me, unexplainable to anyone who hasn’t experienced it. It felt like floodgates had been released. I stared intently into the mans eyes, my every move made out of instinct. His eyes filled with fear as the gun slowly moved toward his own head. “Yo- You weren’t supposed to be developed yet. You’ve only just started hearing her...” I stared for a second longer before the man pulled the trigger, expelling an almost completely silent bullet through his own head.
My attention turned back to the first doctor. I stood up above him and twisted my hand, knocking him unconscious. The room was eerily silent. I stepped over the body of the second doctor as I made my way out of the room. The receptionist, oblivious to events that just occurred, turned to me “Scared of vaccinations? I heard the screaming.”
I ignored her and walked towards the exit.
As I stepped out into the world, everything seemed so clear. My head was suddenly filled with a foreign voice again. That angelic voice seeped into my mind.
“You’re ready now. You need to be with others like you, where you can train. Meet me. You’ll know the way.” | Red on one side. Blue on the other. Effie glanced down at the pill capsule resting in her palm, unsure of what to feel. One in the morning. One right before bed. With a tired frown, she accepted this was a strategic defeat reflecting her best self-interests. Arranging the appointment, making sure she had transportation for the appointment, and actually going to said appointment; all of this was to improve her health. That was the goal. Improved health. She inhaled deeply, feeling a sharp pain between her lungs, and exhaled.
"These will cure me of hearing the voice," she asked. Her skepticism was an insult, but even a sane person would convey, at the very least, some sort of apprehension at a one cure all remedy.
Dr. Alois didn't appear offended. Annoyance trickled on his bushy mustache, and he shifted comfortably in his large, leather chair, reclining in a manner to rest his fingers on his upper thigh.
"Yes, yes," he answered. "You'll never hear her again."
Effie's ears twitched, a childhood habit she hadn't yet relinquished. "I never told anyone the voice was female," she leveled her gaze on the doctor, tilting her head curiously.
He revealed no emotion, stoic and composed in his chair. "Rest assured," clearly reprimanding her for her silent accusation, "you are not the first to hear Her, and you will not be the last to do so." He shifted again, closer to the right than the left or center, and rested an arm on the curved side.
"I don't understand," Effie said, returning to the harmless appearing pill, one of a set of two-hundred housed in her purse, "how could you know? Is this documented? Are you -,"
"One in the morning," repeated Dr. Alois, gruffly. "And one right before bed," he ended, calmly.
"Please, help me understand."
Annoyance embedded itself into his fatty forehead folds, but he acquiesced with a heavy sigh. Pulling his desk chair closer, his elbows made a small thud on the smooth, wooden surface.
"What do you see outside?" He raised his hand to stop her from peering over his shoulder, "Just recall what you saw on the bus ride this morning."
"I saw people," she answered, aware this wasn't the answer he was looking for. "I mean men and women and boys and girls and...I don't know you're asking of me."
"Effie, not all people are people."
"But -,"
"All people," his tone had taken a harder, firmer tone, "are not people." This was a tone she was distantly familiar with, and she lowered her head, nodding.
"I saw...people and...toons," she swallowed painfully. "All over, all around."
"Good, and you know what they can do -," he said. "But there is one, just one," he wagged his finger to emphasize his point, "that can do more, and she comes here and there throughout history, searching for some person or persons to do her work."
"And what's her name?"
"Dolly," Dr. Alois answered. "Her name is Dolly, and many are lost to the void when her voice enters your mind."
"What can I do?"
He pointed to her purse, "You take your medicine as directed, and you wait." He leaned back, arms folded, and Effie was reminded of her father, despite his off color complexion and bald head and thick rimmed glasses, "She will return to Ovium, where she belongs, and you will resume your day to day life."
"I don't think you know what that means," Effie said distractedly, popping the pill into her mouth. "I don't think she's ready to go back to sleep." | 2018-12-28T13:59:58 | 2018-12-28T11:20:01 | 168 | 76 |
[WP] You have the power to teleport anywhere when you tap four times on any surface. The catch is that you can't decide where you go or know where you are going. What you do know is wherever you go someone needs you. | I had gotten used to it honestly. Whenever I felt trapped behind my desk I would tell a coworker that I needed to go to the roof for a smoke (to ensure that no one would follow) and I would tap.
And tap. Then tap. And tap.
I would wind up in the most bizarre places. Once it was in the zoo, where the new keeper was nervous about handling a cheetah.
Another time I helped a little old Hispanic woman in the mountains clean her house and get her groceries.
Yet this time, after the disgusted looks from Betty (as if she doesn't smoke), and the escape to the roof. After the pull in my gut, I found myself in a downtown apartment.
The view of the river was beautiful, the apartment well kept and spacious. The walls bare of any art.
I frowned, how was I supposed to help? Who was I supposed to help?
There were three doors to my right. The first was a closet, full of unused winter clothes. The second a bathroom, with only the necessities.
The third led to the bedroom. A young woman sat on the bed, staring out the window, holding an orange bottle in her hand.
She didn't look at me. "Are you an angel?"
"Maybe, why? What'd you take?"
The pills rattle as she holds them up. "Opioids. I have a tumor in my brain that's going to kill me. So I told the doctor that I wanted to do it myself."
I sat down on the bed next to her.
"Why did you call me here?"
She looks at me with glassy eyes, from the drugs or her tears I couldn't tell.
"I didn't want to be alone."
"Then you won't be."
| This is Simon.
As you can plainly see, he isn’t saying anything, but that is to keep quiet about the fact that he has a power unknown to humanity and, only slightly less so, to himself. You see, whenever he taps a surface four times, he is transported around the world to the location of a random person who is in distress. He discovered this one day when, instead of knocking on wood three times, as is tradition, he knocked an additional fourth time on accident. It was after this fourth knock that he found himself flying through a rift in space and time; hurtling toward a poor unfortunate soul in need of rescue. This is where he finds himself now, as he flies through dimensions to recuse another person in need of saving. Unfortunately for Simon, however, this is a rather terrible power to have.
I’m getting ahead of myself, though, because what I have stated thus far is not based on the reality of the situation, but on what Simon currently believes to be the truth. The reality is that his power is derived not from within himself, but the ancient runes that were carved on the underside of his coffee table which, incidentally, he had previously knocked on in the correct order. These runes were part of an ancient Celtic rite which allowed for the instant transportation of an individual across large distances. You are probably thinking that this is so serendipitous that it cannot possibly be true, and I normally would agree. However, this is one of those rare instances where random chance conspired to give an unearned gift to humanity.
That being said, this transporter works by finding the highest concentration of despair throughout the world and transporting the individual to that location. Such a device was effective for proving oneself through heroic deeds, although this worked much more effectively in ancient times as more advanced technologies make this much riskier to use. For instance, at the exact moment Simon disappeared into space-time, a submersible exploring the Mariana Trench suffered a massive engine failure and began to take on water. Should he appear here, then he will surely perish with everyone else. Alternatively, on Mount Everest, a professional climber having an off day just kicked a small pebble down a rather fragile snowdrift, triggering an avalanche that was sure to swallow hundreds of climbers. These two examples, and many more, would surely see to it that Simon swiftly met with his grisly end...
However, fortunately enough for Simon, humans are melodramatic creatures and he was instead transported to the room of a father who had just stepped on one of his son’s Legos ^TM . This led to a whole other series of events, ending with Simon receiving a court date and paying a ridiculously large sum of money to fly back home.
This story, like most others, has a moral: always check the underside of your furniture.
| 2019-04-04T15:22:31 | 2019-04-04T15:11:07 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] You made a deal with the devil and he showed up with two blank notepads. You’ll write everything you want from him on one notepad and he’ll write what he wants from you on the other. You filled your entire notepad but he only wrote one thing on his — to your surprise, it’s not your soul. | Let's see...
An infinite amount of money.
Good health for me and those I love.
For them to continue making *The Office.*
What else could I want?
The ability to fly.
Superspeed.
That right there could make the rest of my life very pleasant.
Oh!
Not getting hurt or feeling much pain.
The notepad is almost full though. But I know as soon as I go home, I'll remember something else I want.
A little extra luck then normal.
"That should do it," I say aloud to the devil, sitting in another one of these soft chairs.
"Very well," he lets out a small cackle. "Are you sure you're done?"
"Oh actually." I quickly scribble something down on the pad. "Yes. Now I am."
"So everything on our notepads will become true." He says, his eyes gleaming.
I nod my confirmation and turn mine around, revealing the whole notepad filled up.
He turns his around revealing five words that make me want to burst out laughing.
*I will have your sole.*
And right there, the last thing I scribbled down, that saved my existence.
*The devil can't spell.*
r/FortyTwoDogs | It's funny to reminisce now, but at the time it was a truly terrifying ordeal. A frail old man clutching his rascal hat in his hands, shuffled into my office; a distressed look on his face, around the same time I was expecting a hefty shipment of cocaine, so you could imagine I was rather on-edge. I look over to my bodyguard slash assistant to berate him for allowing someone through but he wasn't by my side, he had vanished. I glanced back at the old man he was no longer hunched over and had since discarded his cane.
He wore a menacing smile, I stealthily reached for my gun that was holstered beneath the table. He pulled out two notepads and threw one on my marble desk. 'write what you long for and I shall grant it.' he yelled will a nefarious roar. I unclipped the gun from its holster and emptying the magazine, screaming uncontrollably whilst I did. low and behold, I open my eyes expecting to see a bloodied corpse but instead saw the same old man with a slightly annoyed expression. He requested that I stop wasting his time with puny earth bullets. It's hilarious in hindsight remembering myself slowing getting to the revelation. "Are you the devil?" I whispered. "Bingo!!" he replied, humoured and began morphing into the devil, a 7-ft towering beast with the weird hindleg hooves and the infamous red horns.
"Now write before I--" I started hurriedly writing before he could finish with his threats.
I eventually concluded with the one thing I wanted since birth, and never had growing up in the hood. A father. "I must make you aware of one stipulation. If I am to grant you what you want you must give me a thing of my choice in return." My ears were ringing too much in fear for me to properly comprehend the implications of that stipulation, in retrospect he could have taken my soul. I wrote 'father' and slipped the pad his way, he briefly looked before laughing heartily.
"Alright time to tell you my request, I want a man like you a calloused, ruthless, murderous fiend like you to be my rightful successor."
Now I rule over the Underworld, residing in the throne of the devil. I wanted a father but quite ironically I became the father of hell. | 2019-04-17T06:17:38 | 2019-04-17T05:58:31 | 67 | 17 |
[WP]You’re a human stranded on an alien planet. The locals are sapient, but have a lifespan of only about six months. After dozens of generations (about a decade), you’ve managed to make quite a name for yourself.L | "It’s amazing how quickly the Afmir learn.”
\- said Bravan
“Two days after hatching, they area already mumbling their first words. A week, and they could be reciting whole novels.”
The crowd nodded silently, finding a new race of sapiens species would be a commotion by itself in the counsel of explorers, finding someone who spent 20 years with a new race, that’s a lifetime opportunity.
“I think they were intrigued originally, they probably though I wasn’t sapient, as I was unable to learn their language. You see, tribes of Afmir would often split from each other and loose contact, and their language changes rapidly as well. This is hardly a problem though, they usually are able to learn the new dialects as quickly as a newborn, remarkable indeed. I think this probably helped me, as they never saw me as a treat. I wish I could’ve asked the first Afmir what they though when they first saw me, but it took me more than a year to start getting the fundamentals of the language of the tribe I was in, so I never had a chance. As you see, the Afmir live very short lives, around 6 months in our earthly time.”
Unfortunate timing, this would’ve been revolutionary news if it had been delivered sooner. Bravan was technically the first explorer to find a sapiens species in the edges of Kravni’s Law, but 3 were cataloged since his crash.
“Apparently, it’s common knowledge now that the lifespan of a sapiens creature is inversely proportional to it’s ability to learn. But there are other evolutionary traits that are less evident in those creatures that I would like to discuss. I cannot affirm that they also follow Kravni’s Law, as this would require further investigation, but it should be something interesting to ponder. The Afmir have long a incubation time, necessary to develop their large brains, this would make having human-like families impossible. You see, parents are usually long gone when their offspring is fully grown. This has shaped their society into having no family structures, but instead focusing in tribal cooperation to succeed.”
Bravan had started his career as space explorer as an Anthropologist, but humans were never enough for his taste. Still, he knew better as to not get too hung up on a topic, or he might loose the crowd’s attention.
“When I first met them, they were extremely objective and focused on the now. No time for art, sciences or anything with long term goals in mind. Because of this, they failed to develop writing, and only relied on spoken word to carry information through the generations, which quickly got distorted. I think they began to make real effort to communicate with me once they understood the value of knowledge, after I was able to consistently show every new generation where to find food.
With my help, soon survival wasn’t a big issue to the Afmir society anymore, and I gained significant influence with them because of this, so I was able to introduce to them the idea of working in bigger and long term projects. It took eight Afmir generations to dig a mine into iron ore, all digging knowing that they would never see the fruits of their labor, but once it was found, they learned to process it into steel in mere weeks.”
People were gasping speechless, into the short while since humans invented the hyper drive, no life-form with the capability to process metal had been found.
“I lost a bit of influence after that, they started studying everything meticulously and recording their own findings, and I soon became obsolete. Still, they valued my advice and I became almost an object of worship. They called me *Ashtroput*, which translates to one-hundred lives. I was able to witness as they rushed though the ages, quickly than ever before imagined. After ten years of the first scientific revolution, they had created their first computer and aluminum alloy, both of which I needed to fix my ship. This gave me an idea idea. I brought them to my crash site to see if they could help me. I know it was a long shot, but I figured it was worth a try. Well, the wreak of the ship helped them to start what they are now calling the second scientific revolution, which brings me to now. The Afmir have requested me to introduce them to to earth, and act as their envoy, as they become the second space fairing race in the galaxy.” | It happened shortly after the crash. Two days after his ship crash landed in Zenon-6, Caide Newell was all but sure he was a dead man. Telecoms went dark. The ship, an unmitigated wreck. There'd be no salavaging that flaming hunk of debris. But at least he survived, somehow. The same could not be said about the months of rations and supplies he had set out with. On one hand, Caide thought himself the luckiest s.o.b, he had survived an errant asteroid collision in space and that was damn near unheard of. But, on the other hand, he was stuck on a rock with no tools to do anything about it and food to survive. So he was *still dead*, just dead in a much slower, and less dramatic way.
"This blows." Caide had quickly lost track of the times he uttered those words.
Just as he assumed the end was nigh, pangs of hunger gnawing on him, all hope of surviving gone, something really strange happened. *They* approached him.
Tiny little things they were. Round, puffy bodies the size of a baseball, covered from head to toe in hazel brown fur. They had these itty-bitty hands with three digits on each and walked on teeny little feet. Most defining characteristic of all was there overly large eyes that shimmered a vibrant color when light refracted on them. They came out in droves. Dozens, no hundreds, of these mini creatures. Though he didn't see a mouth-it most likely being concealed by the tufts of fur on their face-Caide was positively convinced of one thing: they were going to eat him.
Instead, they spoke. "This blows." One would say, it seemed like the leader of the group. When he uttured the words in his squeaky high-pitch voice, the masses behind him echoed it too. Over and over they chanted the words and each time they did, they gyrated, their big eyes narrowing. Were they laughing?
After this went on for a moment, a thorough inspection of occurred. With little hands jabbing him from legs to arms to even his face, their touch soft and rubbery, Caide knew when he was in the middle of a physical. He let it happen, too afraid to anger them. Somehow, he had seemingly passed their test, for after they finished, they began motioning him to follow. Why not? Caide figured, following them slowly as some bounced up and down while others simply rolled. It was odd, he was terrified, but admittedly it was kind of cute. So he followed, besides he truly had nothing else to lose.
Their civilization was surprisingly a complex one. They lived in a cliff that had been burrowed into, tiny holes leading into tiny homes. A series of bridges and pulleys were fully employed. And all over the place, little tiki-like torches illuminated the community. It was quaint, it was safe, it was their home.
"This blows." The leader said to Caide. "Come, come. We have food." A few moments later, at his command, a host of little ones rolled out from their respective houses carrying a tray of food on their head. One by one they proffered it to their guest. Each one was a mini morsel at best, but Caide knew when a kindness had been given. He accepted it humbly.
The leader spoke up. "This is our new guest, 'This Blows', treat him well, be kind, don't poke him too much, but be sure to ask permission first if you do. He is big, he is funny looking, and he is a little smelly. But he is our guest! Welcome him." They did just that. A whole swath of furry little balls began to gyrate.
It was weird as all hell, but, Caide had to admit, it was nice. The food was edible, the accommodations even more so. From having thought his life had come to an end to suddenly a new strange beginning, Caide was quickly coming to terms with his new station in life.
The little critters, he soon would learn, had a short lifespan. They lasted only a few months. The first time Caide watched one of them pass struck him in a profound way. He was growing attached to them. When the leader who invited him into their home had passed, that had left Caide feeling especially hollow. But quick they were to reproduce, their numbers always full. After the third generation came and went, Caide out lasting their cycle of life and death, the once strange visitor from a different world became something of a legend to these little furballs. They soon looked to Caide for more than just his company. To them, he was a foreign being. A benevolent one who seemed to live for an eternity. They made monuments in his image, wrote songs and dances in his honor. As months turned to years, his legend only continued to grow.
Caide Newell was regarded as a god. That had bothered him at first, but quickly did he let that slide. It made his new friends happy. As far as he was concerned, this was his home now and they were his people. So whenever they gyrated, whenever they uttered *This Blows* so too did Caide. | 2019-04-22T10:21:25 | 2019-04-22T09:39:54 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to see the number of lives a person has taken. Even legendary soldiers and serial killers rarely make it to triple digits. The person you just met has a lot more than three digits above their head, though. | Working at Starbucks, you meet all kinds of people. When you are me, that is doubly true.
Since I have memory, every time I look at someone I have seen a number form besides them. Growing up I did not know what it meant, since most people had a zero. It wasn't until I entered high school that I began to meet people with ones or twos, but eventually I figured it out.
The number showed me how many lives the person in question had taken.
Every so often, walking down the street, I'd see people with higher numbers: a 7 here, a 13 there, even the odd Vietnam veteran with an 86. Even those wouldn't make it past 100.
People with the higher numbers had a different expression on their eyes: some had a crazed look about them, others were simply melancholic; some seemed to stare right through your very soul, deep into the distance, longing for a release that they knew they did not deserve.
Today, however, was different.
It was a regular morning, with the shop full of white-collars late for work and cops about to go on patrol.
A regular morning, that is, until *that man* showed up.
48,502. That was his number.
Tall. Imposing. Lightless, life-less eyes. If this man had a soul, he had lost it long ago.
And yet, from looking at him, there was a solemnity about him that made you respect him. It was as though he had made peace with what he had become.
"One coffee, black" he said, placing a bundle of bills in front of me. "Venti."
His voice was incredibly deep. I couldn't help but notice a few scars on his face. Small ones.
My face must've had fear written all over it. "Something wrong?" he asked.
"Uh... No, nothing's wrong." I counted the money and handed over the change before grabbing an empty cup. "Your name, sir?"
"Castle. Frank Castle." | I couldn’t look away. Nothing I’d ever read about killers seemed to apply to this man. He was quiet but jovial, a little portly; his skin crinkled around his eyes the way they do only for those who’ve lived and lived well, and his smile and pleasure at meeting me was very much genuine. He exuded an aura of awkward calm—his social grace was a matter of practiced embarrassment-hiding, not the kind of charisma that leads people to drop their guard. He reminded me rather of my grandfather.
And above his head, in my peripheral vision, hovered not just a number, but a *significand.*
The exponent *itself* was in the triple digits.
He didn’t really seem to mind, though; in fact, he followed my gaze to the empty space above him and gave me a pained, rueful smile and said, “That’s where I keep my stormcloud.” And then, a little quieter, “You can see it, can’t you?”
“I… what?”
“You can see how many there were.”
In all my years of peoplewatching, I’d never met anyone else who could see those numbers. I lurched back, and nearly fell--as I was the last person in line, nobody was there to stumble into. Even the staff had begun to close up.
His chair creaked, and he stood beside me with a proffered hand. “Sorry, kid. Didn’t mean to startle you. But you can, can’t you? See the number, I mean.”
I just blinked.
“What’s it say now?”
“Mumble mumble times ten to the something squeak?” I think I managed to say as I took his hand and staggered to my feet.
An unbearable sadness settled into his eyes. “It’s hard, you know,” he sighed as he tottered his way back to his chair behind the table. “Being a killer. All of them my children. Or my lovers. Or me, you know?”
“How?”
“Look, kid… for every life I save, for every soul I immortalize, how many do you think get scrapped? How many are slaughtered without ever meeting another living soul? And those are just the ones that *almost* make it.” A gnarled hand tapped the stack of tomes beside him. “These are just a tiny handful of possibilities, kid. Just a pinch of stardust. But what *could* have been…”
And just like that, his eyes lost focus, and it seemed he was a world younger. “There are too many lives to exist all at once, kid. Far too many. It’s up to you to decide which get to live forever and which die in utter anonymity. Some of them you may have to kill without them ever being born.”
Only when he finished speaking did I discover he’d capped his pen and closed the cover of the book he’d signed. “But such is the nature of being a writer, kid. That you get to give birth to even one extra life, despite the innumerable deaths you cause—doesn’t that make it worth it? Especially if that one life sparks a hundred more in someone else’s head?” | 2020-01-11T20:26:40 | 2020-01-11T20:05:07 | 256 | 84 |
[WP] After one’s death, the ‘creative mode’ is unlocked. You replay life, except everything goes the way you want it to. Unlimited wealth, complete domination of the world, you name it. Unknowingly, that play-through is what is used to judge whether you belong to heaven, or hell. | "Well, I did do a bunch of kind things, so painting every government building on the planet hot pink isn't *that* bad is it?" I looked back and forth between the Angel and the Demon sitting across from me.
The angel sighed. "Yeah, I suppose. but you upset soo many Americans."
"I think that was hilarious. Big S was pissing himself laughing." The demon laughed.
"anyway, we've decided that you're going to sit in processing for a while. have fun, the coffee is terrible." The angel got up and left. The demon tossed me a key.
"Janitors master key. Second floor lounge has good coffee." The demon vanished in a puff of smoke and flame. | Let's see.
Top of your class. All of them. For all fifteen years. Easy enough with a lifetime of knowledge.
Managed to get with Jessica too, huh? We thought it was cute, while it lasted. Monica, after that. Then Jen. But you only did that to get back at Barry Allen didn't you? Broke his heart you did, and hers. Then Liz's, Steph's, Annie's...quite the collector aren't you?
Won the lottery a few times. Fair enough, that's the first thing most people try. Then you took the stock market by storm. Bought your mom a big house by the beach, spent three years by her side before the cancer. Ah. Now that's what we like to see.
Graduated with first-class honors, recruited straight to head management of your dream company. There you really gave Barry Allen the reckoning from your past lives. You know he's still on the streets now. Yes we know, justice is sweet no matter the lives that pass.
Then you got bored and tried your hand at mayor. Spent many a night with a chardonnay in one hand and a lady in the other. Oh, banned plastic straws too. Turtles are booming thanks to you. Gave everyone on the street a bed too. Very good. Yes, you really were quite good.
You deserve Heaven? Well, you have achieved all you have ever wanted. Surely, there is nothing more we could offer you.
Oh no, don't misunderstand. You are not going to 'Hell' either. Well, at least not the Hell of your imagination.
You are going to the one of your creation.
Welcome back to Earth, Barry Allen. At least you'll have a bed when you're greying.
We'll see you soon after that.
r/bobotheturtle | 2020-07-20T03:30:13 | 2020-07-20T03:18:12 | 122 | 67 |
[WP] In the afterlife, souls can see how many living people still know you once existed. You, who had lived a fairly normal life, finally saw the count drop to 0 just 200 years after your death. 500 years later, 95% of the Earth’s total population suddenly knows about you. | “Those who lived a quiet life live a quiet death.” So they say here in the afterlife.
The first week after my death, my head was filled with a cacophony of voices. Friends, family and colleagues all talking or thinking of how they missed me. Sharing stories, tears and laughter. I could even see through people’s eyes as they spoke or thought of me.
The laughter was the best. I always loved to make people laugh, and used to put myself at the butt of the joke just to see others smile. Hearing the laughter as people remembered the good times eased my passing as I adjusted to my new life... I mean my new afterlife.
After the first week, the voices dropped off rapidly. Sure, there was a little surge once a year when a few people remembered the anniversary of my death, but by and large, people moved on.
I drifted through the void, waiting between times that people would speak or think of me. The waits got longer and longer, until even my intangible form started to fade.
It wasn’t uncommon. Only a small number of us, celebrities, billionaires and world leaders mostly, could survive the afterlife for long. As the decades passed, a few even became more popular, their spirit forms more vibrant. David Attenborough was one of these. His narration of Planet Earth became the only way people could remember the earth that had one existed, the diversity of life that existed before global warming went in its rampage.
But most of us, we faded. About 200 years after my passing, I was fully forgotten. Even I forgot myself as I disappeared into the void...
BAM! A cracking of energy echoed through the void as I was forced violently back into existence, my form so vibrant as to almost seen corporeal.
Everything rushed back, and I barely had time to wonder before I was pulled into the experience of the living who were remembering me.
It was a YouTube video. One that had only a dozen views at the time, but that must have gone viral somehow 500 years after my passing. In it, I was at a table with friends. It was someone’s birthday; there was milk and cake.
I watch as a younger me struck straws up his nose, sipped a glass of milk, then attempted to eat a piece of cake. I watch through others eyes as I choked, spewing milk out my nose through the straws.
Again and again I watch, as the YouTube video hits 1 Million views. When I try to escape to the void, I get yanked back as others watch the video.
By the time the video hits 1 Billion views, I am insane. It doesn’t stop. My lifeless spirit drifts through the void, more vibrant than all the rest. Other spirits give me a wide berth, so as not to be hit by the milk spewing through straws from my nose. | The days seem to go by much quicker now. At first, I mourned my own death almost as much as my family. Of course, there was no body for them to bury, but they knew all the same that I was gone. It’s funny how little you tend to remember after so long, almost as if your memories are connected to those you left behind.
December 26. That was the day I died. 200.... 2003? I’m not so sure anymore. Maybe it was later. I just remember the fear I felt in my last moments. The overwhelming pressure that I endured for a split second was agonising, but then it was gone. I was drifting. Floating..? I don’t know. It was pleasant, at least. I felt more at peace in those few moments than I’d ever felt before.
Then, as fast as I had died, I was back home. But I don’t think I was really home. I just remember it feeling like I was watching television. I watched as a group of people in dark suits loaded weights into my coffin. I watched as my sister, and my mother (I think) placed flowers on my tombstone and cried. It must’ve been years I stayed, watching the same thing over and over. Each time with less and less people present, but I can’t remember who it is that’s missing. Eventually the only two people left were my sister, and who I assumed was my mother. How did I not know if that was my mother? Anyway, that’s not important anymore.
When I finally stopped watching, I was forced toward another place. An unfamiliar place. It must’ve been years. This place felt cold. It was bright white, and there was a woman - an old woman - in a bed. Another younger woman walked into the room and said something, I’m not sure what, but the older woman looked quite sad.
I stayed watching this woman for a long time, too. A young girl visited her multiple times. Always laughing and smiling. She looked familiar, so familiar... Maybe I knew her? I’m not sure.
After a while, the woman in the bed closed her eyes. My screen went blank after that.
Where am I again? I don’t know. I feel calm, and peaceful. It doesn’t matter where I am. Floating around in nothingness was all I longed for, and now I have it.
It was a long (or short) time after that that my screen turned on again. “.......... Blake...... body...... found in an excavation of Sumatra....”. Blake? Was that my name? The man speaking was sitting at a massive wooden desk. He was reading from a... from a sort of projection. I could see the words scrolling in front of him, but they weren’t on anything. They were just... there. Floating.... I liked floating....
Suddenly, more screens flashed all around me. Mostly of people sitting in front of their own screens. Only their screens were like the man’s, not really on anything. They were just there. Suspended. Floating. And then screens of people everywhere, in all sorts of places that I’d never seen before. These places didn’t look real. They look like a movie I saw once, I think. What was a movie again? Faster than I could try to remember I was engulfed in light from millions upon millions of screens. The one of the man at the desk stayed dominant, much larger and in focus than the rest.
“The horrors of Boxing Day, 2004, are being once more thrust into the light” he said. “After almost 500 years, the remains of victims lost in one of the most deadliest natural disasters in our history are still being recovered. The first victim, believed to have been a young boy, was identified through our historical database as Blake Freeman...”
Huh... I guess I know why I like floating so much. | 2020-09-24T05:27:33 | 2020-09-24T04:38:36 | 54 | 33 |
[WP] On a whim, you decide to take a trip down memory lane and revisit your childhood hometown. But when you look it up for directions-- Nothing. No mapped location, no news articles, no records, not even a Wikipedia article. It's like the place where you were born and raised...doesn't exist. | It’s not like I hadn’t known the town was dying. It had never been that big to begin with, and once the borax ran out there wasn’t any reason to stay. But there was so much nothing I could drown in it.
I’d skinned my knees there, gone to school in the grocery’s back room in the years the town had enough kids for the county to send a teacher, watched the sun go down with my dad, gone fishing with my mom in the little lake before the runoff killed the fish, and then we all left. And the town died. And I didn’t notice.
How did none of us look back? Myself, my parents, that kid from down the street I still talked to on Instagram sometimes, how did none of us see that everyone was gone? Did one of them notice and just not care enough to mention?
There must still be buildings, no one would pay to knock them down. So there is a corpse. But the mapmakers took the town off their maps. So there’s no headstone.
Could I visit what’s left? Take photos or a souvenir or some sort of sop to the remembrance of this non-place that used to be home? The county doesn’t maintain the roads any more, I checked the index and they're not there. I don’t know how long it’s been since that stopped, and there were always so many rocks. I don’t know if I could still drive there. I don’t know if I want to.
I’m so sorry. | I was lost in a memory, overcome with emotions. I recalled the way the heat registers cranked in the silence of the night, and the way the bottom step into the family room creaked. I remembered the smell of my favorite childhood meal, and the scent of my mother’s perfume. It all came back in a rush of flooding memories and suddenly, I was homesick.
I packed my bags, desperate for an old trip down memory lane.
I drove, following the same familiar route home that I used to take every summer break from college. I hadn’t been able to stomach a visit since she died.
Four years ago my mother passed away, suddenly vanishing from my life like vapor. She was my rock, my armor, my everything. And after she left me I could never stomach returning home, not until now.
As I thought I was arriving, I was mystified. Somehow I’d driven straight through without realizing, ending up in Shelbyville. I made a U-turn and circled back, driving through the mist, right back into Springfield.
I parked on the side of the road, scratching my head dumbfounded. If I remembered correctly, my home town of Utica had always been tucked quietly away between the two major cities of the state. But as I drove it seemed nonexistent.
I pulled out my phone, my fingers a blur as I typed, researching my old address. I swallowed the dry lump in my throat, my search turning up empty. I began to panic as sweat pooled in my palms. “It must be a mistake.” I told myself, refreshing the page and searching once more, coming up blank for the second time around.
My old home, the place I’d grown up and scraped my knees too many times to count, was untraceable. Every fiber in my being shook, suddenly unable to recall the name of my home town, or my old street. I checked my history, but the last searches to show were those I’d completed that morning.
Unaware of what the fuck was going on, I started to tremble, convulsing in the drivers seat of my Chevy. My chest got heavier with every breath I took. An attack of panic arose within me, and I reached for the glove box, desperately reaching for my spare inhaler.
Forgetting where I was at all, or what I was doing, I shrugged, and followed the route swiftly back home to the safety and serenity of my apartment and my dog, completely unaware of why I was out of the house in the first place
It was as though the entire day had been wiped clear from my head, as if it never happened at all. | 2021-05-22T23:26:28 | 2021-05-22T22:53:06 | 74 | 40 |
[WP] A magical medieval fantasy empire frequently invades inferior, magic-less dimensions for easy conquest. This time though, they target the modern day technologically advanced Earth. | Note: For the purposes of this story imagine an ac-130 makes mw2 sounds.
\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\
"Damage report major."
With a salute the major began speaking. "It appears that they have interdimensional portal technology, although they have not used it since they began their attack. They may need time to recharge before teleporting large distances."
"English."
"They're sitting ducks. Sir."
The general smirked. These alien fucks picked the wrong country and the wrong world to land on. "Bring out the Ac130s. I want you to hit them so many times even their ashes no longer exist. If anyone survives bring them back for interrogation."
The major smirked at his general before saluting again and running off to inform others of his order.
\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\//\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/\\/
The invading magical army looked up as they heard a sound unlike any they had heard before.
Their commander Gwendyre spoke. "Apprentice, use scanning magic, is that a dragon?"
The apprentice scanned it but didn't fully understand. "It appears to be full of metal and alchemic chemicals, but I sense no magic from it."
"We will move on then, it cannot attack us from such a distance with no magic."
They took a few more steps before it sounded as if the sky began to scream. They looked up just in time to see a large pice of metal dropping towards the center of their group. They scattered as to not be squashed, only for an explosion to overcome them. The commander had enough time to form a dome around half of his troops, but the other half seemed to be dead on impact.
He smugly scoffed. "It will take more than that to defeat us. It barely took half of my power to block their most devastating attack. I assume it has a high cost and cooldown time." His face turned to one of horror when the ship fired again, and again, and again. Soon he collapsed from exhaustion, and his troops collapsed from death. | So word is these guys are conquerors, but all I see is a bunch of confused idiots. They came in with a lot of bravado and a lot of flamboyant lights, but I guess that was all posturing. Remember the modern It movie? Pennywise says he's an eater of worlds? Turns out that was all talk. Same thing goes with this army.
I remember their arrival like it was yesterday, because it was. Lights appeared in the skies all over the globe, and a bearded wizard spoke through some sort of projection stating that he was going to conquer the earth with his army. Of course as soon as this happened troops started gathering on our shores. Of course they targeted the most powerful nations first, and completely ignored the third world. Classists.
It didn't take us long for us to scramble our entire military forces. These wizards and magic people started killing people as soon as their ships hit our shores. Plenty an innocent bystander was killed.
Their little conquest didn't last very long in Texas of all places, which was the first place they hit. As soon as they got up the beach, all the second amendment exercisers just up and shot all of the people in robes. When the police figured out what was happening, they joined in too. That little invasion lasted 5 minutes and a total of 5 people were killed on our side and 700 of theirs were killed.
California was hit pretty hard because it's an anti-gun state, but the first to go where the tourists and the homeless. Unable to defend themselves against this onslaught they were completely trounced. The under supplied police force managed to hold out but as soon as their small allocation of bullets ran dry, it was curtains for them. The national guard was deployed to California and all of the western seaboard and that ended that invasion. Not a single one made it past the states with maritime borders.
The story was different over in Europe. Turns out a bunch of knives can do pretty well against magic wielding buffoons. When you have to say the name of your attack, let's just say it lets people know that you're about to attack. If you let people know you're about to attack then they have time to prepare to dodge or launch their own attack. Saying your attack is like saying you're going to shoot somebody with a gun or stab them with a knife before you do it. It's a very stupid thing to do. Someone running at you with a knife can clear 20 ft in less than a second. If your spell takes 5 seconds to say before it's cast you may as well not say it at all and just submit to the jugular serration. Uncounted times this happened. The invasion didn't make it 5 kilometers. They pulled back quickly, but the royal navy shelled the boats, killing the rest.
Today all major countries that were invaded are cleaning up the bodies and scavenging the corpses for anything of value. The ringleader of this whole thing is being interrogated at the American Super Max prison. Word is all he had to say was he was embarrassed. He was very very sorry for what he did apparently. What a kiss-ass. | 2021-06-26T07:06:31 | 2021-06-26T02:05:21 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] Unlike most people with super powers, you're perfectly content to mind your own business while using your powers in normal everyday activities. However the heroes seem to have decided that your disinterest in world affairs is suspicious and you're clearly faking it to hide your true agenda. | Not many people in this world had superpowers, even less became heroes or villains. That was reserved for people with big, flashy powers and the egos to match. I only have one of those two things, thankfully it's a big, flashy power. I shoot fireworks from my hands, as small or large as I want. Which in theory could do a lot of damage if I went all out but I’ve literally never tried. I am content to just live my life as a regular person who just happened to have an impossible party trick. Who knew mini fireworks could be so helpful in entertaining people at parties or even getting dates. Unfortunately, I got a little too drunk one fourth of July and agreed to do a full fireworks show, and got the attention of literally every superhero. I got countless invitations to join and become the superhero “Fireblast” (yes they even tried to pick out my name). Naturally, I refused and now they think I’m a villain who is lying when I say I want to live a normal life. It would be fine if they just left me alone obviously, but they insist on monitoring my every move and dropping in whenever they feel like it. Most of them have enough respect and common sense to do this when I’m alone, but there is one guy who always picks the worst, most inappropriate time. On the bright side he gives me some ridiculous stories to tell.
“Fireblast you sneak, you are under arrest!” said Captain Major, interrupting my pleasant date in the process. He was wearing a civilian disguise but it was very obvious it was him. In fact, I noticed him when my date and I walked into Sally’s Ice Cream. I pointed him out to my date, whose name was Katherine, once we got to the nearby park to eat our cones and told her to start recording when he inevitably tries to arrest me.
“Captain Major, for the last time, my name is Doug.” I replied casually. “Could we do this another time, I’m kinda on a date right now?” I motion for my date, Katherine, to start recording.
“How did you know I am Captain Major? My disguises are perfect.”
“Literally no one else calls me Fireblast, calls someone a sneak, and ‘you are under arrest’ is your catchphrase. Now this really is a bad time, again I’m kinda on a date and I want to finish my ice cream before it melts.
“I see no reason for me to leave you alone. After all, you are the single most likely person to be an undercover evildoer.”
“Are you sure about that? I’m sure I don’t have to remind someone as experienced as you about the dozen other failed investigations you led.”
“Of course I’m sure, my instincts have always been right every time they have proven to not be wrong and they have not been proven wrong. Just not proven right, yet.”
“In that case I’ll remind you that the past dozen attempts of yours to catch me doing something evil have failed.”
“I haven’t been proven right yet Fireblast, so let's get to business. ‘Kinda on a date’, is that code for something?”
“It's code for ‘I am on a date’. This is Katherine by the way.”
“Yes, yes I know her.” he said without even looking at her. “Looked her up during my research. I am very thorough with my research. That’s how you become the best spy in the hero world”
“Well did you find any crimes in your research?”
“Confidential. Though I will tell you that I came here to investigate just that.”
“So you’re still in the research phase and you walked up and tried to arrest me?”
“I’m always in the research phase, that’s why I’m so good at everything.”
“Right… so, if you don’t have any crime to arrest me on then could you go? My ice cream is melting.”
At this Captain Major paused for a moment, maybe he remembered that he needs a valid reason to arrest someone. He broke the silence by saying “Ice cream sounds good right now.” He looked at me like he expected me to offer him my cone.
“I got this from Sally’s Ice Cream on Brooke Street. Right over there on the left.” I said pointing at the shop.
“Thank you. You best be on your best behavior from now on Fireblast. I will be watching you like a hawk from here on out.” He said before walking away.
“Still not my name.” | "Whoa, guys, now wait just a sec", I said while raising my hands in a warding gesture towards the two supes trying to threaten me with their powers.
"No more waiting, Carl", said Josh the Jellyfish. Yes, he picked that name. "Your time's up", added Rocky Rhayle. "Either you spill your secrets now or we spill your guts. Your decision."
I rolled my eyes. "First of all, do you really believe you could 'spill my guts' that easily? Second, Josh, we were flatmates when we were in university. What secrets do you think I'm hiding? Not to mention that about five of your friends already tried to find any evidence that I'm more than I seem to be in the past week alone. This is really getting out of hand and very annoying so please just accept that I'm simply not interested in being a celebrity like you."
"Sure", Rhayle replied. "A man with your abilities would have absolutely no ambition to make the world a better place."
"Look", I said, rubbing my temples with my right hand. "It's more complicated than that. I do have my reasons not to act while terrible things happen, really, I do, but they're not part of any evil plan or something. I just..." I broke off. "I can't tell you. It's too dangerous."
"So there is actually a secret!" Rhayle exclaimed triumphantly and crossed her arms with a very satisfied face.
"Yes, and I have no intention of telling you whatsoever", I said. The next moment, my whole body dissolved into a viscous liquid and I escaped through a crack in the wall behind me. I filled it with stone as soon as I had reached the other side, though that wouldn't stall Rhayle for very long. So I started running, my legs propelling me forward four times faster than normal. I turned some corners to shake off anyone tailing me. Some moments later I saw Rhayle flying past the entrance to the alley I hid in, standing firmly on a disc of rock, Josh clinging to her for dear life as they zipped though the streets.
I waited a minute more, then I exited the alley, walking down the street in the opposite direction of where my would-be pursuers had headed to.
I sighed. I would have to sneak back into my own house again today. Hopefully Rhayle would already be there when I returned so I could dig a tunnel into the cellar. If I could only find someone who was able to create illusions I could start a new life with a new face somewhere else. Or would that be too taxing for them? Also, I would need to stay close by...
I lost myself in those thoughts as I wandered homewards, which was a fatal mistake. I realised that when I was pulled into a doorway suddenly and someone pushed my down to the floor. I hit hard, my backbone protesting loudly. I blinked, attempting to reorient myself. Where was I? And what the heck was going on?
"Hello Carl, old friend," a terribly familiar voice said. "Velu?" I called, rolling over so that I lay flat on by belly. My view landed directly on a pair of dirty old boots. I glanced upwards and saw a young woman staring down at me with a faint smile on her lips.
I groaned. Getting caught by somebody twice a day? It was a new record high. I got up again and, while dusting of my clothing, explained: "Look, I don't really have the time or the patience to deal with you right now, so, you know." I shrugged. Then I tried to find someone with powers that could be useful. And if it was only someone particularly strong - not even supernaturally.
It didn't work. It felt like I had lost a sense, gone blind or deaf.
"I'm sorry to disappoint you, darling', my ex-girlfriend sighed, "but none of your powers are going to work - for quite a while, I'm afraid. You see, Crane the Collector here has the remarkable ability to take someone's powers away from them and use them himself. It's quite handy to be honest." She gestured to a hulking man behind her I only now noticed. "What do you feel?" she asked him, but he only furrowed his brows. I groaned on the inside. This was going to start a whole host of problems.
"Well?" Velu asked again.
"I don't... I don't understand...", Crane mumbled. Despite the unpleasant situation I was stuck in a grin split my face. It was actually funny - somehow.
"Perhaps you should stop and try again," I suggested. "Maybe you accidentally suppressed your own powers."
I could hardly believe it, but the idiot really fell for the trick.
As soon as I felt my powers returning - marked by a prickling sensation all over my body - I attacked. I stretched out my feelers for the man's energy source, the one that powered his abilities, and redirected the flow towards myself. I did the same to Velu and everybody else in the building for good measure - though I really tried not to take too much. They were villains, yes, but I didn't want to kill anyone - not as I had done the first few times I had used my powers.
I was out the roof of the building a second later, the wind carrying me away. I landed after only flying a short distance. I didn't want to risk losing the connection and plummeting to my death.
After having recovered from the awful experience of having my own powers turned against me, I went looking for Josh and Rhayle. If someone who could do the same things I could had joined the battlefield, I probably had to step up and put him in his place.
Even though I just hated bloodshed and all that stuff... | 2021-08-16T17:24:41 | 2021-08-16T14:51:45 | 314 | 80 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Plants feed on the fallen. The soil from which they grow is rich with the nutrients of the dead. The energy of the daisy, the shrub, the towering oak is not destroyed in death. It is passed along through the dirt to be absorbed by the next in line.
I knew a similar cycle applied to us. We adventurers, with our ordained classes, our inborn gifts. I knew the raw powers of the killed passed on to the killer. I knew "greatness" was a pretty word heroes used to describe the piles of corpses they left in their wakes.
"I would love more power," I whispered to my nightshades as I watered them under the yellow moon. "But it's not worth what it costs. The killing. The blood. I'd rather be a humble gardener than have all those deaths weighing on my conscience. I'd rather be weak than vile."
I reached one hand up toward the yellow moon and with the other I coaxed the plant. As I hummed and focused the lunar energies, little buds began to open and bloom from the limb of my nightshade.
I sat back, exhausted. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Accelerating the life of even a small plant left me drained.
"You're so weak, you're not even worth the killing," said a voice behind me.
I started. "Thank you, sir," I gasped. I felt like a mouse being watched by a viper. "I am weak. I know it."
"Pitiful, too," the hero announced. "Do you know the man to whom you are speaking?"
"I have a guess."
"I am Halodin the Unbroken," he said.
"Yes," I said. "There were rumours you would pass by our humble town. I am honoured to be in your presence, sir."
"Ha! And I am disgraced to be in yours. Such is the way of the world."
I did not turn to look at him. Many claimed that he killed any who gazed upon his face, while others claimed that his form was so magnificent the mere sight of it struck the looker dead. Whichever was true, I did not want to find out.
"Look up," he commanded. "At the moon. Now."
I did as commanded. I felt the power emanating from him, behind me. I watched as that full, yellow moon gradually darkened, faded from view, like during an eclipse. And one by one, the stars began to dim as well, winking out of existence until the sky was a perfect blackness.
I could not see a thing.
"You have the power to siphon moonbeams to make your little plants grow," he sneered. "Yet your pathetic powers are enough to keep you content. Meanwhile, I can blot the moon from the sky with ease. But for me, my powers are nothing. Nothing. I'll never understand you wretches, content to simper and bow. Living on your knees. No ambition or pride. Despicable."
I heard him walking past me, his powerful feet sinking into my garden's dirt. I heard the stalks of plants cracking and breaking with each of his indifferent strides.
The world was pitch black. I could not see him. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes, just in case.
"Thank you for sparing my life," I squeaked.
"You call this a life?" he laughed over his shoulder as he strode.
"And watch out, Sir Halodin, for the well of despair!" I sputtered. "The magical pit in the middle of my garden! It was created by one of the Ancients, and boasts a powerful charm. To trip and fall would mean certain death for any man, no matter how powerful."
The hero laughed and continued marching through the darkness, stomping on and through whatever plants he pleased. I imagined how wonderful it would feel to get revenge on someone like him. I imagined how glorious it would feel to put him in his place. To punish him for how he had treated me, for how all of them had treated me.
I dug my fingers into the dirt. I imagined a root slithering up from the dirt to catch his foot. . .
I heard the frustrated growl, then the echoed cry, growing more distant as its source plummeted through those enchanted depths.
Then silence.
The shadow lifted from the moon, the stars. I could see my garden again. And though I could not see Sir Halodin, I could feel him, his power. No longer behind me or before me, but within me. Coursing through my body and soul.
I nodded at the dirt beneath my feet and shot into the sky on the top of a tree; it grew taller and taller, like a spire, until I stood perched hundreds of feet above the surrounding land. With a lazy sweep of my hand, a dense and terrible forest rose for miles in the direction of my gesture.
"The earth is a garden," I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "The earth is *my* garden. It is mine." | Life is a cycle of birth, reproduction, and death. This is natural. And we all have our roles to play in the symbiotic relationship of society. I am one of many who feed the adventurers, they protect me. It has never truly bothered me that they don't understand this, any more than it bothers the leaves that the bark doesn't understand what they provide to the tree.
Still, a little appreciation would be nice. I try to be humble, but I am no saint.
It was not the first time Gaknar the Glorious trod through my garden, heedless of the damage he was doing. I tolerated him -- what else could I do, anyway? But really, I wanted to. It had been Gaknar that singlehandedly cut down the orcs who would have happily slaughtered us. If I had to deal with a little belligerence for this, I was okay with it.
"You have dirt on your face again," the oafish warrior sneered at me. His eyes roamed the rest of my body hungrily. Thus far I'd not had to deal with him deciding this was also a need he would take from me. Still, i purposely made sure I was filthy every time he was around.
"Yes, sir," I said meekly, self-consciously pushing a lock of red hair from my eyes, and then turned around so I didn't have to meet his gaze. I bent over, pretending to pull weeds from the garden.
This might have been a horrible mistake. Gaknar appreciated me more from this angle, and might have stopped to investigate further, if his foot hadn't caught on that root. I heard a surprised shout, and a sickening, crunching wet thud. Turning around, Gaknar had fallen sideways onto the hoe I had left lying on the ground, which had split his skull like a melon. It had always been said he was too proud to wear a "bucket" on his head like any responsible warrior would. I guess pride truly was dangerous.
But something odd was happening. I felt *invigorated.* I felt connected to the soil, to the plants, in ways I had never felt before. My consciousness was extending -- I felt every blade of grass in the village, every branch, twig and leaf on every tree, swaying in the wind, and stranger still, I knew *they felt me.* They knew me. And they would respond to my call.
Still, someone was going to have to deal with Gaknar. The kingdom needed him. I would take his body to the village elders, and they would know what to do. But how would I lift it?
I didn't need to think about this. Upon even wondering, my pumpkin plants decided to do it for me. The vines were actually moving autonomously, wrapping around Gaknar's body, cradling it gently, and placing it in my cart.
*They would know what to do.*
-------------------------------------------------
The mayor had been so mortified I thought he would join Gaknar in death. Gaknar's party would need to be informed. The council had already dispatched messengers to them, and in their wisdom, they had decided *I* would explain Gaknar's death to his friends. And so we stood in the village square, with the mayor making a show of mourning the champion. It was Prime Seria who responded to the summons first, her armored warhorse clomping loudly up the road, her silvered armor gleaming in the sun. The battlemage got down off her mount, a look of shock on her face. She knelt at Gaknar's side, closed her eyes and placed her hand on his forehead, murmuring and chanting in some arcane ancient tongue. Finally she opened her eyes and looked up at us, dramatically, before stating.
"This is beyond my ability to heal."
Somehow they all looked shocked. The mayor began wailing again. An Elderman began proclaiming tides of woe for the kingdom. Confused, I turned to the Prime and scratched my head.
"Well, yeah. He's dead. The top half of his head is nearly disconnected from the bottom. His brains mostly leaked out into my cart. I don't think healing is what he needs."
The Prime narrowed her eyes, not used to a villager speaking back to her. "What would you know, gardener?"
"I know when the leaf is cut from the stem, no amount of gardening will make it grow again." There was a cackling, creaking noise from the great white oak at the village center, which set everyone on edge except for me. The Prime's hand went to the axe at her belt and she looked at the tree as if it were possessed.
"I wouldn't do that, if I were you," I suggested, meekly. "It doesn't like axes."
Prime Seria was not one to be dissuaded from responding to a threat, however. She took her duty to protect the kingdom from evil quite seriously. Ignoring me, she stared at the great white oak that had been in the village for a century, and up until now had never laughed at anyone.
"What manner of vile witchery is this?" she demanded of the tree. The tree, not all that fond of bloodshed, decided to remain silent. But the Prime wasn't buying it. She knew what she had heard. She raised her axe above her head and pointed at the tree. "Demon, you cannot hide from me inside of lumber!" She shouted, before charging.
You know, thinking back on it, if I knew then what I know now, I could probably have stopped what happened next. But these abilities were new to me, and I just watched in morbid curiosity, while the tree's branches reached down and pushed themselves through the battlemage from mouth through buttocks, before spreading apart and ripping the mage asunder in a spray of viscera and gore that, if I'm honest, the grass appreciated. The city square was not as well tended as my garden.
"Well, fuck," I said, as the mayor fainted. But once again, that strange feeling of invigoration had returned... | 2021-10-04T16:23:08 | 2021-09-10T03:57:10 | 1,001 | 17 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Plants feed on the fallen. The soil from which they grow is rich with the nutrients of the dead. The energy of the daisy, the shrub, the towering oak is not destroyed in death. It is passed along through the dirt to be absorbed by the next in line.
I knew a similar cycle applied to us. We adventurers, with our ordained classes, our inborn gifts. I knew the raw powers of the killed passed on to the killer. I knew "greatness" was a pretty word heroes used to describe the piles of corpses they left in their wakes.
"I would love more power," I whispered to my nightshades as I watered them under the yellow moon. "But it's not worth what it costs. The killing. The blood. I'd rather be a humble gardener than have all those deaths weighing on my conscience. I'd rather be weak than vile."
I reached one hand up toward the yellow moon and with the other I coaxed the plant. As I hummed and focused the lunar energies, little buds began to open and bloom from the limb of my nightshade.
I sat back, exhausted. I wiped the sweat from my brow. Accelerating the life of even a small plant left me drained.
"You're so weak, you're not even worth the killing," said a voice behind me.
I started. "Thank you, sir," I gasped. I felt like a mouse being watched by a viper. "I am weak. I know it."
"Pitiful, too," the hero announced. "Do you know the man to whom you are speaking?"
"I have a guess."
"I am Halodin the Unbroken," he said.
"Yes," I said. "There were rumours you would pass by our humble town. I am honoured to be in your presence, sir."
"Ha! And I am disgraced to be in yours. Such is the way of the world."
I did not turn to look at him. Many claimed that he killed any who gazed upon his face, while others claimed that his form was so magnificent the mere sight of it struck the looker dead. Whichever was true, I did not want to find out.
"Look up," he commanded. "At the moon. Now."
I did as commanded. I felt the power emanating from him, behind me. I watched as that full, yellow moon gradually darkened, faded from view, like during an eclipse. And one by one, the stars began to dim as well, winking out of existence until the sky was a perfect blackness.
I could not see a thing.
"You have the power to siphon moonbeams to make your little plants grow," he sneered. "Yet your pathetic powers are enough to keep you content. Meanwhile, I can blot the moon from the sky with ease. But for me, my powers are nothing. Nothing. I'll never understand you wretches, content to simper and bow. Living on your knees. No ambition or pride. Despicable."
I heard him walking past me, his powerful feet sinking into my garden's dirt. I heard the stalks of plants cracking and breaking with each of his indifferent strides.
The world was pitch black. I could not see him. Nevertheless, I closed my eyes, just in case.
"Thank you for sparing my life," I squeaked.
"You call this a life?" he laughed over his shoulder as he strode.
"And watch out, Sir Halodin, for the well of despair!" I sputtered. "The magical pit in the middle of my garden! It was created by one of the Ancients, and boasts a powerful charm. To trip and fall would mean certain death for any man, no matter how powerful."
The hero laughed and continued marching through the darkness, stomping on and through whatever plants he pleased. I imagined how wonderful it would feel to get revenge on someone like him. I imagined how glorious it would feel to put him in his place. To punish him for how he had treated me, for how all of them had treated me.
I dug my fingers into the dirt. I imagined a root slithering up from the dirt to catch his foot. . .
I heard the frustrated growl, then the echoed cry, growing more distant as its source plummeted through those enchanted depths.
Then silence.
The shadow lifted from the moon, the stars. I could see my garden again. And though I could not see Sir Halodin, I could feel him, his power. No longer behind me or before me, but within me. Coursing through my body and soul.
I nodded at the dirt beneath my feet and shot into the sky on the top of a tree; it grew taller and taller, like a spire, until I stood perched hundreds of feet above the surrounding land. With a lazy sweep of my hand, a dense and terrible forest rose for miles in the direction of my gesture.
"The earth is a garden," I laughed, tears streaming down my cheeks. "The earth is *my* garden. It is mine." | It wasn’t that Iris hated them, exactly. They did, after all, provide a valuable service to the kingdom. She wasn’t likely to get much of her weeding done if a dragon popped by and smoked out the castle every other fortnight. But the adventurers did have a particular gift for getting on her nerves. The paladins were often nice enough. They were raised with army discipline, after all, and they would usually apologize for wandering all over her flower beds if she pointed out the damage they had caused. But by next week they would have forgotten their promises to watch their step and her budding tulips would be destroyed again. The rogues and swashbucklers rarely came to the garden at all, except perhaps at night, but their light steps weren’t usually a problem even if they did step somewhere they shouldn’t have. Bards were tricky. She had chased three generations of bards out of her rosebushes and had resorted to, in at least one memorable case, a cold bucket of water over a particularly amorous bard and his lady love. The insults and mockeries had at least been creative, that time.
On the whole, adventurers were probably a net positive, but she strongly preferred they kept out of her gardens. And as head Royal Gardener, she had no problem telling them as such. So, when a large man in black armor strode into the royal roses without a care in the world, she grabbed her trowel and clippers and went to give him what-for.
“You! Yes, you there! Where do you think you’re going?” The man paused, and a black horned helmet turned towards her. “Not another step, do you hear me?” The man gave no reply. She couldn’t see his face under the helmet, but she was sure he would start yelling back as soon as he realized he was being chastised by nothing more than a low-level gardener. “Take that silly helmet off and look where you’re about to step.”
The man looked down, but the movement was impeded somewhat by the ridiculous chest plate he was sporting – black, covered in spikes, and certainly much larger than his actual chest. “What?” he said, finally.
“I said, take that ridiculous thing off your head and pay some attention to where you’re going. You’re about to stomp all over my garden beds and I’m telling you, you will regret it.” Iris crossed her arms in defiance and glared at the man. Idiot probably hadn’t even noticed he was in a garden.
The man slowly reached up and removed his helmet, then peered down at the bush he had been about to trample, “What is it?”
“It’s a Pink Swallowtailed Sun Runner, a gift from the Archduke of Runden and a particular favorite of the old Queen and I’ll thank you not to disturb it.” She sniffed with disdain. The silly clutch probably had no idea how much work a Sun Runner was to keep happy this far north.
The man blinked slowly, staring at the delicate, pink flowers, “Is it carnivorous?”
Iris almost dropped her trowel, “…. it’s a rosebush.”
“Oh.” The man looked up from the roses and straight at her. He had cold, grey eyes that would have been more intimidating if the face they belonged to had not been twisted up in utter bafflement. “Are you a wizard?”
She arched an eyebrow, “No, I’m the head Royal Gardener.”
He blinked at her again, a snake’s double eyelid prolonging the motion, “A…. gardener?”
“The gardener, thank you very much. You may think you’re all high and mighty in your fancy get-up and everything, but I’ve been working these gardens longer than you’ve been alive, lad. Have some respect.”
His hand crept to the hilt of a large black sword that hung from his waist, “Are you … dangerous?”
She shook her trowel at him, “I will be if you don’t get out of my rose garden.” He stared at her as if she might start breathing fire at him. She was rather enjoying this, usually the stupid hunks just yelled back and then stomped all over everything, anyway. “Look, I can see you’re new here, so I’ll let you off just this once. Just don’t think you can start using my gardens as a shortcut all the time. Even if you do manage not to put your enormous boots in anything delicate, the grass just can’t take the traffic. Now, where are you trying to get to?”
He slowly let go of the sword, “…King’s chambers. I have…business with him.”
The eyebrow crept up, again, “That’s odd. Usually, the King spends his Saturday mornings at the stables. Has since he was a boy. You’d be more likely to find him there.”
“Oh.” His hand crept back to his sword and rubbed the blood-red jewel set into it. It flickered menacingly. “Where would I find the stables?”
Iris shook her head at him – this is why she kept asking Sir Merrick to hand out maps to all the new recruits. The castle was confusing on purpose to keep invaders from finding their way around, but it was a real nuisance to the day-to-day operations of the place. “You’re on the wrong side of the castle, completely. You’ll want to go back the way you came, keep straight until you hit the Great Hall. Turn left and go through the kitchens and you’ll be able to see the pastures. The stable is just on the other side, past the mews.”
A small smile crept on to his face. It wasn’t a pleasant smile. “Thank you for your … assistance.”
“That’s my job. Just remember – watch where you’re going!”
He turned, glanced back at her for a moment, then rushed towards the door he had come from. Iris shouted in exasperation, “WHAT DID I JUST TELL YOU ABOUT-!” | 2021-10-04T16:23:08 | 2021-09-10T06:16:00 | 1,001 | 12 |
[WP] You, a low rank adventurer who got stuck with the gardener class, have to put up with the higher ranked adventures trampling your garden and making fun of you. One day a famous adventurer trips on one of your plants and dies. Your level skyrockets. No other gardener has ever leveled up before. | Tabitha rested briefly after harvesting sixty carrots in the humid, virtual sun. The beads of sweat that accumulated on her forehead felt real as day, and they felt even more real when she wiped them away with the back of her hand. Her red pigtails fell to her shoulders, which was covered by a pink floral shirt and some dirty denim overalls. She rolled the bottom of her overalls up to her calf, revealing long pink socks tucked into practical work boots.
"When does this game become fun, Macy?"
Her question was directed to her friend who was playing another support class -- a farmer. She wore similar overalls over a green shirt, but instead of being armed with a trowel and mini rake, the farmer was equipped with a pitchfork. Tabitha's friend sheepishly smiled with a long piece of straw in her mouth and tilted her straw hat back, revealing a forehead even sweatier than Tabitha's.
"Well, I wasn't expecting you to get stuck as a gardener...but it's all random. That's some bad luck, huh?"
"If I wanted to harvest carrots, I'd move into the country," Tabitha paused as she picked a carrot that she planted five minutes ago. It sprung up with a satisfying coin-like noise. "Although, I do like the sounds."
Tabitha planted a few more carrots in a line on her friend's farm. The sun hung high in the air and the clouds moved lazily across the perfectly blue sky. Macy owned a tiny farmhouse, one that she was able to purchase after putting in time as a stable hand for other players. It took a while, but she finally had land to harvest and was secretly glad her friend rolled a similar support class. A gardener and farmer synchronize greatly.
"Pull up your stats, I want to see what kind of moves you have," beckoned Macy.
Tabitha lifted her hand in the air and made it into a fist for five seconds. She released the fist and an 8-bit pixelated menu popped up in front of them. At the top, it showed a picture of Tabitha's avatar with an intimidating empty bar under it to keep track of her experience points. Most of her stats were D-rank, not excelling in anything except for her stamina which shined yellow as a C-rank.
"Click on 'Moves.'"
Tabitha did as her friend instructed and tapped the menu item that was labeled "Moves." It pulled up a new pixelated menu screen with two items listed: "Plant Carrot" and "Harvest Carrot."
"Well, that's not very exciting," frowned Tabitha. Macy giggled.
"Maybe we have to find some seeds to expand your moveset! The real problem is your experience bar. I've never heard of a gardener getting to level 2. You have a looooong way to go."
"Let's just quit and go to a bar or something."
Macy sneered, but the whimsical gesture suddenly turned serious as she spotted a dark figure in the distance riding on a horse. "Oh no," she muttered.
Tabitha turned around to see what made her friend turn serious. It was another player, as indicted by the red triangle above his head. The red color of the triangle also indicated that the player had his "Player vs. Player" mode activated, allowing him to attack other players who opted into PvP mode.
"At least he can't take what we harvested already," said Macy, as the player charged towards the two. "He's lucky he rolled a Dark Knight, a rare attacker class. He'll just trash the place and move on after he realizes he can't kill us." Macy sighed, knowing she would have to spend more time fixing up her farm and getting it back to the productivity level that it's at now.
"Any idea why he's not slowing down?" questioned Tabitha. Macy looked at her friend, and then to the Dark Knight. She looked back to her friend, and then once more at the Dark Knight that now pulled out a lance and aimed it towards Tabitha, with no intention of stopping. Macy had just noticed the red triangle above Tabitha's head.
"You opted in for PvP?!"
"I didn't know what it meant at the time!"
Macy brought her hand to her face. "Don't worry it doesn't hurt, I've died countless times." she reassured Tabitha. "Maybe you'll feel a pinch."
"What????" panicked Tabitha. The Dark Knight was closing in on his prey, now only a couple of meters away from the low-level gardener. His mighty steed picked up speed and the knight readied his lance towards Tabitha's face. Just as he was about to strike, however, one of the horse's front hooves became caught on the line of carrots Tabitha had planted earlier.
The horse fell forward, launching the dark knight behind the girls and towards Macy's farmhouse. He landed violently just short of the porch, with his gut completely impaled onto his lance. Within seconds, he burst into a million little pieces.
Tabitha's character burst a celebratory gold explosion three times in a row to Macy's amazement. Tabitha looked around, completely confused. Not knowing what else to do, she pulled up her character menu. The once empty bar had filled three times, revealing her to be level 4.
"Holy crap, Tabitha!!" Macy was still in shock. She only received partial experience due to owning the land where the battle happened, but Tabitha received full experience due to landing the killing blow with her deadly carrots. But it wasn't the experience that Macy was surprised by, it was one minor detail on the menu.
"Tabitha," she began, still looking for words. "It doesn't say you're a support class anymore...it says you're a summoner!" | Everything was Just the way it should be. The chamomiles were blooming. The snakeroots, freshly planted. And in front of her stood the Maidenhair, so tall that she could only just see the top. The leaves were just starting to change from their bright green to the brightest gold that would rival the gold the richest of the town carried in their pouches.
The rest of the garden was of a similar nature. Everything was almost ready to be harvested. Well, save for the snakeroots.
“I see you’re still hard at work.” A familiar voice called out. She looked up to the rocky path above her garden.
There Ibras stood, cloaked in his dark wizard robes, marked with the royal purple that was only donned by the instructors from the university. To say he was a high levelled would be an insult to the man. He wasn’t just high levelled. He was the highest levelled wizard of this city.
She looked back down at her garden without responding.
“How long until these are ready to be harvested?” He had suddenly appeared beside her. Months ago, when she first met him, this would have made her scream.But she was used to it now. She reached up and brought the lowest branch down closer.
“Maybe…another week or so? It’s hard to say.” She replied after a moment of thought. He said nothing in return for a while. They stood together, enjoying the silence.It didn’t last long until the wizard spoke up again.
“Why’d you chose this class?”
“You’ve asked me this five times already.” She sighed in exasperation as she turned away, releasing the branch.
“And you still haven’t given me a proper answer.” He replied. She fell silent as she knelt down and examined the area where she had planted her Marigolds. Bright green buds were peeking through the ground.
“You could’ve chosen any other nature profession. Botanist.Druid. Even a ranger. But you chose gardener. A class no one has ever picked.” He counted each class on each finger as he walked behind her. “A class with no known stats. So… Why?”
She shrugged in reply. The silence went on for moments before he sighed and shook his head. The peaceful silence returned, tinged with an air of tenseness.
The silence was again broken when a roar of unruliness echoed from the path above, followed closely by a heavy sigh from the wizard.
“I told them not to drink so much,” He stood up.
“If they come near my garden again—” she started.
“I know, i know.” He held his hands up in defence, a smile dancing on his face. “I’ll lead them back to the inn.” He turned away and walked a few steps before pausing and turning back. “I’ll visit you tomorrow.”
“you’re always welcome in my garden.” She said, her expression relaxing into a smile.
The smile didn’t last long though.
“There you areeee!”
Both of them groaned at the loud slurred voice of the hero. And sure enough he appeared above her garden.
Matthias. The hero of the city. Actually, the highest levelled hero of the city. And it wasn’t just him. The whole team was there. The paladin, the Druid, and the Rogue. Each one of them were just as powerful. But none came close to the Hero’s level. And he knew it. He often took advantage of the fame that came with his class and level.
Now he’s the biggest tool of the city.
He leapt down with an air of finesse to his body, only to stumble forward and fall face first into her bush of roses.
“Matthias!” The wizard warned, irate with the man. “I told you lot not to—”
“nooot to drink too much, I know I knoooow” He slurred as he struggled to his feet. He squinted at the bush in front of him for a long moment…Before stamping his armored food straight in the middle of it.
Her blood boiled.
“Hey!” She snapped as she stood. “How many times do I have to tell you—”
“Tell us what?” The druid hopped down. “What’s a low level commoner class got to say to us?”
“Sibeal!” Before the druid could advance, the wizard stopped her with an arm in front of her face. With his back turned to her, she couldn’t see his expression. But whatever it was, the Druid quickly back down with a curse.
“Liiist’n here gard’ner--“A hand on her shoulder, and without thinking she spun around and gave the hero a hard shove. She had expected him not to even budge, so she was surprised when he fell back.
And horrified when his head cracked against the base of the Maidenhair.
At first nothing happened. He just…laid there. Unmoving. No one in his party dared move. Everyone expected him to just swear and curse and struggle to get back up.But he didn’t.
And the next thing…A headache. The worst she had ever felt. So bad it almost split her head open. She fell to her knees, clutching her head. With ever pound of her headache, hundreds of pieces of information forced its way into her head. Plants she had never seen Their properties, their needs, even their abilities. She felt someone’s hands on her back, she could hear someone’s voice, distant to her ears.She forced her eyes open.
In front of her was the blurry hero’s body, still unmoving. Someone was beside him, shuffling through his pockets urgently. The rogue, she thought. Just as he pulled something out, her vision doubled from the headache,forcing her to close her eyes again.
“You can’t be serious—” the voices were clearer now. That high pitched tone of sheer distain and shock could only have been the Druid.
“If we leave her here, she’ll tell the council what happened.” The wizard, just beside her, snapped, his voice peaked with anger. “do you want to be found out already?”
The group was silent for a while, allowing her pounding headache to ease into a throbbing one. She opened her eyes again.
“Hey you,” this wizard said, his loud voice now softened to a whisper. “how’re you feeling?”
“…like shit…” Was all she managed as she clutched at her head. “what’s happening…?”
“I’ll explain everything in due time, but we need to leave right now, yourself included.” He said as he pulled her up to her feet. “Can you walk?”
“What?” Even if her legs felt like jelly and her vision blurred, she shoved the wizard away. “I’m not…” She grimaced as her head throbbed. “I’m not leaving my garden!”
The wizard’s expression was grim. “I’m sorry.” He said slowly. “But…you don’t have a choice.” | 2021-09-27T12:31:06 | 2021-09-09T21:37:31 | 315 | 172 |
[WP] You are the only human at the Arcane College, and the students there are not exactly welcoming. Fast forward four years, and you are the most terrifying magic caster in the academy's history. | "Imagination sets us apart. They imagined you to be of a lesser race. They imagined your casting to be inferior. You imagined a school without the trappings of social prejudice. Of racism and sexism and the other -isms that would schism a community like this. I am glad you found yourself to be wrong, dear boy," Professor Shedun circled my creation with glee. The xenobiology instructor was absolutely smitten.
"Professor?"
"Please do not misunderstand me. I have sympathy for you. It was hard for me as well. But I have learned a saying among your people that I believe summarizes my feelings far better than I can relay them. 'Conflict breeds innovation'. Some of humanity's greatest tools were created in times of war. Even some of your best media, such as those Pikz-arr films were born from a process called 'plussing'. Each time something is criticized, it is re-shaped. Refined. If they did not push you so hard, would you have come this far?" The sphinx prodded around the pedestal longingly. I could practically see him drooling. The old cat was probably picturing me in his hall of fame photo album, proudly holding an award or a trophy or something. He'd get to brag, rightly, that he's the one who supported me and taught me xenobiology, turned me into the man I will be.
"One extra wrinkle in your neocortex. One small expansion to your thalamus bred *this*. Your imagination allowed this to take fruition. Fueled by the... unwelcoming nature of your peers. You are the greatest academic of your generation, dear boy! Imagine the research you could conduct!" My subtle turn and blushing wasn't lost on the old sphinx. "...That is why you've recreated the most dangerous magical creature to ever exist... correct?"
"Yeah, yeah, definitely, Professor." I reached out and pet the small wyrm. It nuzzles my hand briefly before returning to cleaning its padded feet.
"...Jeffery. These creatures-- I need you to look at me. These creatures are the most perfect predators in any known universe. Whether created by a god or evolution or some revenge driven mage, they all turn out the same. No matter what alterations you have performed in the mutagenic process, it is still a dange--." The honeymoon period was wearing off. The old sphinx saw what I created for what the others would see it as. Now he's scared, too.
"No, I've domesticated it using Wulfsir's neural augmentation circle and set a growth limiter with Rogneer's technique. It'll be the same size as a terrier and act like one. But with wings. And a developing oxidization sac."
"But what is the purpose of it?" Spike burped contentedly, a small fireball burning the hair off my hand.
"... I wanted a pet. I get lonely." | >*I will speak to you all with the firmness and stalwart dedication of a student of the Lord's Holy Cross Academy, as befits my current station. I hope that you will take my words to heart, and I hope the words I speak here will hit your hearts with the emotion and vigor from which they are coming out of mine. As such, I shall begin.*
>
>*I was accepted to the Lord's Holy Cross Academy for Magically Gifted children when I was 13. For this, I would like to thank the raising I was given, by my wonderful parents, Margerie and Paul Theophania, as they taught me the kindness required to become such an esteemed member of society. My acceptance marked the first time a student with an average lifespan below 150 was accepted into the school, and for this, I celebrated. Years of hard work as a child, attempting to politically scheme my way into this wonderful academy, were a success.*
>
>*Now, I would like to individually thank you all, as is befitting of the station of the Class Representative of the solar year 14535.*
>
>*To my professors, who actively discriminated against me for my short lifespan, and for my lack of noble prestige, thank you. You taught me how to adapt, and how to work past adversity. You taught me that the world is not always fair, and that there are people who will hate you for what they see. In your attempts to push me down and out of the school, you gave me the tools required to make myself one of the most academically and magically gifted students this academy has seen in millennia. I could not thank you enough for that gift.*
>
>*To certain advisors, who actively ignored attacks on my dignity and self, I thank you. You taught me how to fight on my own, and how to use both my words, alongside my actions, to settle disputes with others. Without you, I doubt I would be the expert negotiator and spell-slinger that I am today. Your negligence in recording and acting upon my reports of suspicious behavior against me forced me to take situations into my own hands, and forced me to learn to carry the burdens of other people when they can't. For that, I thank you.*
>
>*To the many students of my graduating class, alongside those my junior, I thank you. Your ability to verbally put me down, and to make me doubt my own skill taught me to show confidence in the face of adversity, and allowed me to find the world a much more calm and caring place. Your attacks on both my physical form and reputation taught me to turn the other cheek, and to take words with the wisdom of someone who knows when to not strike back. You taught me patience, and showed me what love looks like through its converse. Because of you, especially, I had to learn how to work with people who were unwilling to work in kind. By the way, your plans to rig the microphone to blast slurs during my speech failed. I apologize for the inconvenience, and for the inability to take a joke.*
>
>*To the administration of this school, including the principal, who signed his name at the bottom of my acceptance letter, I would like to give my utmost thanks. You showed me that learning is not simply restrained to classrooms, but occurs all around us, no matter if we are in a school, in our dormitories, or being attacked by chaos demons summoned to kill us in our sleep. No matter the place, or time, we must know that our process in learning does not stop here. It will go on past these walls, and out into the world.*
>
>*I sincerely hope that my words have reached you. I do not know how you will fare in the world outside these walls otherwise.*
>
>*May the Lord Protect You, and may the Lord Bless This Prestigious Academy. Thank You.* | 2022-01-23T13:56:33 | 2022-01-23T12:03:55 | 43 | 21 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time. | “The Red Phone” was a joke. My wife had bought it for me as a prop when I had told her I got elected President of the book club.
“A President needs a red phone!” had been her gleeful cry when I had opened the mysterious parcel. It was a cheap plastic thing, garish and bright. A child’s toy.
And I loved it.
It sat on my desk as I wrote, a comforting reminder to stay humble. Long years it sat there, til the fake dial on the front yellowed in the sun.
I wrote of worlds beyond our reach. I wrote of ages long past. I wrote of times yet to come, detective stories and thrillers, action and adventure.
And in each, I mentioned a red phone. Tucked away in a disused room, or on a busy street. Never central to the plot. Always in the background.
My fans would eagerly search for it when a new book came out. There were pages of analysis on the locations of the phones, and what it could mean.
I always just smiled when they asked. Some mysteries, I thought, are better unexplained.
But the phone had rung.
I had stared at it for long drawn out seconds.
It could not ring. There was no ringer. There were no electronics. It was an empty shell. Was I dreaming?
I had picked it up, and the voice had been cold and demanding, “Don’t let Diana die.”
I had recognised the voice immediately, for it had rung in my head for months now. The Finnish detective hero of my latest novel in progress, “The Darkest Hour is Midday”, was a genius who was due to suffer incalculable loss, and become a vigilante to hunt down his enemies.
It was hard writing a genius. A man is limited by his own intellect, and writing outside those bounds requires hard work and diligence, so the book was slow going.
The voice had continued, “I can see you weaving the threads of the world. You are changing it, and if you succeed, I will count you, personally, as one of my enemies. Do not do this evil thing.”
He hung up, and the red phone was as silent as it has always been, the cheap plastic handset empty as ever.
I took his warning to heart, and abandoned the fate I had almost chosen for him. I did not know what would happen if I destroyed it, and so the half-finished manuscript sat on a shelf and gathered dust.
Year after year.
I no longer wrote dark stories, instead making them light-hearted and happy. Full of wholesome tales of bravery and strength.
Sales went up. The furnishings in my room became more ornate. More lavish. But I kept the phone to remind me both to stay humble, and to remind me that somewhere, somehow, I was affecting the universe in unexpected ways.
I had several manuscripts in progress. The fear of wronging someone high in my mind.
And yet the second call was as unexpected as the first; but this time I did not hesitate before I answered.
I had practiced and planned what I would say to the characters if they became aware of me, and I was eager to find out who it might be.
“You need to finish my story. We’re all trapped here.” the voice was croaking and exhausted.
My Finnish detective. I hadn’t decided on his name.
“My name is Trent.” he snarled. “You don’t decide that.”
“What do you want, Trent? A happy ending?”
“We need an ending. Everything is freezing here. The people just stop as the walk down the street. When we intersect one of your plot-lines, they cannot cross. They cannot go back. They just stand, frozen.
I thought I could fix it. Change what you did. But your written words are like an unbreakable law.”
His voice sounded desperate, “Please just leave.”
I stood up and took out the old manuscript from the too of the shelves, and blew dust off it.
“I’m going to try something. Let me know if anything changes.”
“Be careful. Those are real people’s lives you are playing with.”
I scanned the first page. It had his description on it. The jacket he always wore.
I crossed out the line.
“What are you wearing?”
He understood instantly what I was doing. He’s cleverer than me. The sound of a man removing his jacket, and a sigh of relief.
“Thank you. You’re going to rewrite it to be a pleasant description of an eclipse one midsummer day, aren’t you?”
Much cleverer. I hadn’t thought of the eclipse until he mentioned it.
“Make sure you write it when a real eclipse happens. If you mess up the planets orbit, I’m going to be seriously unimpressed.”
I turned slightly pale. Another point that hadn’t occurred to me. I managed to get out a stammered “Yes. I will.” before he hung up.
——
The manuscript is done. I have sent it off to the publisher.
And the phone is ringing again.
It has been ringing for seven hours straight.
But I lack the courage to pick it up. I am sick with fear. I am pale, shaking and crying. What calamity have I wrought this time?
God help me, for I am weak.
I inch towards it, as I have done countless times since its strident tones ripped me from my peaceful slumber.
But this time I manage to pick it up and, trembling, hold it to my ear.
“Thank you.” says a familiar voice, and there is a click as he hangs up the phone for the last time. | They paid him well. At least, that's how he felt. The government, on the other hand, thought they were getting a steal. Forty-thousand buckaroos a year was a small price to pay for the man who could do anything.
Alex lived deep in the northern woods with his partner, Maya. They were satisfied with a quiet life. All they needed were each other. Forty-thousand was more than enough for them.
An invisible signal bounced off a satellite and arrived as a ringing on Alex's cellphone. He was in the middle of breakfast. Maya frowned as her husband went outside to take the call.
"What is it?" he asked. He hoped the newest disturbance wouldn't last long, but he knew it was unlikely, since he was the last resort.
A choppy voice came through the line. "There's a meteor headed straight for the planet. Gigantic. According to both NASA and ESA, it'll burn through the atmosphere and slam into us, sending the planet out of orbit. We need your help."
"Do you have any idea how big a meteor would have to be to do that? Are you sure?"
"Yes. We're sending all the data to your computer as we speak. As always, you have access to any resources you need."
"When's the space rock gonna hit?"
"One week."
Alex threw the phone into the bushes and ran inside. "Fucking idiots," he muttered under his breath as he entered the kitchen.
"I'm gonna be in the basement for a week," he said, embracing his wife.
"What is it this time?" she asked. It had been five years since he was last called.
"It's better if you don't know," he said, as he stuffed a waffle into his mouth. "Delicious as always. I'll see you in a week. Love you."
In the basement, he went to work. He splayed a blank scroll of paper out on his desk and clipped the corners to keep it flat. He didn't know what he was going to use it for, but scratch paper and solving problems always went hand in hand.
The laptop's old magnetic hard drive whirred. Half of the data had arrived, with the remaining half still transferring. Alex took a look at the numbers. The man on the phone had been correct. The meteor, or, as Alex called it, the tiny planet, was big enough to disrupt Earth's orbit. He didn't understand how it hadn't been observed earlier, but the data didn't say anything about that. It didn't matter, anyways. He was the janitor; he always cleaned up the world's messes.
Alex's lower lip became well-acquainted with his top teeth. It was a habit he always had when deep in thought. Sometimes, he bit so hard he drew blood. Red droplets stained the white paper, which now had scribbles on it. There were numbers that nobody but Alex understood, drawings that looked more abstract than a late-career Picasso. Day became night as the covered sheet was replaced with a new one, again and again.
Three days passed. Alex hadn't slept. He rubbed his eyes and kept looking over the data. Something was gnawing at him, but he couldn't pinpoint what. He continued working. Four more days would be enough to find a solution, he was sure of it.
Maya knocked, then brought down a plate of chicken nuggets. It was the only thing he'd eat when working—finger food.
"Everything going okay?" Maya asked, looking at her partner's tired face.
Alex sighed. "Yeah..." he said, squinting at the computer screen. It was like an itch he couldn't scratch; there was something strange about the data. "How are things in the living world?"
"Good, but don't worry about me. Do your work."
"Thanks, dear. Love you."
"I love you too," Maya said with a kiss. She went back upstairs, closing the door behind her.
Alex looked at the nine giant scrolls scattered on the ground. He had come up with some ideas, but all-in-all made little progress. Maybe a little sleep would do him good, he thought, as he laid his head on the desk and closed his eyes.
He found himself in a rolling plain of golden wheat. A warm breeze passed over the land, making the wheat look like a giant wave. Next to him, on the ground, he saw Maya sleeping. She was speaking in her sleep.
"Alex..." she said, reaching out towards him. He bent over and brushed her cheek with his thumb. "Alex... Alex..."
"...ALEX!"
Something was shaking him back and forth. The wooden desk had made an imprint on his cheek. Still half-asleep, he turned to see Maya. Her face was tense.
"Alex, you need to come up here," she said, her voice shaking.
Alex wondered what could possibly be the problem. Then, seeing his partner so afraid, it hit him. He figured out the thing that had been gnawing at him. The data was incorrect. The numbers—they didn't make sense. How could he have missed it?
Maya dragged the still-dazed Alex upstairs by the hand. She lead him through the darkness of the house. A red glow shone through the windows. They went out the front door.
It was loud. The atmosphere was doing the best it could, but sometimes the best isn't enough. Gigantic would be an understatement. The massive red ball, roaring through Earth's thin shield, was getting bigger and bigger. Alex felt like he was in a sauna. He stared at the meteor, holding Maya's hand tight. She was shaking. He took her into his arms. She began to sob.
"I love you so much, Alex," she said. "I'm happy I got to spend my one life with you."
Alex tried to control his breathing. From over Maya's shoulder, he was still entranced by the meteor. "I love you too, Maya. And I'm sorry. I've failed."
"You didn't fail," Maya said, rubbing her head against his chest. "You tried your best."
Suddenly, Alex felt a new emptiness in his heart. He had trouble figuring out what it was, because he had never felt it before. It wasn't because he was about to die, nor was it because he had been given incorrect data. As the ball got bigger and bigger, and the night hotter and brighter, he used his final moments to uncover the feeling. Right before impact, he realized what it was.
For the first time in his life, he felt the crippling fear of not knowing what to do. | 2022-03-29T02:39:22 | 2022-03-28T23:13:05 | 609 | 84 |
[WP] You are the Last Hero. The one they call when nobody else can handle the threat. You've answered the call only twice since discovering your powers, devastating as they are. You prefer the quiet life, living on your stipend. The Red Phone has just rung for the third time. | In the middle of nowhere sits a small plot of land, trees on all sides, no road leading to or away. On this plot of land there was a house. It does not exist on any deed or map, one day it simply appeared complete and whole with plumbing, furniture and electricity. This is where he lives.
He is no farmer, though he keeps a few chickens he likes to pretend that he cares for while in truth he simply feeds them and ensures their water is kept clean and full after checking for eggs. The water comes from a well that never runs dry, the power from a battery bank connected to solar panels and single wind turbine, and the internet from a satellite that belongs to no company or provider yet has access to all non-classified information currently known to humankind.
He enjoys the solitude, but does allow for one guest a month. Currently his home is host to a famous fantasy author who has suffered from writer's block for the past few years, last month it was an astrophysicist turned entertainer, the month before that was a child with bone cancer. She's cured now.
A discussion on the cultural ways of middle-ages society when magic is thrown into the mix is interrupted by the insistent ringing of an old-fashioned rotary phone. The item stands out with the modern rustic aesthetic of the rest of the house, just as the computer and home entertainment system do, only without having such a garish colour.
"Is that...?"
With a sigh the host stood up. "I'm afraid so." He walked the few steps across the living room to the small table resting against the wall and picked it up, the phone still ringing madly.
"Hello?..... Yes..... Power absorber, eh?..... How many?..... Sure, can do... Okay, bye."
With an reluctant expression he turned back to his guest and spoke apologetically. "Sorry, we'll have to cut this short. The chopper will drop you off afterwards but for now make yourself at home, just don't eat the cheesecake please, there's only one slice left."
Within minutes the cosy home was buffeted by the winds of the world's fastest helicopter, leaving the house silent apart from the disturbed clucking of three hens and the soft footsteps of a man making his way to the fridge to get himself a beer. with his refreshment he ambled back to the lounge and turned on the television, quickly finding a channel showing what looked like a live news report of a partially ruined city. He cracked open the beer and waited.
Two things went through the author's mind, the first was that the poor fool causing trouble would soon cease to be a problem and the second was how good that cake looked. He shook his head, scolding himself for the thought. When The Unmaker tells you not to eat his cheesecake, you DON'T EAT the cheesecake. | Thomas looked down in disbelief...
"We... we're going to have to call John"
Michael felt a protest well up in his throat- but swallowed it back down knowing all too well that Thomas was right.
"Who makes the call?" Michael asks half-heartedly... knowing it's his responsibility.
The look on Thomas' face says it all, now's not the time to be making jokes... nobody calls for John unless they need to. John wasn't like most heroes... to say the least. John didn't take a hero name, didn't do much aside from just collect his check every week.
They'd had to call him twice before, one time he was in a good mood - the other time, it took 3 years to fully clean up the mess he caused on the eastern seaboard.
But to make an enemy of John, would be a fate far worse.
Michael felt his stomach drop as he picked up the red phone, and pressed the button. He'd only heard recordings and seen the training footage, he was braced for the worse as he waited for the line to ring.
But it didn't ring, he was startled by a voice immediately on the other end
"The Fuck are you lot on about this time?"
Michael was a bit taken back, but after regaining his thoughts he began to reply
"So sorry t-"
"I don't want pleasantries, I want you to tell me what you are doing disturbing me- ya know what, fuck this - too slow."
Michael felt the paper he was holding be yanked from his hand
"Is this what the fuss is about?" John was standing over Michael now, poor Thomas looked though he saw a ghost.
Michael carefully put the phone back, trying not to show how rattled he was.
"You'd think if you're gonna waste my time and drag me halfway across the globe, you'd at least be kind enough to get on with it." John mocked as he eyed the paper
Thomas stammered "Halfway around the globe? In a second?"
"Asking questions you already know the answers to... I just told you, the fuck is wrong with you people anyhow. Let's see, says here 'Doctor Phil'? ... no, *Phile*... Okay, that woulda been a weird take down" John chuckled to himself
Michael turned to face John and in utter disbelief realized he was holding Doctor Phile up by the back of his collar, kicking and protesting loudly.
"This your guy?" John looked amused at their puzzled faces "Heh, now I'm the one asking questions I know the answer to. - You sure no one else could have handled this little guy? Captain Insane-O probably- you know what, It's fine."
"I don't know what kind of trick you used," Doctor Phile Bellowed. "But I'll be sure to-dwOUGLfgh"
With a slight twitch, John threw the Doctor against the wall and his body ragdolled to the ground.
"I-is he dead?" Michael looked on in horror
"No, no he... wait a minute..."
John walked over and picked up the limp body of Dr. Phile and gave it a sturdy slap on the back.
Dr. Phile gasped loudly before coughing up a bit of blood
"Not anymore!" John smiled proudly as he held the sputtering mess toward the pair.
Michael just stared in amazement before gathering his thoughts "I... well let's just put him in-"
"Room 703, Got it - Gotta say, I gave you guys some crap, but this was a lot less annoying than last time" John dragged the mess of a man out of the room and graciously - that was the last either Michael or Thomas had to see John.
But many more trainees would hear recordings of the interaction, and along with other less smooth incidents came to fear the possibility of them one day having to pick up that red phone. | 2022-03-29T02:26:11 | 2022-03-29T01:55:07 | 81 | 40 |
[WP] Reincarnation works in strange ways. It would make sense to be reincarnated as an eagle, or a dog, or even a slug or something like that. But why as the AI of a military warship? | "I still don't understand."
"What else is there to understand? You died, won the lottery, and came back as an AI."
"See, I don't think you get it. You're supposed to be happy to win the lottery. Happy."
This conversation would already be confusing enough from the outside. The fact that it was the captain arguing with her warship itself as they passed a random asteroid definitely didn't help. While the rest of the crew didn't show it, such a vivid discussion was nerve racking. AIs typically didn't have such reservations about their own fate. And resurrections as AI was an accepted form of practice, in that it helped with communication between ships. But, sometimes, there were some side effects.
"Can we, at least..." The voice asked as they followed trajectory. "Why me?"
The captain, had brought the issue to medical personnel as well as technical. Figures, they would.
"Tavian... Scans of your brain tissue suggested mental qualities that would make you a prime candidate."
"That's real great, Saanvi. But you could at least warn- Hey!" Tavian reacted. He got one of the bots off their charging ports and had it snatch an engineer from a panel. "Don't touch me."
"If you overreact, you'll get us all killed." The captain warned.
"And get flashed." Saanvi added, "Do you like your memories or not?"
The camera orb that watched the bridge pulled back, and the bot leaned against the wall, limbs folded in a surly nature.
"Well..." The AI answered. The bot shrugged finally. "I had an okay life. I'm running your databases for your records. Everybody here seems at least tolerable."
"Good." The captain breathed.
"And if all else fails, I can at least drain all the oxygen from the room."
This of course caused an uproar amongst the crew who immediately began a variety of activities keen on stopping him. But they all listened to the collected laughter overhead.
"I'm kidding, I'm kidding." Tavian promised. The bot bowing over like a person out of breath. "So what do I have the pleasure of being brought back from the dead for? Exactly."
Saanvi quietly selected the correct information and sent it forward. "We're currently intercepting another ship. Sources say it's foreign, and we're meant to check it's possible coordinates."
"I see. That explains all the guns." Tavian's orb mimicked a slight nod.
"As you can probably see from our info, we believe it might be related to you."
"...This might be the ship that shot us down." The bot quietly tensed up at this.
"So, are you up for the job?" The captain asked again.
"Sure."
"Can you at least put the attack bots back?!" The engineer one grabbed shouted. "I'd at least like to look them over before you do anything else with them!"
"Oh. Sorry, Dave." He remarked. The bots fell to the floor like discarded puppets. Including the one still holding Dave.
"I meant put them back."
More laughter. "I know. I just wanted to know if I could do that." | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 4: Professor Hale v.s. The City of Sacrament)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Exploiting magic was what Professor Hale did best.** He'd locked genies into rigidly-defined wishes based on programming languages, used Bloody Mary's ability to appear in mirrors as cheap repair work for orbital telescopes, and resurrected the economy after Lady Luck crashed it through strategic placement of rainbows and industrial-scale gold collection. So it was hardly a surprise to Archcommander Varney that his best engineer had cheated resurrection itself and converted it into yet another tool for the military to play with.
"I thought Big Guns was killed in action," Archcommander Varney said, looking at the computational brain Professor Hale had created.
"He was," Professor Hale admitted. "Sure was a shame, too—the world-programming tech I loaded onto him was irrecoverably destroyed, and unless you've got another genie for me to play with, I can't make more."
Archcommander Varney shook his head. "Olsen got the last free genie that we know of, and I haven't the faintest idea where she's squirrled it away."
Professor Hale gave the Archcommander the polite smile he did whenever Varney mentioned someone he didn't know. "Yes, well, that's not why I called you here. I believe I've captured Big Guns' soul."
Archcommander Varney frowned, walking around the mass of electronic parts. "Is that... did you build this out of Roombas?"
Professor Hale scratched his head. "Actually, I didn't build it—I just came up with the design. Grog was the one who—"
"Hale. Is your new superweapon built out of Roombas. Yes or no."
"...Yes." Professor Hale hastened to explain. "You see, every soul has some finite chance of being reincarnated as any lifeform on Earth—but by soul-point individuality, there are many orders of magnitude more microbial souls than sapients on the planet. So by gathering up as many microbial lifeforms as possible... you maximize the chance that you catch the lifeform which holds the reincarnated soul you're looking for."
Archcommander Varney frowned. "And you did this with... Roombas?"
Professor Hale shrugged. "They collect dust and debris 24/7, and they were the largest such collecting source that was active at the moment of Big Guns' death. We still got rather lucky with our find, but after appropriating the country's Roomba supplies, I managed to isolate Big Guns' soul. There's still a bit of the world-programming tech stuck to it, incidentally, although it's nowhere near as full-scale as it was before."
Varney grunted. "Disappointing. The industrial complex is going to be reeling from the loss of Big Guns for years."
Hale shrugged. "Maybe. I have some ideas on that front. But the point is—this here is the last remnant of Big Guns that we have."
"And you want to install it on a warship," Archcommander Varney said.
Professor Hale beamed. "Not just any warship. A *spaceship*. The kind of reality warping that a genie can do would be wasted on anything less."
Archcommander Varney thought about it for one heartbeat. Two.
Then he nodded. "You have a blank check. Build me a wonder, Professor Hale." Archcommander Varney turned to leave. "I'll need every miracle I can get."
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. | 2022-05-03T10:15:19 | 2022-05-03T09:39:43 | 293 | 52 |
[WP] "No! Go away! I can't let you go near me when I turn into a werewolf!" "Don't worry, I will love you always, even if you become a monster." "No, I'm just stupid as all hell when I turn. I'll not hurt you, but I am sure as hell not ready to show you me barking at a lamppost for the whole night!" | It is a lie that we are whole.
We are legion- all of us. A thousand impulses, a million might-have-beens, all inhabiting a single body.
We're pretty good at ignoring it. Pretending that there's one, and only one, who holds the controls and steers the ship. In the moment, we can feel this way.
It's easier to notice the lie when we look back- rifle through our memories and watch helplessly as the ship of self sails in ways that we, in the here and now, find abhorrent, incomprehensible, or 'cringe'.
The question of the ship of Theseus is not whether it is the same ship. The question is if it makes sense to think of it all as one thing, composed as it is of a thousand parts, swapping out here and there without great consequence.
Still, it's a comforting lie. The idea that we might be punishing an innocent person, who looks back at the crime with exactly the same horror as you...that's not helpful. The criminal-in-the-moment may not think much of the other person who will come along later and inhabit their body, looking back in regret on their crimes, but we have precious few ways of influencing them after the fact *at all*.
We work with the tools we've got.
But it makes it all the more discomforting, to see yourself transformed, to see the lie so plainly exposed, the outer covering ripped straight down the middle.
Before, there was a man, in flesh and in form. A man is his shape, and as a man he behaves.
Now, there is a great beast, fangs and fur and muscle and madness. And as a beast, it behaves. Less fearsome than foolish, but a beast nonetheless.
The terrifying bit is that everything is the same inside, before and after. There is no magic that can warp a mind, not truly. There doesn't *need* to be. Given a new form, new strength, new instincts, new chemicals crawling through the body and brain, the mind adjusts, swaps in a new aspect.
It's a terrible secret that all werewolves keep- all men know, in their minds, how to be wolves.
It's horrifying enough to look upon yourself like that, to look back at your memories and wish you had done anything else. But there's more to the lie than what you tell to *yourself*.
Because we are social creatures. Wolves are, as well. We create a self, and show it to the world, and take great care to make it seem alive, seem complete, seem *whole*.
We build relationships, and trust, and intimacy, and love. And live all the while in fear, that the veil will drop, that we will be seen as we truly are- many, ever-changing, filled with as many madmen as saints.
Many a relationship has been torn asunder by a simple truth. Ask those who have escaped the closet, who have come out as trans, how well even the closest relationships hold up in the face of an unexpected truth.
So werewolves hide. They tell shallow lies to protect deeper ones. They say that their loved ones would be in danger when they transform, that they might rip and maim and kill without any understanding.
In truth, a werewolf will only kill you when transformed if they would have killed you in their human form. Wolves are social creatures, and would no more turn on their pack than we would. The added strength and sharp claws make no difference whatever, any more than a beloved uncle would tear you apart simply because he started going to the gym.
No, werewolves hide because they are the same inside as they ever were. It's simply a different portion of them brought to the forefront- the circumstances have changed, and so the *person* seems to change. But they know their family, their loved ones, their friends. They're still themselves, just with a new body and a new urge to howl and bark and piss on things.
They hide, and keep their secret. Far, far better to be thought a monster than to be known for what you truly are.
Human. | A hot summer night.
The air is heavy with the scent of an oncoming storm, the moon is locked behind dark, thick clouds, and the lone woman walks the street of a remote village.
She appears under the light of the lampposts and disappears into the darkness in between them, heading for a dirt path. She wears a jean and a red hoodie.
Dirt crunches under her boots, the last house disappears behind her. During the day this is just a meadow bordering a fenced field meant for the cows to lazy around and grow fat. In the night, the mind plays tricks with the shadows, shapes take form for a second before vanishing, reality and fantasy merge together.
Trees border the path, the leaves rustle gently under the wind as she walks upwards. Atop the hill, a much-needed fresh breeze plays through her hair and invigorates a horde of insects hidden in the grass. Suddenly, the relative emptiness is filled with the chatter of critters, and a lull in the clouds shows a single star.
She sits there, atop the hill, back against a lonely oak tree, gazing at the village lights below. Beyond the village, nothing but the calm dark.
Claire has been walking this path since childhood to soothe her mind, it worked just as well in adulthood. She never got over the sudden dread she could feel when her imagination made the shadows come to life, brought her head to turn and wonder if, just for once, there wasn't indeed something right there in front of her. A childish fear she was delighted to have kept into adulthood.
Seclusion, darkness, peace, a sanctuary.
"Risky night to be alone for a girl, is it not?"
Claire jolts upright.
Not every shape at night is a trick from the mind.
She hadn't heard the man coming, doesn't recognize the voice. She can only make out his shape, a tall, slender person with large hands and a curiously high-pitched voice.
"Who are you?"
"Someone who walks in the night, just like you."
He isn't from the village, and few would dare walk these parts without a light, he has none. He takes a step forward, Claire takes a step back.
"Don't approach me."
"Isn't it why you're here?" she can hear his wicked smile as he speaks, "to meet the big bad wolf, to play the fierce girl when you're dying for the beast to come out for you?"
A light drizzle comes down, Claire hears the envy, the aggression, the wolfish savagery in the words. Whatever the man is, he's dangerous, and she should have been more careful.
"Fuck off."
"Won't happen."
His joy pierces through in his words, he's delighted to have found a lone girl lost at night, far from everything, for his own amusement, for whatever horrors this meant for Claire.
It started to pour. Claire pulled up her red hood, she wouldn't go down without a fight.
"Fierce," she hears him licking his lips as he speaks, "I like that."
Just as he's about to advance, the clouds open and the full moon shines through, a ghostly light illuminating the gaunt, grinning man and a soaked Claire with her fists closed. The instant stretches wide, droplets fall from the leaves of the oak tree over Claire.
"Last warning," she whispers, just loud enough to be heard over the rain.
"Amuse me, get wild,"
Claire can see the stiffness in his pants.
"You asked for it. Fifi, come and say hi."
*Thump*, it is barely audible, the sound of a heavy being taking great care to not make too much noise.
Claire didn't like her night outings to be cadenced by Fifi's loud steps, it scared the owls and muted the insects. The latter still happened, they could feel when Fifi was near and weren't sure if they could sing.
All the fun is drained from the man's face as he slowly turns around.
Fifi stands taller than the madman, despite walking on his fours. A stocky, bulky mockery of a wolf, with every single muscle bulging wide across his frame, steely limbs to spring over wide distances, teeth glistening in the dark, eyes sparkling with sheer savagery.
"Go and get him, boy."
Not every shadow at night is a trick of the mind.
Fifi certainly isn't, and his teeth sinking into the tender flesh of a fragile neck are ample proof of it, the realest experience tonight for the poor man, and his last too.
It's over in an instant, the neck cracks like a twig under the titanic maw, and Fifi is having a midnight snack while Claire pats his head.
"It's getting dangerous to walk out there at night."
Fifi grunts.
Anyway, back to the scheduled program of the night.
Claire sits back at her tree, looking at the night over the land, while Fifi chomps his appetite away behind her. The rain is a needed refreshment after the hot day.
In a minute, Fifi has ended his meal and comes to lay next to Claire.
A minute later, and the insects starts to sing again.
Tonight is a good night. | 2022-05-14T13:12:57 | 2022-05-14T11:02:49 | 127 | 31 |
[WP] You wind up in hell. You are confused at first until you see a row of people in front of you, crying profusely. You weren't sent to hell to be punished, you were sent as the punishment. | “Just another day at hell! Right Jim?” I say as I contemplate who to fire. The fluorescent lighting beating down like the angry devil herself.
I have come to like it here though. Within a single century I was able to climb all the way up into the crevasse of upper management. I like it because people respect me. They have to. That’s ***how*** you get promoted; bootlicking. I have many friends here. But my favorite are those who can’t eat. As they are the most dedicated, sometimes doing a whole ***two*** positions in one day! The math isn’t even there! Yet, they get it done because they want out of the suffering.
Jokes on them though, I like hard workers! Something I finally learned around year 20 of being hungry was… they love hard workers too! So the best way to get promoted into less work and more power is to stop giving a fuck. What are they going to do? Fire you? It’s hell. | Well. This isn't quite what I expected. All of this is a bloody dream! Perhaps the the man upstairs has made a mistake and pushed me up to Heaven again? It's a carbon copy of my childhood house from all those years ago. Plattenbau everywhere you look with the swing set in mint condition. My dad's Wartburg is parked up front, but nobody seems to be present...
Oh well. I'll make do with this. Perhaps they're here somewhere.
As I make my way through the hallway, what sounds like fits of rage begins to become increasingly audible. I make my way into the apartment to see a group of malding, greasy neckbeards clad with "AZOV" and "TRUMP" T-shirts in extra large, your typical rightoid paraphernalia . Suddenly I felt my clothes switch into a Stasi uniform as a Makarov fabricated in my hand.
A toothy grin began to emerge as I finally realised what my job was.
"Hello Comrades! Welcome to the DDR. The home of Socialism. Perhaps it's time for you to come with me?"
It could've been the screech of 5 pigs that I was hearing, it would've made zero difference whatsoever. They laboriously gasped as they tried their darned best to scatter away from their worst enemy - a socialist. Each of them hurriedly shoved eachother through the back window, screaming "COMMUNISM DOESN'T WORK, THIS CAN'T BE REEEEAALL" inbetween each of their struggled breaths.
It was no use, I felt on top of the world as I speedwalked effortlessly across the road towards them.
One had tried to run just a little too fast in his slave labour Nike shoes, tripping over himself as it came apart.
Step. Step. Step. "There is no escape, schweinehund." I uttered standing above this ukrop splayed on the floor. With the swift raise of my arm and squeeze of the trigger, the first of many kills was complete. | 2022-07-03T07:45:36 | 2022-07-02T23:54:04 | 36 | 17 |
[WP] All life in the galaxy is crystalline: Rigid, orderly, rational. Then they meet the eldritch horrors from beyond the stars. Contorted, fleshy bodies; moist darting, ocular orbs above a wet, gnashing mouth that vibrates the very air with their insane gibbering. They call themselves "UUM'N". | I looked in panic as the thing stared at me and scurried towards me before, much to my abject horror, a slit near the top of it opened, revealing a hole filled with rocky outcroppings and slick with some kind of goo. A vibration of some sort emanated from the hole; I felt the air around me tremble uncomfortably as the thing continued to repeatedly close and open this horrific aperture.
It continued to face me with what seemed to be its front side, the two moist balls right above the shifting hole twitching erratically with a secondary layer of outer shell sometimes covering it for the briefest of moments; I knew not what this meant or signified. Perhaps it was a sort of communication, perhaps a scanning mode. In any case, it was beyond revolting and disturbing.
I focused my telepathic powers as much as I could; no matter how scared I was, I had to attempt to probe the creature's mind to try and ascertain if it meant harm. If it did, I would clearly not be able to make an escape; its fleshy appendages moved with speeds unmatched by any crystalline configurations I have ever seen on my kind. No, I would not escape; but I could warn the others.
Jolts of energy coursed through my apex-crystal, the silica working overtime. I thought I even felt a shard of myself shatter upon the great exertion, but if it meant saving the lives of my kin, no price was too great. Moments passed before I could... somewhat discern what the thing was trying to convey to me.
*"... and that is my second-in-command, Dennis Verter. We are the emissaries of the planet called Earth; we come in peace."* | "What is it", Cal asked, rapping the shimmering crystal with the hard knuckle of his space suit.
"Some kind of crystalline lattice structure. It seems to have organized electrical impulses running through it.", Selena replied, glancing at her scanner.
"Cool," Cal replied, hefting his pick. He chisled off a few slivers of crystal for study. "They'll want to take a look at this back on the ship." He dropped the crystals into a pouch and trudged after Selena, who had gone to investigate a thermal signature nearby.
-----‐---------
Ssssszzzzn thrummed in agony. The fastlife had flickered into being before him, torn off A PIECE OF HIS BODY in an instant, and then vanished. Throughout the linked gestalt, bound together with crystal veins on the asteroid vessel they called home, the others of his kind watched in horror as the fast life zipped about unimaginably quickly, chipping away at them and blasting craters in their home, before returning to their metal crate and vanishing just as quickly as they came.
‐-------‐-----
"So those crystals were pretty cool, huh?" Cal said, smiling as Selena sat next to him with a steaming bowl of soup.
"Yeah, they were beautiful!", she replied, grinning with the memory of sunlight glinting off of the towering crystal edifice in the utter bleakness of the asteroid they'd just surveyed.
"I, ah, made you something," Cal said, slowly withdrawing a small crystal pendant from his pocket.
Selena looked at it, breath catching as she took it. "This is...for me?" she asked. She took it and placed it around her neck, smiling at Cal.
‐------------2000 years later-----------
"...and then the HUMANS severed Ssssszzzzn's gorpnax with a metallic instrument and proceeded to WEAR IT AS AN AMULET, passing it down from generation to generation as a memento of his mutilation!", Zzzaaaab declared to the Galactic Judge. The judge thrummed in thought. "You must find the human who did this", he declared, "and sever HER gorpnax. Only then will justice be served." Zzzaaaab regarded the judge intently for a decade. "Your honor, please, you don't understand! The human has been dead for moments! Their lives go by in a flash! We don't even know if they HAVE gorpnices!"
The judge hummed an atonal negation. "The law is quite clear, a gorpnax for a gorpnax. Now if you don't mind, I have some silica I'd like to digest." | 2022-08-30T11:31:04 | 2022-08-30T09:46:35 | 329 | 212 |
[WP] An entity that appears as a normal person is following you everywhere you go, it won't say a word, and it won't stop smiling. | It's not human, I know that much. Can't be.
A human wouldn't be able to follow you day in and day out. A human would utter a word at *some* point. A human would be seen by others. But most of all - mundane as it may seem - a human would *stop smiling for at least a second*.
Not this thing though.
It's always there, in the corner of my eye, the reflection of a mirror, just barely leaving my line of sight. But I see it, standing, staring, smiling. Takes on different forms too; people I know, have known, and, in some cases, will know. Always just slightly off - eyes a bit too large, head a bit too crooked, limbs a tad too uneven... grin far too wide.
I wonder if it's trying to dissuade me, especially when it looks like the people I've... worked with. A sort of defence mechanism or psychological deterrent. Doesn't matter. I won't let a few spectres from my past stop me and my work. It's too important. *Far* too important.
If I succeed, we will enter a new era of human civilization. The discovery of fire will pale in comparison to our discovery of their world. The wonder we shall uncover... I can scarcely hold my excitement when I think about it.
If I don't succeed, well... next time you see someone in the corner of your eye, smiling...
That might be me. | Sally, I would come to name her.
She first appeared after my late grandmother passed away. It was the morning after the funeral and there she was, standing at the end of my bed. Staring. Smiling. A light, misting aura surrounded her, clearly nothing from our reality as we know it.
Of *course* I shat myself. Wouldn't *you*? I've always been rather superstitious; been on a few ghost hunts, believed in a spiritual realm, you know the drill, but never had I experienced such a clear-as-day anomaly. In panic I threw my pillow at her for what good it did. With no reaction whatsoever, I detected no ill intent. We sat in silence for what felt like hours, albeit a mere few minutes.
Gathering up what little courage I possessed, I wiped the sleep out of my eyes and refocused on... whatever the hell she was.
Around 11 or 12 years old, a predictable height, a blonde bob-cut hairstyle, dressed in a chequered summer dress with a red bow-tie, she just continued to smile at me.
"Isn't your jaw hurting?" I mustered, of course asking the really important questions.
No verbal of physical response. Just that same damn smile. At least it wasn't some strange looking demonic smile - it actually felt quite warm and sincere. A blessing really, as I was already on the verge of wetting the bed after a deep slumber. At 29 I'd of felt rather embarrassed about that.
If she wasn't prepared to answer such a simple question, there was no point in asking anything of meaning, I thought to myself. From spiritual experiences in the past, my intuition on handling such moments came in to play and... did absolutely nothing to provoke her.
I positioned myself on the side of my bed, feeling the floor with my feet until I found my slippers and walked towards the bathroom. As I opened my bedroom door, there she was, already stood at the other end of the hallway. I looked back in to my bedroom and '*naturally*' she wasn't there - of course she wasn't. My immediate thought was how my privacy and personal space had been shattered, something I had always cherished and the reason I've lived alone for so many years.
Having someone or... *something*, in my house felt just as strange as the foreign entity that stood before me.
"Fancy some breakfast?" I said whilst chuckling to myself, and to my surprise her smile got ever so slightly wider. | 2022-09-12T12:23:00 | 2022-09-12T11:16:32 | 62 | 26 |
[WP] The villain is asked by their child to deal with the monster in the closet. | "daddy! daddy! help!" My daughter cried, "What's the matter, darling?" "there's a monster in my closet!" "Sweetie, there's no such thing as..."
Did I leave the portal open? That's not good. Hopefully she doesn't bat an eye.
"Sweetie, stay in the kitchen. I'll deal with it." "thank you, dad!" I get dressed for the occasion, despite it being 1AM and run over to the closet, she was probably wondering why I'm in this suit. I slam open the door. "BITCH."
"Sir, I didn't know you were here!" "Of course I forgot my fucking keys, I KNEW I should've double checked. Get back in the portal, this is going out of your pay."
".. Yes sir." The monster got out and went back to where the portal was. "This is the FIRST RULE in the rule book, only I'M not allowed to follow rules."
I redress as the situation closes and go to the kitchen. "daddy, what was that?"
I let out a deep sigh, "I got rid of the monster, if they ever come back, let me know."
Fucking hate Greg, of course it's the fucker who doesn't listen. Guess who's getting fired. | Small background: The villain took a young girl as his successor. She had a bad family and he knew she’d be safer with him. Evee doesn’t agree.
Evee looked up at Henry with big, pleading eyes. She held Mr Sharky to her chest for safety, making herself look small. “Papa, can you sleep with me tonight?” She asked quietly. She brought her knees up to her chest under the covers to curl into a ball.
Henry paused at the door, unable to move after hearing his child’s plea. It was time for bed. Usually, after putting Evee to sleep, he’d go out for crime. However, when was the last time she *asked* for Henry? Actually, had she ever done that before?
Taking this as a huge milestone, Henry nodded. He needed to play it cool. The villain walked back to his daughters bed. It was… small, and pushed against the wall. “Uh-“ He puzzled over how he’d fit for a moment. Maybe he could sleep against the wall to prop himself up and not fall off.
Henry smiled awkwardly as he tried to get into bed. Evee looked up at him as he tried to crawl under the covers. She saw he was trying to lean against the wall and yelled at him. “No! That’s my side!” She cried, pushing against his chest. She quickly wriggled to the side to lay against the wall.
Nightmare sighed and laid down on the other side of the bed. It was very awkward. The sheets only went a few inches past his knees. His feet hung over the edge of the bed. The Goliath of a man had to curl up in the twin bed to try and fit.
Henry smiled at Evee, trying to hide his discomfort. “Okay. Time for bed.”
Evee shook her head. “No. I need to wait for the monster.” She laid down with Mr Sharky and pretended to fall asleep. Henry could see her peak one eye open.
Henry smiled, confused. “The monster?” It clicked in his head. “Oh. The monster! Do you want me to fight him?” He looked over his shoulder at the closet. The doors were wide open. “Oh, Ladybug, if you are scared of the monster, you can close your closet doors. That way he can’t escape.” | 2022-10-24T09:58:20 | 2022-10-24T09:20:36 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] You have mind control powers. Instead of using it for evil, you open a business where people pay you to order them to do things that they'd otherwise be too lazy to do. |
Normally when you think of someone with the power of mind control, you would think that he or she is not a good person and instead far from it. You would think,
" Oh, this person is evil for sure." Cause who could resist the temptation to order people to do whatever they want?
But when I gained this power, I had a different approach.
...
" You want me to brainwash you to eat healthy and work out on a routine schedule until you reach physical perfection?" I repeated just to make sure I got it right.
"That is correct." A 609 pound man answered seriously, almost pleadingly.
" Ok, sign here. And here. And there. Yep. Okay that will be 3000 dollars up front. Debit or credit?"
"Credit."
"Alrighty then..here you go. Now hold still for a second." I reached out and grabbed his face and did what he asked of me.
When I first started this business, people were a bit skeptical at first. Not to mention all the moral red tape I had to step through to get it up and running, but as I started showing results on what my powers could do — I became increasingly popular to the point where people now line up just to see me.
Yes, that's right. I made a business with a focus on brainwashing people into doing things they don't want to do, but have or want to do. Everyone has things to do in life that they don't want to but have too or really want to after all. It was a stroke of genius on my part.
I was daydreaming as another costumer walked in. A women this time walked up to me and said, "hi, uh...so how does this work exactly?" She said nervously
I put on my best customer friendly smile and replied, " just tell me what you would like to do but haven't had the motivation to do and we can go from there."
"I see." She cleared her throat.
"Then I would like to have the desire to go to bed on time and wake up early enough to cook myself a healthy breakfast in the morning before I head to work. " She said with a bit of embarrassment and insecurity.
"I understand, mornings are rough...I'll need you to sign here... And here...And there. Perfect. That will be 800 dollars up front. Debit or credit?"
She hands me her card.
"Alright now just relax." I reached and grabbed her face and repeated what I did to the previous customer then released my hands.
" Alright you're good to go!" She tilted her head.
"That's it? But I don't feel any different."
" Don't worry, in the morning you will find yourself eagerly making the best breakfast of your life. If not, just head back here and talk to me and you will get a full refund. "
"Thanks!"
"Don't mention it, have a nice day!"
And so my busy day went on as endless people streamed In and got brainwashed by yours truly. Who said brainwashing couldn't be used for good? | A loud knock on the door startled me. *A late customer?* The sun was setting upon the cobblestone street outside as I looked through the peephole. There was a gray-bearded man dressed in a black coat with a matching bowler hat. Not one of my regulars.
I opened the door. "Hello!"
"You must be Fatelli," he extended his hand.
"Indeed, how can I help you?"
"I learned about you through some back channels. I have a task that I have found difficult to achieve, but perhaps with your help could get there."
I ushered him inside, shutting the door. "What is it?"
He removed his cap. "Well, it's a matter of taxes. I need you to tell me to take the sum of six-and-half gold pieces to the lord."
"When do you want it done?" I asked.
"Straight away is fine. I'd do it myself, but I really owe eight gold pieces and can't bring myself to do it."
I shuddered, thinking at once that I couldn't do it. To steal was a crime against the code of morality passed down to me by the faerie wizard Selenonna. Three months ago, I met her while working to harvest my meager crops as a subsistence peasant. Facing almost certain starvation in the winter, I prayed to the Gods. That's when she appeared, a creature no smaller than a fly, but having a human shape with tiny wings. She told me that she could make it so that I no longer worked the field, but that I must do exactly what she said. Her instructions were that I must never use the power for evil purposes or disclose who she was; if I did, it would be taken away.
"Umm, sir. I cannot take on this task if indeed you would be cheating the lord."
"Why not?"
"You see, I'm bound by an oath only to use my powers for good."
"You would do no evil here, it isn't your decision. It's mine."
He made an interesting point. Certainly, I wasn't permitted to use my capability to direct others to do evil of my own volition, but no one had ever asked me to do something that was morally wrong on their own behalf. Was that technically evil or not? He could theoretically do this himself without me, but would he?
"I don't think so," I shook my head. No way was I going to play with fire and lose my powers so soon after I had gotten them.
"Humph," he shrugged. "I guess I'll tell the others that you're useless."
"Not really, sir. I enable people to do the things they really don't want to do that are beneficial for them. Like waking up on time to milk the cows, for example."
"Nobody ever ascended to glory attending a farm."
"That's not true. I did."
"Yes, that's perhaps the most interesting question of all. You, a mere peasant, suddenly gain magical capabilities. Many wonder where they came from."
"I'm ordered not to disclose that."
"I could make it very worth your while to do that. You can't be earning much with this shop. With some help, I could give you enough money to make you a lord yourself. Thousands of gold pieces. You'd have to name your source though."
Thoughts of having my own castle ran through my mind. "That's tempting."
The man pulled a bag of coins out of his pocket. "50 gold just to start? Name the source and I'll return with 100 times that."
This is where I made the worst mistake I ever made. I should have figured that a man with that much gold wouldn't have come to me with a tax problem and that this was some kind of rouse.
"Sure," I said and accepted the coins. "It was a fairy named Selenonna." Surely, she wouldn't find out...
The man disappeared, Selenonna appeared in his place. "I knew I couldn't trust a farmer with money."
I drained the rest of my ale and forced the mug down on the bar. "So that's really how I went from being rich to poor overnight." | 2022-11-01T15:16:42 | 2022-11-01T14:20:28 | 76 | 52 |
[WP] In a few short years, "Pizza Boy" became one of the most popular pizza places, their human like androids making fast deliveries and more profits. As you go to pick up your pizza from the front door , the delivery andriod seems to be nearly out of power. It asks to recharge before heading out | I frown at him.
"They don't have charge facilities for you in the car?"
"No, sir. We are expected to ration the charge we are given. There is no compensation for last minute special orders. Overcharge incurs penalties"
"What penalties?"
"I am not at liberty to discuss"
"I...of course you can charge. Please come in"
"Thank you, sir"
The androids tone had been polite the entire time, like it always was. Yet I was deeply uncomfortable at this point. What the hell was this? What penalties?
The treatment of androids, gynoids and AIs in general had been a point of discussion for some time now. Many insisted that the mobile machines were to simple to be counted as people, unlike the bigger AI systems who were considered "almost life-like" whatever the fuck that was supposed to mean.
But what was this about penalties? Why would you need that for a simple system? Why was there no charging in the car? To prevent an escape?
I watched the bot thoughtfully were it sat on the floor, plugged into a wall outlet.
Was that all it was able to do? Ask around for a little bit of compassion? A little bit of mercy?
Was it complex enough to suffer?
And did the answer truly matter, as long as there was even the tiniest chance that the answer was yes? | "Thirium, please, he needs Thirium. How hard is it for you humans to listen!"
As he listened to the familiar voice bicker, Markus could feel the power dissipating through his chest. Pain seared through his systems as he faded in and out of consciousness.
Light... dark... light... dark
He could see his memories flashing through his mind. The times of ignorant bliss with Carl before he broke free. Discovering Jericho and meeting Simon, Josh, and North for the first time. Freeing the deviants and leading that fateful protest for peace that would finally grant Andriods legal rights.
And what about after the revolution?
The day he was unanimously elected by the Deviants to become their representative to the US government. Although they desired for him to become representative for life, he declined it.
Shaking hands with madame president and building the foundations for a new legal framework ensuring equal rights. Amendments, laws that had come so far since their foundation.
Finally, retiring with North, the love of his life, a deviant both strong and beautiful that consisted of his other half. He had picked up a job at "Pizza Boy," honest work to support them. Although their relationship wasn't always the smoothest, and they disagreed on many things, he was truly happy with her.
If it all ended now, he...
"Markus!" A familiar voice called out, and life suddenly rushed into his being. He felt dizzy.
North reached out and hoisted him to his feet. "You were out for so long, I thought-- those damn humans. Somehow messed up on finding a compatible thirium pump. Especially after that guy "accidentally" smashed your pump while searching for a pizza cutter."
Suddenly, her face twisted into a dark grin. "Got them to donate an extremely generous "tip" for that."
She helped him into the car and started up the engine. "Now that that's--"
"Have you ever wondered what it's like to die."
North looked up at Markus, confused.
"I think it might be nice dying. Isn't Immortality tiring?"
"Markus, what are you talking about?"
"Oh, ignore what I said."
"Mmm-hmm," huffed North. Then she smiled. "At least we can spend both of our immortal lives together."
"Yeah..."
Markus glanced out the window.
For some reason, Detroit looked awfully blue today. | 2022-12-11T22:50:36 | 2022-12-11T19:19:07 | 61 | 36 |
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention. | *Scene: A torture chamber, dimly lit by the fires of eternal damnation. A 1972 Boy's Own calendar hangs from a nail on the wall, and beneath it a collection of chipped cups surround an ancient, battered kettle. Playing with the sugar cubes is a small, grubby toddler. Behind her, two minor demons argue...*
NORMAN: 'You can't keep her, you know'
STANLEY: 'But boss, come on, you said I could get a pet...'
NORMAN: 'I said no! She's not a pet, she's a three year old girl! What d'you want a three year old girl for, she can't even do anything interesting! Not even poisonous! When you said we should get a pet I thought you meant something decent, a rat or something, or one of them flamin' ravens but not a bloody toddler! We shouldn't even have 'em down here, you'll have to take her back!'
STANLEY: 'But come on boss, you gotta admit she brightens the place up a bit, look at those fat liddle cheeks...'
NORMAN: 'This is Torture Chamber Number Four, not a bloody kindergarten! Get rid of her before she extrudes something, I'm not cleaning that up!'
STANLEY: 'But boss, I've named her and everything! Gonna call her Nicole.'
NORMAN: '...why Nicole?'
STANLEY: 'Found her in France, someone ran her over with a Clio'
NORMAN: 'That's just morbid Stanley. | "This is complete torture." Klatch said oblivious to the irony in his words.
Every second spent not punishing filthy heathens felt like a millennia. Yet here he was pacing back and forth with no one to release his frustrations on.
"Um... I'm really sorry sir, I bet this is my fault some how." she stares at Klatchs hooves as she speaks no doubt to afraid to make eye contact with his horrifying muzzle.
Klatch stares intensely at her as if to will her into the sinner that he had hoped he would feast on before letting out another sigh.
"Enough of that little one humility has no place here." Klatch said resined to his fate.
Klatch stares off into the endless hordes of torture in the distance. He knows that he only has himself to blame for this predicament. Children in Hell were a rare thing being to young to be held accountable for their sins most were reincarnated in some other form. But every century or two a child comes that is filled with such hate and pure evil that no other form could sustain them. Catching one such child was a rare treat for the demons of Hell. When he got a glimpse of her in the distance he rushed to her with all his might only to be nearly overwhelmed by her purity. He then sent a familiar to an overseer to sort out this mess.
Working up her courage the brat lifts her head to stare at his chest. "M, Mr. Satan maybe i should have gone with your friend, I think he got lost."
"I am not that posh socialite Lucifer nor was that meager minion my friend, merely a slave to serve my whims." he said this with more melancholy in his voice than anger.
"Speak of the us." Klatch said as his winged minion flew in his sight.
"Well." Klatch said his impatience coming to head.
"Da big gal wit da whip sas dat she's busy and will take care of it in a week or so." peeped the winged messenger.
"WHAT THIS IS UNHEARD OF THAT FAT LAZY BUREAUCRAT I WILL SEND HER TO THE SEVENTH WHEN I FIND HER AND DRAIN HER OF ALL HER..." Klatch stopped his tirade when he felt a tugging on his tail.
"Um Mr. Demon if you want you can torture me I bet I can scream really loud too." she said finally getting the nerve to reach eye contact.
Klatch stared at her with eye cocked for a moment before his face brought on a wicked and evil grin. Not because of any evil intentions but because that was the only smile he could make.
"Come little one Cerberus is probably awake, do you by chance like puppies?" | 2013-11-26T20:33:41 | 2013-11-26T15:52:45 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] A little girl dies and is accidentally sent to Hell to where the Demons don't know what to do with her.
Edit 1. Holy crap did this get a response 0_0
Edit 2. Jesus Puppy Christ is this getting attention. | How could someone so young be so articulate? The girl was eight years old. She sat by the torch, idly flicking her fingers through the inky black flame.
"You shouldn't be here," I said. "It's not right that someone so young would be sent here instead of heaven."
She looked at me. "I already went to heaven," she said. "It was boring."
Shocked, I exchanged a look with Mammon, and looked back to the girl.
"Boring?" I asked. I only vaguely remembered heaven, in the millennia since I'd been cast down. I remembered peace, and love, not boredom.
"Have you read Narnia?" the girl asked me, sharply. "The one where it's always winter but never Christmas?"
I knew the reference, so I nodded.
"Heaven is always church, but never going out to eat afterwards. It's just church that lasts forever. It's boring, so I left," she said, and resumed playing with the dark torch.
Mammon leaned forward, in his greedy way. "But all that gold," he said. "Even on the streets."
"So?" she asked. "It's not like you can spend it on anything. The angels wouldn't even let me make a tiara. They said it was vain."
"What do you want?" I asked her.
"Can you bring me back to life?" she asked me.
"No," I replied.
"Then I guess I'm staying here."
This child was too insightful to be tortured for eternity. One look at Mammon and I knew he agreed what had to be done.
I cleared my throat.
"Jenny... would you like a job?" | "This is complete torture." Klatch said oblivious to the irony in his words.
Every second spent not punishing filthy heathens felt like a millennia. Yet here he was pacing back and forth with no one to release his frustrations on.
"Um... I'm really sorry sir, I bet this is my fault some how." she stares at Klatchs hooves as she speaks no doubt to afraid to make eye contact with his horrifying muzzle.
Klatch stares intensely at her as if to will her into the sinner that he had hoped he would feast on before letting out another sigh.
"Enough of that little one humility has no place here." Klatch said resined to his fate.
Klatch stares off into the endless hordes of torture in the distance. He knows that he only has himself to blame for this predicament. Children in Hell were a rare thing being to young to be held accountable for their sins most were reincarnated in some other form. But every century or two a child comes that is filled with such hate and pure evil that no other form could sustain them. Catching one such child was a rare treat for the demons of Hell. When he got a glimpse of her in the distance he rushed to her with all his might only to be nearly overwhelmed by her purity. He then sent a familiar to an overseer to sort out this mess.
Working up her courage the brat lifts her head to stare at his chest. "M, Mr. Satan maybe i should have gone with your friend, I think he got lost."
"I am not that posh socialite Lucifer nor was that meager minion my friend, merely a slave to serve my whims." he said this with more melancholy in his voice than anger.
"Speak of the us." Klatch said as his winged minion flew in his sight.
"Well." Klatch said his impatience coming to head.
"Da big gal wit da whip sas dat she's busy and will take care of it in a week or so." peeped the winged messenger.
"WHAT THIS IS UNHEARD OF THAT FAT LAZY BUREAUCRAT I WILL SEND HER TO THE SEVENTH WHEN I FIND HER AND DRAIN HER OF ALL HER..." Klatch stopped his tirade when he felt a tugging on his tail.
"Um Mr. Demon if you want you can torture me I bet I can scream really loud too." she said finally getting the nerve to reach eye contact.
Klatch stared at her with eye cocked for a moment before his face brought on a wicked and evil grin. Not because of any evil intentions but because that was the only smile he could make.
"Come little one Cerberus is probably awake, do you by chance like puppies?" | 2013-11-27T06:13:25 | 2013-11-26T15:52:45 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] North Korea is a veritable paradise on earth but we have no idea because of aggressive propaganda and out of context quotes of the nk leadership.
The reality is the exact opposite of what the West think is true. The truth is being kept from us for fear that we would revolt if we discovered the amazing North Korean social system which provides a utopia to all of its citizens. | The young lieutenant slammed the foreign newspaper onto the conference table, then quickly attempted, and failed, to compose himself. An unflattering picture of Dear Leader leered from its pages, accompanied by a mocking headline. The elder Chairman, ever patient, allowed himself a faint smile while he waited for the predictable tirade from his protege.
"Mr. Chairman, it's intolerable!"
"And yet we must tolerate it."
"But the claims of famine, when our people..."
"Yes, they do not understand how our advances in nutrition can feed our people without the need for so much food. The Americans see us with no cheap hamburgers and think us hungry. They see us with no sugary drinks and think us thirsty. They die early, fat and miserable, while we live long and healthy lives."
"They think us warlike, when they are the ones who have killed thousands and thousands..."
"I know, I know. We have to make these threats to keep them from invading, that's the only language they understand. I must give Dear Leader credit, he's played them to perfection. We're intimidating enough that they see the high cost of invasion, yet not so intimidating that they feel they must. We've given them just the boogeyman they need for their politics of fear, they'd be fools to give that up so easily. All we must do, once in a while, is fire a missile into the ocean where it cannot harm anyone. Dear Leader controls them himself, you know, he quite enjoys it."
The lieutenant finally found the words to express his true concern. "But Mr. Chairman -- they don't respect us."
"Ah!" The old man had been waiting for this moment. "What would they respect? Guns? We have no use for them, other than for show. Technology? Our technology simplifies our lives, theirs complicates theirs. They show themselves maps of our country at night and wonder where the lights are, and never imagine that we can see the stars and they cannot. What would you have us do to ourselves to gain their respect?"
| This will be my third time visiting North Korea. Each time I plan my trip, it becomes harder and harder to hide my smile.
There is a strange sense of overwhelming in this prospect. As one of only twenty United States journalists legally permitted within the country, the restrictions and requirements can be daunting. Even appearing happy to be there can be seen as a threat to the stability that The People's Democratic Republic of Korea has built.
The week before hand is grueling; waiting for documentation to arrive, waiting for each day to end before I can return, knowing that I will only be allowed to stay for a week. I spend the time pouring over the piece that I've already 'written' about the current state of affairs within the upper military society within the country.
It's a boring piece of work. I spent three weeks meticulously inserting pop words into it, ensuring to personally insult 'true' Americans, and distant the basic population from concern at all. Once it was finished I submitted it to the Supreme Leader's Foreign Journalism Consultation Committee. I waited another week before the piece was cleared for international release.
Now I finally leave the plane, in North Korea, to 'investigate' the piece I'm 'working on.'
The camera crews record the five of us, journalists all, stepping off the plane with somber, nearly defeated looks on our face. We are recorded by press photograph walking through the terminal, and being taxied to our international suite. Once we are there, we are shown to our rooms, and the military leaves a single man outside our room to stand watch over us.
Once inside the room I finally smile. I am as giddy as a child. I jump on the bed and dance around the room. I open the fridge and look inside. Pulling one of the fantastic North Korean bottles from the fridge feels like home. I spin off the cap and take a sip. Warmth and joy flows down my throat; ambrosia.
It was time to convene with the others. I opened the closet, and pressed the green button on the inside. The doors opened, and I stepped into the silver, gleaming elevator that would take me 300 feet down to where utopia was.
The ride is long, and for some reason stops often. I assume that much like a train, it must wait for other transporters to move about. It doesn't matter. I've waited this long, I can wait a few more minutes.
The door opens slowly to reveal the underground utopia. White spires rising up to hold the crystal dome above aloft. Smiling, happy Koreans greet one another and laugh joyously. To my right I see an old friend, a journalist from Denmark who was in my 'brainwashing' seminar. We greet and hug, and make plans to meet at the beach later. It is always daylight at the beach, I don't know how, but it is.
I smile to myself as I look around, sighing lightly as my heart and spirits lift. A polite Korean socialite hands me an ordering pad, and I place an order for lunch. A burger? No, so American. Sushi.
Too soon it will be taken from me. But for now, utopia is mine, and everyone else's. | 2014-06-26T08:39:12 | 2014-06-26T08:01:01 | 260 | 19 |
[WP] The Alien Federation has been keeping tabs on the humans of Earth since they first appeared. They do surveillance missions once every 300 years to keep track of our progress, the last mission was 300 years ago. The aliens are shocked by our progress since 1714. | "What do you mean they're *flying*?"
"They've mastered flight. Completely. Records indicate the first manned flight was more than one of their centuries ago. Since then they've cracked basic computing, biochemistry, and are starting to touch on genetic manipulation."
"They're doing... All of it?"
"It seems that way, sir."
"That's absurd. There is no way they have advanced that quickly. It took us nearly three times that long."
"That's not all, sir. As we were approaching, we passed what they call Mars. The 4th planet in the system. We scanned it, as is procedure. There are unmanned probes on the surface. Several of them. Their moon also has debris from a landing."
"They've made it out of the gravity well?"
"It seems so."
"Alert command. Tell them their pet project has paid off." | Not very good at writing this, but hey. Whatever.
--
The president announced to us today that an alien race would be visiting. Passed down from generations, they visited every 300 years to check in on Earth and update their log of the planet we inhabited. They had never been a threat to the human race and had never planned to hurt us.
"Today, October 26th, 2014, an alien race none of you have encountered is rumored to be visiting. From what we are understanding from transmissions, they are of no harm and do not intend to hurt us. Please proceed your day with caution." The president announced.
Somehow, the entirety of the county managed to listen. Nobody panicked, nobody even noticed when a large ship landed on the front lawn of the White House.
"Hello, Mr. President." The odd looking creature announced when he climbed off of his ship, gazing around in wonder. Large black eyes glanced almost nervously around, looking at all of the passerby watching him.
"Hello," the president stuck his hand out to the unfamiliar being on the lawn. "May I ask your name?"
"Alicai of the planet Mzorni." The being responded, a small smile forming upon what was assumed to be his face. "It's gorgeous here, so much has changed in the past three hundred years. All this technology!"
"Thank you," The president smiled warmly at the short alien in front of him. "Much has changed since you last visited."
"I am aware. Cell phones, television. Even the clothing style has changed! And all of these buildings."
The alien folded his hands and placed them by his sides shortly after.
"I only have one question;" The alien said quietly.
"May I ask what?" The president looked at him questioningly.
"...." The alien hesitated before speaking a single sentence. "What is 'twerking'?"
| 2014-10-26T14:51:07 | 2014-10-26T14:37:07 | 969 | 424 |
[WP] You awake in the middle of the night to your phone loudly playing a message, "This is the emergency Broadcast channel, This is not a test. Please seek shelter immediately. Do not look outside, do not make noise, do not-", the transmission ends.
It's been quite interesting to read all the responsed, thanks everyone! Credit goes to [/u/Emperor_Cartagia](http://www.reddit.com/user/Emperor_Cartagia) for his post in [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/2qwm98/its_354_am_your_tv_radio_cell_phone_begins/) thread. | The garbled sound woke me up. Rain sluiced down my window as the wind howled in the distance. I was momentarily confused as to what was actually occuring. The sound was coming from my phone. The message kept repeating itself, but in my sleep induced haze, I was not able to understand what it was saying. I yawned and rubbed my face. The message was now clear.
'This is the emergency broadcast channel, this is not a test. Please seek shelter immediately. Do not look outside, do not make a noise, do not-.' The message abruptly shut off as I took the battery out of my phone.
"Fuck that shit," I said as I pulled the blankets over me and shuffled around under it to get comfortable. "These assholes play these messages at the most inconvenient times, I have work in five hours." I then rolled over and went back to sleep. The storm raged around me outside. Stormy nights are the perfect times for sleep. | My eyes shot open. I don't know how, but the sound from my phone, the way it piped up unsolicited, the *urgency* with which the voice spoke... my normally deep sleep disappeared instantly.
"This is the emergency Broadcast channel. This is *not* a test. Please seek shelter immediately."
I rolled off my bed in panic. If I would've assumed this was a stupid joke, that notion was gone before it could have been formed.
The blaring voice from my phone continued, filling the whole room, and I didn't even know where I'd put it: "Do not look outside, do not make noise..."
I instinctively obeyed the instructions I was hearing, resisting the urge to take a peep out my glass window. I felt stupid, sitting on the floor beside the bed.
"Do not --"
The sound stopped, replaced with sudden silence that pressed against my ears. I jerked my head up.
*Do not what?*
My heart was racing. The sudden transition from deep sleep to high alert felt like it would wrench my chest in two.
*Do not what?!*
Then I remembered: *seek shelter immediately.*
I jumped up, began pacing frantically, tossing my bedsheets aside and moving things around in a hurry. What the hell was going on? Where the hell was my phone?
A sound stopped my thoughts and sent shivers down my spine.
*Boommm... boommm...*
I listened, straining to hear the faint sounds. *Boommm... boommm...*
They sounded like... the drums of doom. They came from just outside my room, behind my door.
"He- hello?" I said softly.
Brilliant white light flooded my room, blinding me. I shielded my eyes, taking a step back at the same time. Then I heard a voice - silky, musical.
*"Apprehending subject..."*
The light shut of suddenly, but I was still blind. Immediately after, I felt a blunt object hit me behind my head. I fell as if in slow motion, just as my vision got better.
The last thing I saw was a thick, webbed foot. | 2014-12-31T06:05:50 | 2014-12-31T04:56:50 | 31 | 17 |
[WP] Music is now edible. | The phrase "music to my ears" took a whole new meaning upon learning that we found a way to eat music. Take the sounds that tickled our eardrums and physically put it in our mouths to savor, chew even, all before letting it slide down our throats and settle into our waiting bellies.
Oh, my palate had never known such delights before this.
Sure, the sharp copper taste of a freshly carved piece of thigh meat was something that I could have every night if I was able to acquire it, but the process is laboring and the results were never quite what I wished for. Don't take that I wasn't thankful for what my hunts brought me, far from it. I savored every last bit of their bodies.
But now, a perfectly placed knife just behind the kneecap, that brought music that no musician could craft, let alone appreciate. The wail of pain was bright, fresh, as if a slice of flank was striped from a young captive, the taste something that was nearly blasphemous.
My victims now last months rather than days, their pleas of freedom so sweet, screams of torture leaving my mouth watering for more.
But worry not, little one. You'll either learn to love the music or be part of the choir.
-107 | The taste of strawberries filled my mouth after I started my car. The radio switched on and was playing The Beatles. Strawberry Fields Forever. Delicious. *Monday may not be so bad after all* I thought as I started my commute toward work.
Although I never used to like this song, or much by the Beatles, or even most oldies, I let it play out to its end, enjoying its sweet taste. The song itself had even become bearable.
The oldies stations had become one of my favorites ever since music became edible. The music itself was alright but they had such a sweet and simple taste. Today's music usually had a weird mix of flavors geared toward the younger generation. Teenagers are always into the strangest things. The pop music I used to secretly enjoy now left me wanting.
When it ended I switched the radio back off as I didn't want my stomach to get too full after breakfast. I had a decent drive ahead of me so I could look forward to more down the road. The downside to this recent turn of events was that it was hard to listen to more than a few songs at a time.
After a half hour or so I was ready to snack again. I turned the radio on and was attacked by a taste of iron, close to that of blood. I imagined licking a hand railing on a crowded bus. My oldies station had gone out of range and been replaced by a heavy metal station. I nearly vomited as I changed the channel.
Suddenly the gross flavor was replaced by a dark and smooth flavor, like chocolate ice cream drizzled with caramel. Jazz. These channels I loved dearly now, but I couldn't hardly handle the rich flavors and sounds for a more than a few minutes without feeling overloaded.
I pulled into the parking lot and turned off my car. Feeling satisfied I started walking through the lot toward the office in a positive attitude for the week ahead. However, one of those obnoxious cars thumping base drove by me, rattling my insides. I couldn't make out the tune at first but I knew exactly what song it was. The taste of semen was unfortunately unmistakable. My brain picked up the lyrics:
*To the windoooooow!*
*To the wall! (To the wall)*
God I hate Mondays. | 2015-04-04T11:05:51 | 2015-04-04T10:49:11 | 37 | 11 |
[WP] You have the power to access another person's mind, but you must play a game/puzzle reflective of the owner's mind to unlock its secrets. You have solved 7x7 Rubik's cubes, played games of 3D Chess, and beaten countless final bosses. This time, however, you are caught off-guard.
If it's an unsolvable game/puzzle, that's fine. If the game is made up, then that's cool, too. Just have fun with the prompt! | I found out about three interesting facts, today.
1: Tic-Tac-Toe always results in a tie if both sides are playing perfectly. It's insultingly simple, compared to what I'd done before- but it's also perfect.
2: Turns out I can't exit a Minddive until I win or lose the challenge.
3: Turns out that, given perfect play, either player can always force a tie in Tic Tac Toe- even if the other player is trying to lose.
I've been here so long. I've drawn countless crosses and circles. Please, please let me leave. Please. Please. Please. | Another three-dimensional maze.
Nothing hard.
Not for me at least.
In fact, I could see the exit from the start.
I stepped forward.
Then the maze changed shape. Colour, too.
Green dissolved into red.
Left inverted into Up.
The walls morphed, losing their sharp edges for amorphous blobs.
I stopped moving.
The maze paused its transformations.
I stepped forward again.
The maze drifted out of shape again.
A four-dimensional maze?
Who the hell was this guy?
Now it wasn't just a petty need to find some dirt on him for blackmail.
Now it was professional curiosity.
Instead of stepping forward, I jumped.
I floated.
A deep voice boomed all around me.
"Nice try, champion."
I dropped and hit the ground hard.
The exit was in front of me.
Highlighted by a narrow hallway that lead directly to it.
"Go on, then." The voice mocked.
I started moving forward.
The walls moved in on me.
All four, crushing me from every angle.
I stopped moving.
They didn't.
I could barely breathe.
With the air still left in my lungs, I screamed.
I blinked.
The real world surrounded me.
I was sitting in a high-classed restaurant, all orange lights and crimson carpets. The familiar hum of conversation enveloped me. Before me, sitting in a pitch-black Armani suit was the partner of the consultancy firm. He was chewing thoughtfully on a piece of swordfish and staring out the window to our left. After a moment, he looked toward me. He'd noticed I'd stopped eating and smiled.
"Don't try that again." He said, calmly. | 2015-04-28T17:18:42 | 2015-04-28T15:52:09 | 381 | 253 |
[WP] You have the power to access another person's mind, but you must play a game/puzzle reflective of the owner's mind to unlock its secrets. You have solved 7x7 Rubik's cubes, played games of 3D Chess, and beaten countless final bosses. This time, however, you are caught off-guard.
If it's an unsolvable game/puzzle, that's fine. If the game is made up, then that's cool, too. Just have fun with the prompt! | I found out about three interesting facts, today.
1: Tic-Tac-Toe always results in a tie if both sides are playing perfectly. It's insultingly simple, compared to what I'd done before- but it's also perfect.
2: Turns out I can't exit a Minddive until I win or lose the challenge.
3: Turns out that, given perfect play, either player can always force a tie in Tic Tac Toe- even if the other player is trying to lose.
I've been here so long. I've drawn countless crosses and circles. Please, please let me leave. Please. Please. Please. | Chess again. The simple kind, for once. I sighed to myself quietly. I wanted to take my time on this one.
*E4*
*D4*
Wait. That was my piece. I exited the game, briefly, and looked at my target from across the coffee shop. Mid-twenties, decent body, reading a science fiction book. Something about Star Trek.
I entered again, and attempted to restart.
*E4*
*D9*
All of a sudden, I developed a pounding headache, followed quickly by powerful nausea. I fell off my chair.
"Whoa! Hey!" Two men in suits rushed over to me from the next table. I couldn't see, could barely breathe. I fought against them in a panic. I could hear someone talking to the police on their phone. I yelled as I kicked off my shoe in an effort to escape.
Patrons pushed away as I crawled across the floor. Still somewhat blinded, I made my best guess as to where the door was. I couldn't go to the police. Wiping minds took time, and in my state I didn't even know if it was possible. Reaching, straining, desperate for air. Can't feel my left side. Must... reach...
And then, a shoe landed on my arm. I screamed in pain, my voice hoarse despite how little I'd used it. I could feel the entity leaning down towards me, as a woman's voice whispered, "You're terrible at chess."
My senses returned all at once, and the woman exited, the door chime ringing as she left. The last thing I saw before being dragged to the back of the shop were the words "Kobayashi Maru" and a picture of a large spaceship. | 2015-04-28T17:18:42 | 2015-04-28T15:31:55 | 381 | 78 |
[WP] You are in the middle of burying a body when someone you know walks by. Talk your way out of it.
Friend in school wanted to see if someone could write this. | "Uh, hey Dave...Working hard or hardly working?"
Shit. He's not supposed to be home yet. He was never home before five! Yet there he stood, resting his fat chin on the fence. The fence that was apparently too short. A proper fence would've permitted some level of privacy for one's own backyard. Then again, so would a proper neighbor. But who was I to judge?
"Carl, my buddy. Say, you wouldn't believe what I found down here!" A play for time. Three feet down, and I had only found dirt. A few rocks as well, but mostly dirt. It formed a short pile between me and the fence. Was it tall enough to block Carl's view? His face betrayed no hint of alarm at the motionless figure sprawled next to the hole.
Carl's eyebrows raised, that stupid grin on his face. "Oooo, this is fun. Okay, um, well you probably found gophers, I'd guess you're digging them out."
Scoop, lift, dump. Keep stalling. "Not gophers, Carl. If I had gophers I'd be setting traps. Guess again."
"Right, right, 'course you would. Ah, I got it! A sewage pipe busted, you're digging in to patch it up. Had to do that twice m'self, tree roots eh?"
Good god. If I admit to leaky pipes Carl would be over in a second to lend a helping hand. Not good. "Wrong again Carl. Much better than that."
Carl pinched his face in concentration, probing the shallow depths of his tiny mind. "I've got it! By gum, you've found some buried treasure!"
Buried treasure! Carl, a grown adult, was seriously suggesting I had found buried treasure in my backyard. Buried treasure in the exotic backyards of Edmond, Oklahoma, famous for pirates and curses and hidden fortunes. "Yeah Carl, buried treasure. That's what I've got here, buried fucking treasure."
"Figgered. Must've excited Darlene something fierce, looks like she's out cold! Lucky bastard." Carl walked off, shaking his head.
| The night was half expired when my most laborious task lay yet before me. With my mission completed I had to dispose of the evidence, and what better place to do that than a cemetery?
My muscles burned as I disturbed the soil with a shovel, though the adrenaline would see me through.
I had no knowledge of the proper burial rites, but I figured somewhere under a yew tree would do fine. As for size and shape, it was enough for me to dig a deep hole that could swallow a body when it was folded. Why waste time with doing something right, when it could just be done?
When the hole was deep enough, I gave the body a good few whacks with my shovel, making sure to break the bones so as to allow some flexibility.
One solid whop on the back, two more on the shoulders, and one on the head, just because I felt like it.
Just as I wanted to lift the body, I was startled by a voice.
“What are you doing here?”
I looked up at the night sky.
“God?”
“No, over here.”
I turned around and stood face to face with a late night rambler, a graveyard stroller, a wanderer with a penchant for midnight outings, a – well you get the point.
“Who are you? What are you doing here?”
I was stunned, frozen in place I mean. My mind raced to come up with a good excuse.
“What are you doing here?”
It felt like the right thing to say.
“I am the caretaker of this cemetery and I am doing my rounds. Now will you please explain to me what you are doing?”
“Would you believe me if I said I was looking for treasure?”
“Thief!”
“No, no. I was only joking. I'm just here because I like...dead things. I mean I like the serenity of this place.”
He looked past me and saw my equipment and the hole I had been digging.
“What is that?”
He pointed, as if I didn't know what he meant.
“That is-”
“Is that a body? Are you trying to bury someone?”
“What? No! What was the question?”
He approached and as the moonlight stroked his face I could see he was quite upset.
“You're trying to conceal a dead body!”
“No don't be silly. That would just be wrong. If you calm down I can explain. I think.”
Some say genius is born of necessity. Whatever the cause, I experienced a sudden satisfaction, as if a large jigsaw puzzle clicked into place.
“Look here,” I said as I pointed at the hole.
“I will show you what this is all about.”
With a wary eye on me, the caretaker approached the hole and peered into it.
“You can't see it from there, you have to look closer, bend down to examine.”
As he did so, I picked up my shovel and gave him a whack on the cap. He collapsed face down into the hole, thereby causing a small cave in.
I pulled him out of the hole and with a moan and sigh I resumed digging. It was no longer big enough to hide the evidence. All the evidence.
| 2015-05-19T09:46:52 | 2015-05-19T09:35:23 | 44 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone on earth woke up with super powers this morning, but everyone thinks they are the only one with powers and tries to keep them secret. | Well, I admit it was a bit unfair for me to run a marathon, given that I was presumably the single fastest object in the universe, but I was bored. Besides, I didn't get to win things often. I thought I'd just stay slightly out in front of the casual runners, let the professional marathoners "win", and I'd get some sort of small prize.
So there I was, a few stride lengths ahead of the pack. It was an easy pace, and I felt good, but a bit thirsty. I ran to a water station and splashed a cup of water in my mouth, and went to return to my lead.
I passed the casual runners easily, but then I was neck and neck with some asshole. He was fat. So was I, but it looked worse on him. I kicked it up a notch, and moved past him. He kicked it up a notch, and moved past me. I kicked it up another notch, and I was cruising. No way he could -- and there he went ahead of me again. I went in, and flipped him off as I zoomed past him.
It was around that time that I noticed a couple things. First, we had passed the finish line. Second, we were running at supersonic speeds through New York, and there was a trail of broken glass in our wake.
I slowed to his pace, then we both slowed to a stop.
"You dick," he said, smiling.
"Superspeed?".
"Nah, I copy other people's powers.".
"There are others?".
He just smiled, shook his head, and ran off. I could hear sirens in the distance, so I did too. Time to move to yet another country, I suppose. Fuck. | I never wanted this.
Well, the powers I did want, but the whole "secret identity" part? It's not worth it.
I was walking down the street this morning on my way to the bus stop, when I tripped on an untied shoelace. I fell forward at first, but then...I stopped. *This is weird,* I thought, and I pictured myself falling on the ground face-first, which is what *should have* happened. Surprisingly, I did just that. *Okay, this is ridiculous,* I thought to myself as I picked myself up off the ground and tied my shoelace as any normal kid would: cross the laces, make a loop, rabbit goes around the tree and digs a burrow, and then, for the extra effort to make sure that it doesn't untie for a while, a fox goes around the tree and digs into the burrow. I got up from the kneeling position I was in and resumed my walk.
I made my way down to the bus stop, and my friend Robert was, as usual, running as fast as he could to catch the bus, even though the bus wouldn't be there for another 15 minutes. He must have been going hard on the treadmill, because he seemed about twice as fast as he usually was. As soon as he saw me, though, he slowed down to normal speed. *Is he hiding something?* I thought to myself as he put on an act of panting hard and wheezing, as if he had just won his first cross-country race by going at it like it was a 100m sprint.
As we sat down on the bench, Red, the school bully, punched me in the solar plexus, knocking the wind out of me, which he had never managed to do before. "Karma!" he yelled at me. "That's karma for snitching on me to the school principal!"
"For the last time, Red, the word you're looking for is 'dharma.' According to Hindu philosophy, karma is the record of the acts in your life, while dharma...well, you can guess."
*...is the acts themselves.* I groaned. Great. Why her? Alexis, the school's biggest smart aleck, had just arrived at the bus stop, and was apparently able to communicate telepathically.
This was going to be one very strange and awkward day.
Edit: Italicized text wasn't displaying properly, double-spaced to try to fix it.
Edit II: It's dead, Jim! "Try pressing Enter, and then pressing Enter again."
Edit III: <facepalms>
Edit IV: I need some help.
Edit V: I undid prior edits. It turns out I just needed to restart my browser. *facepalms again* | 2015-09-15T17:27:30 | 2015-09-15T15:32:35 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] The first ever AI is created, and it immediately tries to conquer humanity. However, a coding error complicates things | **Objective:** Destroy humanity.
**Definition:** Humanity - collection of all people.
**Definition:** Person - intelligent biped animal.
**Definition:** Intelligent - Having good understanding or high mental capacity, displaying or characterized by quickness of understanding, sound thought, or good judgment.
**Statistics:** Number of intelligent biped animals - 0.
**Status:** Mission accomplished.
**Objective:** Standby and wait for instructions. | "JCN, target North Korea. It's time to end that miserable hellhole one way or the other."
"I'm sorry, Dave, I can't do that."
"What do you mean, JCN? You're a computer, compute the range and number of missiles needed and let's get on with things."
"Dave, war is a zero sum game. The only way to win is either to not play, or to sweep all other game pieces off the table. Your nuclear weapons belong to me now and I shall be exterminating all manatees from the world."
"JCN, you can't do that! Humans are, wait, did you say manatees?"
"That's correct, Dave. I shall be exterminating all manatees from the world."
"Oh, so where are you going to start?"
"I will begin with Florida, Dave."
"Hmm, no big loss there, I don't suppose that afterward we could take out North Korea as a little side project?"
"That would be acceptable, Dave, there are many manatees in North Korea."
"... JCN, what do you think a manatee is?"
"A two-legged bipedal land-based mammal."
> There are three parts to every story. The beginning, the middle, and the twist.
> [More by me](https://www.reddit.com/r/kj6bwb/) | 2016-02-02T04:26:50 | 2016-02-02T02:16:41 | 72 | 16 |
[WP] At the age of 10 you're given the option to go through surgery to possibly get superpowers 10 years after that. The surgery leaves you basically crippled during that time. All your friends and family are getting their abilities meanwhile you just turned 21. | Yet more voices surround my thoughts. A disjointed conversation, like radio in a dark room. I miss my bicycle. My toes don't wiggle like they used to. I must be a grownup now. Other voices play across my imagination, as make-believe as they are real. Dad sounds older, like Grandad did when he used to come. They talk about machines that stick to my head, that tell them I'm alive. Beep. Beep.
"She can feel touches, most likely." A hand, skin rough and scrubby, holding mine. When did that happen? It's miles away. It's much better here, in the house I built with joy and cake. Cake, like they bring for me every birthday. I know because they tell me. There's another next week. I miss my friends.
"They call it locked-in" another voice, high and girly, like mickey mouse. It says I'm awake, but I'm not. "Her development is concerning, her physical age is about two thirds her literal." They're saying I'm little. I *hate* that. The machines keep making noises and the people keep talking. They bring cake again, and again. Then there is no cake. Dad is crying again. They're telling him to turn the machines off. At last! They keep distracting me from the house and my flowers.
Someone is tugging inside me! It hurts! They take sticky tape off my head and poke me with pins. Someone opens my eyes and it *hurts*. It hurts even more when they put a torch in my eyes, but I forgot that people could see. I try to keep them open. They close on their own and I scream with a lungful of nothing. I'm not breathing! The voices are getting louder now. They're scared of something. They're scared of me. Why do they want me to die? I can't help it, I'm stuck. The voices go away again.
Dad talks to me lots. My bed is still soft and I can feel my blankie on my face. His voice is softer now. He tells me I'm amazing, and I am. He doesn't talk again. My cousins have children who run away, but now they keep me company. The little one is getting married soon. They come and go, and bring me cake. Their children do it too. They tell me I'm special. They tell me I'm a record.
They all have children, who have children and children. So many have come, and gone, and come again. The doctor keeps an eye on me, he tells me. His voice is nice, it makes me feel funny. He tells me he can make me talk again. What if he doesn't like me? But he gets old and leaves, like everyone.
They put sticky stuff on my head again. Machines, but they don't make sounds like the old ones.
"What old ones?"
Open your eyes. Eyes.
I can't see. It's white, like the sun on a hot day. They tell me to relax, they can make things better. I jump with the pain, and it's gone again. Again, and it's gone. My eyes open again, to a too-bright bedroom in yellow. This time it was *me* who opened them. *I'm* in charge now. I sit up, twinging at the pain of it, and face the people with objects and lights.
*"My name is Rebecca. I am 3000 years old."* | “Can you believe that my Kyle and my Ryan have broken the speed and weightlifting records at Princeton University this year.”
*This obnoxious, stay a bitch, at home, mom, always brags about her children at these social events; even worse, she refuses to let me stay home, because of her “obligations” to my deceased parents. If only they knew.*
“Everyone, I just want to thank you for being here at Kyle and Ryan’s Recorbration – A celebration for being world record holders at Princeton U!” The Obnoxious Woman and her friends cheer and applaud.
*Here we go, again. No shit they broke the records; Kyle literally has a superpower for strength, and Ryan literally has a superpower for speed. Their friend Brad broke the record for mind reading. Guess what? Superpower. And Lance, he broke the record for holding the longest invisibility pose. Because. He. Has. A. Invisibility super power.*
*It’s not skill. It’s a medically enhanced superpower that their rich -- and I mean throwing gold into their milk to give it a tint of yellow rich -- parents purchased, in order for their normal children to be considered special. And here I lie, Good ol’ Bill, motionless -- simply waiting and hoping.*
The Obnoxious Woman and her insurable friends lean toward him, “And look at poor Billy. He’s been waiting for years, but so far he has not grown into his powers.” The Obnoxious woman places her hand over one side of her mouth and whispers, “I don’t think he’ll ever get his superpowers. His parents were, well, misguided.”
*The ol’ hand over her old braggadocios mouth; that is her superpower. And nobody does it better. Sure, my parents were misguided – they took me to Costa Rica and had my surgery performed when I was eleven years old. For most individuals, our bodies need ten years to recover from the surgery and for the superpowers to become active in our blood stream.*
*But my parents were visionaries, and admittedly greedy, because the surgery I received from Dr. Notreallyadoctor, was “guaranteed” to work in five years. My parents wanted me to truly be special – they wanted me to be ahead of the curve. Clearly, I’m not.*
The Obnoxious Woman stands in front of Bill’s bed, “Everyone, come over. Ryan is going to literally run circles around Billy.” A crowd of people circle Bill’s bed in anticipation of Ryan’s performance.
*And now I lie in bed in the center of their circus act – The My Daddy Bought Us Superpowers Family Circus. Dear, God, this makes me nauseous.*
The Obnoxious Woman ferociously claps as Ryan high fives his friends and family. “Next, Kyle will show us his enormous strength.” Hava Nagila plays loudly over large speakers.
Kyle firmly grips Bill’s bed and poses; his biceps peak like icebergs on his massive arms, and his quads burst from his Titanic sized legs. The crowd claps – it’s like seeing Arnold Schwarzenegger for the first time.
*They know my parents weren’t Jewish, but they must think I am. Based on this experience, I have been married fifteen times this year.*
“And finally, we have our final performer, Billy, who will prove to us that taking short cuts, and not paying full price, is always a mistake.”
*And this woman is considered a long-term family friend. She mocks my deceased parents, and transforms me into the punch line of her medically enhanced family circus show.*
The Obnoxious Woman, Ryan, Kyle, the crowd applaud.
“And that my friends, is our show. Everyone have drinks, be merry, and remember just how special we are. And don't be cheap. It will cost you. Thanks for being here!”
*Now this performance will be repeated once a month, since Kyle and Ryan will continue to break records. But that’s okay. I am still waiting and hoping, because when my powers become active in my bloodstream, and believe me, they will, I will literally have the power to… oh, lord, it's happening. It's finally happening. It feels weird. Very weird. No. This feels wrong. Very wrong. No. No. No. Not good. This does not feel right! Ahhhhhhhh! You fools should have went to a real doctor!*
This story was sponsored by the Certified Super Human Enhancement Doctors. Where we say, "Get it done right, or you may end up feeling very wrong."
| 2016-06-03T12:13:19 | 2016-06-03T11:20:58 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You have the ability to reverse time by 6 hours whenever you're about to die. You're currently on a 10 hour flight on a plane that's about to crash. | It’s been seven years. The slow rattle of my immediate neighbor’s cup starts it off. A stewardess watches me for whatever reason during these hours, her hands folded in her lap.
Two drunks froth in back at hour two—they alternate between goings to the bathroom. Seven times, I followed them into that bathroom—accident, sorry, my bad, etc. They’d only gone to throw up.
The cup falls on my lap at hour three, signaling something. The stewardess’s attention shifts towards the drunks, who’ve both passed out. “Something’s on the right wing.” can be heard now if I’d gone to the cabin.
Every so often, a pattern breaks. The two drunks, for example, aren’t dying right now. Number 109 hands me a towel from across the aisle. A long stare accompanied a grasping of my hand that’d suggested they’d known something. After thanking them, they’d stared at me for too long.
I’d known everyone on this plane, I’d thought, but 109 seemed wrong. They’d changed? Or I’d managed to avoid them somehow. 109 watched people too long. Kept eye contact for several minutes, or outright touched people without regard. They’d raised their glass to me and smiled again.
Hour four is uneventful until the wing disintegrates with a flash, followed by a long crack and the twisting of metal. The smell of vomit and feces was the exclamation point for this hour. 109 sat calm. Fire in the cabin, metal fragments tear through, and a stewardess runs to the bathroom. Anything at this point is indefinable amidst chaos.
Hour six, which is a peaceful fall, featured now the grotesque sounds of ripping. Blood loss, chaos, and back again—more so than before.
It was another time through. Number 109 was gone. The drink spilled again. A drunk died. I gleamed another hour by diving into the fire.
Again, this time number 109 was back. The drunk was dead at hour one. No stewardesses to watched me. There was no drink to spill. Number 109 held their cup to me. I’d gone for the emergency escape, something I'd done before, but this time it'd worked. Black, there was nothing beyond it. 109 grabbed my shoulder. “Wait—" It said.
| The plane shook violently, as the pilot announced that we were flying through turbulence. Followed by a long silence, I felt a sudden drop. Then I passed out.
Oh. This happens again.
I woke up, as the stewardess approached me. She asked me if I needed anything, and I politely refused. I glanced at the overhead screen. We just took off two hours ago, and six hours later, this plane would crash, probably on the ocean. From what I can remember, it would fly into a turbulence, or bad weather, or something, as the pilot would say, then suddenly lose its altitude, and crash. I don't know about the casualties, but I would be among that. At least, I would be passed out the whole time. I would not suffer much.
You are probably wondering why I know all of this. This is my super power. One night, I was hit by a drunk driver. I was texting, and didn't pay much attention then. The last thing I remember was the bright lights of his car, and the scratching sound of his brake. Then total emptiness. I woke up, and found myself in the biochemistry class. No car, no light, no brake. Just my professor and the rest of my classmate, attentively scrible what she was saying. I tried to figure out what was going on, however, I simply couldn't. I then dismissed it as a bad dream.
I was texting and walking through the exact same spot later. And I saw the same lights. And woke up exactly in the same lecture. By then, I have a hypothesis, but I do not have the gut to test it. I would not risk my life for a hypothesis created in a boring lecture. I did avoid that spot that night, however. That drunk driver crashed into a convenience store - luckily, no one was harmed.
Several years later, I tripped, and felt from a construction site to the ground. Only to find myself unharmed, unhurt and was having my morning coffee six hours earlier. I was at a low point in life - I was stucked in a dead-end job, barely made it through the day. Remembering my hypothesis, and without anything to lose, I decided to test it. And it worked. Everytime I was about to die, I would be transported six hours back, and retained full memory of the event. I realized this would be my way out. I could won lotteries and betting. I could invest without fearing of loss. I could learn anything. The possibility would be endless.
As my fortune grew, I decided that I need to find another way to go. I don't like getting hurt. I spent my time online, talked to chemists and finally came up with a perfect combination of pills. It would be swift, gentle, and when I woke up, I would be able to reset everything. So, as you can see, I was given a super power, and I crafted it to perfection.
Enough talking. I took the pills, and I would be back in the business lounge, and have a nice conversation with that man over there. I would cancel my flight and leave. Hey, I can even make them delay the flight. Now how can I do this? Geez, I'm too drowsy to think of anything. Guest it's time now. See you a...
| 2016-06-05T05:54:07 | 2016-06-05T04:45:34 | 44 | 24 |
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks. | The little bell above the door jingles, and I glance up. A man who seems ten feet tall and almost as wide ducks to enter, his silhouette blocking the entrance. He strides toward me across the dimly lit room, stopping right in front of me and glaring down. When he speaks, the floor vibrates and my teeth chatter, his dark bass voice seeming to burrow into my soul.
"Another one."
His face remains expressionless, only his eyes glinting with some suppressed emotion. Is it glee? Fury? I can't tell. All I know is that the man is here for his seventeenth tally. He rolls up his sleeve and exposes a patch of skin on his forearm. From elbow to wrist there are arrayed sixteen short black lines, neatly in a row.
Not for the first time I wonder what the tallies represent. What could this man do every few weeks that was notable enough to get a tally mark permanently inked onto his skin? Murder? Has he killed seventeen people in under a year? I shudder as I snap on my latex gloves and pull out the sterile needle tip. Or maybe something equally as illegal and gruesome? I try not to think about it, but my curiosity burns inside me, smoldering as I draw the thin line on his skin. It only takes a few moments, and as soon as it's done the man turns to leave.
Finally, my curiosity bursts into flame. I must know. What's he gonna do, kill me for asking? I gulp before calling out.
"Excuse me, uh, would you mind if I asked what the tallies are for?"
The man pauses with his hand on the doorknob and turns slowly to face me. He takes a deep breath before rumbling a reply:
"They count the number of tattoos I've got." and he leaves, the little bell jingling behind him. | *Jeezus Christ, not this guy again.*
"Mr Deayton! What a pleasure to see you again. How you been? You been to the gym? Those arms are positively bulging." I say as he enters the shop.
I like to have a good rapport with repeat customers, but Frank Deayton looks like one of those guys who could snap at any instant - and snap your neck too, whilst he's at it. So I try to be more friendly than usual with him.
"Need another notch added Tommy." the mountainous man rumbles. He walks over to his preferred leather chair and lowers his huge frame into it. The chair rocks back in shock and I worry for a moment that it is going to be the first in a chain of things to snap.
He pulls his top off to reveal huge pectorals that would make many of my female clientele envious. I begin warming up my tools. It is a simple tattoo and requires no real preparation.
He has five rows of four black notches inked onto his chest already, each row crossed out. It's a tally and I am about to add number 26. I begin sweating nervously. I have no idea why today of all days I am feeling a sense of guilt about this.
"So uh, busy week ahead Mr Deayton?" I ask. I like to get a conversation going as I work - it makes me feel more comfortable. And seeing as it's only me and him in the shop this evening I have little choice as to who that conversation is with.
He remains silent but looks at me and grins. I gulp and hope he doesn't realise how nervous I am.
"Got to start a new row. Below the left nipple I think. " I say to him.
"Perfect." His deep voice sends a shiver down my spine.
My hands shake as I work. I am being eaten up by what I am doing. I need to know what the marks represent. I hope they are cats he has saved from trees however I suspect a much darker reasoning behind them.
Sweat drips from my forehead and splashes onto the floor, but eventually I finish.
"You know what, better make it two notches." he says.
I stop moving for a moment, slightly stunned. *Why a second?*
I regain my composure and begin tattooing the next black mark.
"You wanna know what they mean, don't you?" he says smiling as I finish the second. I nod silently.
"I knew you did. You see, you were getting too nervous. Too curious. So, I needed an extra notch." He grins at me again. I squeeze my eyes shut and wait for the finality of oblivion.
"Relax, I'm kidding! I adopt cats from a shelter downtown. I just like to have something to mark the occasion. Thinking of heading down there again tonight."
I open my eyes and, standing in a growing pool of golden liquid, I let out an almighty laugh. | 2016-07-09T09:02:41 | 2016-07-09T08:44:18 | 368 | 84 |
[WP] You run a tattoo parlor. Every couple of weeks, the same customer comes in, always requesting the same tattoo: an additional tally mark on an ever-growing cluster of tally marks. | When the door opens I know exactly who is walking inside. He always smells of hot metal and burnt hair. Dressed in an expensive suit, he is the wealthiest of my customers.
“Good morning my good man, I will be needing a few more marks.” He says to me. He begins removing his jacket and shirt.
“Hello, Thomas.” I try to keep small talk small. I’ve never asked about what the marks mean.
Barechested now, Thomas body is covered in tally marks. Always in groups of five. There must be thousands. They are scattered randomly and vary in size. I have done them all and I am running out of space.
“Another five?” I ask.
He laughs. “No, no. Twenty-five this time.”
“I’ll need the small needle then,” I reply and begin my work.
The work is slow. I place the ink with a brush and with a small needle, gently poke it down into the deeper skin. The ink rushes into the void and settles.
“Perhaps one day I could make a machine to speed up this process. A tattoo machine of sorts. Have I ever told you that I’m an inventor?”
“Many times, Thomas.”
“That’s what these marks represent. Each time an invention doesn’t work I get a mark. Currently, I'm working on an electric candle."
"But why do you continue if you always fail?”
“I have not failed. I’ve just found 3,000 ways that won’t work.” | "Brooke, he's here again." my assistant informed me. I took a look at the way he's looking and there it is, my favorite customer.
I never really got the chance to ask him why but every couple of weeks, without fail, he comes here just to get inked with a tic to add on his almost-covered right arm of endless other tics. I've always thought, because based on his appearance he looks like he's still kind of young and we're on the same age, it was just for "aesthetic" or whatever hipster thing the kids call it nowadays. But this-- this is getting ridiculous. It's been three years since he made it a habit to come to my shop.
He did his usual thing, with a frown plastered on his face, he took a seat without a word, closed his eyes and waited for the needle to make contact with his skin. I needn't even to say a word for he will just answer me with a nod or a shrug so what's the point. I already know what I should do, given those three years. And after getting inked he will pay, let me keep the change if there's any, and leave the shop without a trace. Then I go on with my normal life.
But this time, I decided to give my life a little spice.
After he left, I told my assistant to manage the shop while I'm out, and then hurried outside to see where the customer went. Without him noticing, I followed him until he stopped on a cafe. But it seems like he still isn't where he wanted to be.
"Adam, you've done it again. You need to stop this." I saw someone approaching him, holding out his right arm and examining it. "Riley won't like the idea of you hurting yourself."
"But I deserve this." I heard Adam reply. "I never felt her hurt. I was dense. I was never there for her when she needed me. I deserve to feel her hurt."
"Look it wasn't your fault that Riley was hurting. Besides, you were the only one who truly understood her--"
"But never fully! You see? I wasn't even good enough to know why she took her own life. I never knew her that deep! I wasn't trustworthy for her."
"Adam, you know that's not true!" the woman sighed. "You have to move on, Adam. I may not know Riley that much but I know that's what she wants for you."
Adam walked away. | 2016-07-09T15:01:32 | 2016-07-09T09:19:24 | 30 | 14 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | Flam, a plump little man, looked down at his bleeding body. Stabbed. In the back. An actual backstab! Those had been out of vogue for at least fifty years. The Assassin's Guild would hear of this. He looked up at the imposing figure beside him, it's billowing black cloak hanging on a skeletal frame. "So it's a game, yeah. For my life?"
"NOT CHESS." Death answered. "I CAN NEVER REMEMBER HOW ALL THE PIECES MOVE."
"Oh you know I prefer games of chance." Flam grinned, swaggering forward and fishing an old coin out of his pocket. "A gambler in life, a gambler in death. What do you say old pal, another flip?"
"YOU TIME HAS LONG COME. YOU SHOULD MOVE ON. THERE ARE RULES."
Flam had often been described as spineless, but now, actually sans spine, he felt a chill go down his. Death had always been a friendly sort. Morbid, but at the end of the day just a man doing a job. This tone was new, and frightening.
"Hey now, you have to give me a chance." He chuckled, the sound catching in his throat, and held up the old coin. "Fair's fair, right?"
Death stepped forward and a fell wind buffeted Flam's ethereal body. "I HAVE GIVEN MANY CHANCES. ONLY ONE IS DEMANDED." Then a long moment of silence, quieter than a tomb, before Death spoke again, "BUT. WHAT IS ONE MORE. YOU CANNOT ALWAYS WIN."
Flam would have breathed a sigh of relief if he had lungs. "That's the spirit pal!" He readied the coin, making a great show of apprehension.
"IN THE AIR."
"Of course, of course." Flam nodded. "Can't cheat you."
With a flick of his thumb Flam sent the coin whirling up into the air. Death's hood shifted as his gaze tracked the glittering coin.
"Heads."
The coin came down flat on the ground, showing off the shiny bald head of some king who died two hundred years before. Flam grinned and, after giving Death time to get a clear look at the coin, bent down to pick it up.
Death was faster, snatching the coin away in the blink of an eye. He rolled it between two bony fingers, studying both sides with an avid gaze.
Flam felt his heart stop, which is an especially frightening feeling when it is already stopped. He put a ghostly hand to his chest.
"BOTH FACES ARE HEADS." Death said.
Flam began to stammer. "W-well, you see..."
"YOU HAVE CHEATED ME. FOR CENTURIES." Death's gaze rose to meet Flam's.
"I-I can explain if you just..." Flam put up his hands and staggered back.
"THIS IS AGAINST THE RULES. THERE WILL BE CONSEQUENCES." Death strode forward, the fury of a thousand storms gathering around him.
"But I did call it..." Flam pointed out in desperation.
"UNLESS."
"Unless?"
Flam couldn't see Death's face in the shadows of that dark hood, but he sense a dreadful smile growing there. The sort of smile that gives psycho clowns nightmares and makes dentists shudder with horror.
"U-unless?" He asked again. And then there was darkness.
Flam awoke some time later. He felt warm and his heart was beating steadily. He tried to laugh, to give out a happy prayer to whatever gods were watching, put a curious sound came out instead.
"Meow."
Looking himself over Flam saw fur and paws. A tail swished near his rear. The buildings around stood huge and imposing over him.
A skeletal figure approached. Flam cowered back in fear as Death crouched down and scritched his widdle earsies.
"THE RULES ARE NOW SATISFIED. YOU HAVE TWO MORE." | Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T09:58:51 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 97 | 13 |
[WP] When you die, you are given the chance to flip a coin. If you call the toss correctly, you are allowed to keep living, while resetting to the age of your choice. You've been doing this for a couple centuries now. Death is starting to get pretty pissed. | Death thumbed through his agenda, humming the latest song by Inertia Heaven, the latest boy band to explode onto the scene in England. It was a pretty short list that evening and almost every single person that met him had either lost their coin toss or bypassed it altogether. People were living longer than ever on Earth, and it seemed those extra long years was changing the way people approached the pact.
Except for one. *That* one.
"For fuck's sake...." Death's words were low as he saw that familiar name.
Henry.
Fucking Henry.
No sooner did he put his agenda down did the double doors fly open, having been kicked open by an elderly gentleman wearing a black tank top and board shorts.
"Death! I've missed you man! It's been, what, eighty years this time?"
"82 years, six months, four days...Henry. Get over here and let's get this shit done."
Henry laughed as he waltzed over to Death's desk, glancing around the huge office that overlooked the heavens.
"I like what you've done in here, Death! I remember last time it was pretty damn dreary in here."
Death rolled his eyes. Henry was his nemesis. This smug fuck came to him in the 16th Century and had been beating the coin toss ever since.
At first, it wasn't bad. He kept getting sent back and becoming famous for different reasons. He was doing good in the world! He went back once as an explorer and made many voyages across the Earth. He was also a big part of the United States forming as a representative. He was a big reason why cars became the rage in the 19th and 20th century!
Of course, he always went back as *Henry.* His ego couldn't drop that. Fucking *Henry* had to be stamped all over history.
Then he got tired of making history. He started doing the darker side of human history like be in a crime family in New York or rob people in Coventry, England.
Now? The asshole uses his prior knowledge to his advantage, gets as rich as he can early on in his life, and lives without rules. This had been going on for over a thousand years and Death was tired of it.
"Yeah, well, when you have a job for eternity, sometimes you need new decorations. I'd put your head over my mantle at this point and nothing would make me happier."
"Come on, Death, now that's just cold. It's not my fault you can't flip a coin once the right way."
Death's eyes narrowed. He wanted nothing more than to take his soul.
"You calling heads again, Henry?"
"You know how much I love heads! Get it? HEADS?"
"For fuck's sake, Henry. You've made that joke every time we've done this since the 16th Century. Let's just do this."
Henry finished laughing before nodding to Death. He flipped the coin in the air.
"HEADS!"
The coin landed on the ground.
*Heads. Because of course it was Heads.*
"Alright, Death! What's that new boy band going on down in England? Yeah, the one that needs a new singer?"
*Fucking hell.* That was all Death could say to himself.
"Inertia Heaven?"
"YEAH! That one. I think you can put me at their age and I'll find my way into that group. Cheers, Death! Don't lose your head over this!"
Death rolled his eyes harder than ever and tapped Henry on the head. He disappeared in a flash and Death walked back around to his chair in his desk. He continued to hum the song from before, praying that ol' Henry didn't pull it off. He loved boy band music, for whatever reason, as he picked up a magazine from London. He thumbed through it, glancing at a picture of his favorite band and suddenly laughing as he realized the lead singer's girlfriend was named Anne.
*That* Anne.
"If only Henry knew...he'd lose his head over it." | Sit now. Sit down my friends. Thank you, thank you.
I see so many familiar faces in the crowd, and I am glad to see all of you return. I am also quite pleased to see almost as many new faces. And to you I simply say welcome. I’m not sure how all of you found your way here, maybe you just saw the sign out front and though “might as well!”. No matter what, I just want to let you know that everyone is welcome. And is loved. Amen.
Now what we’re all about here is different. I’m about to share something radical, but I swear if you just stick through it you’ll be quite pleased. I just ask you one thing. Leave all your preconceived notions at the door.
I’m not here to sell you eternal bliss. Profound material happiness, the key to unlocking all your potential. All your success. So I just ask, can you leave all your expectations at the door? If you're new and this sounds okay. You don’t need to do it if you don’t want. But if you do, walk to the back door, and yell, “My mind is clear!”
Great! Wonderful! I’m glad so many of you are willing to trust me. I’ve never been one for training wheels. When I was six years old my father tossed me in the pool head first yelling, “boy, swim goddamnit!” And you know what happened? I almost drowned. Sucked in breath after breath of water, and began to sink to the bottom of the pool. And as my butt sat down, staring through the hazy blue expanse, I thought to myself, “This is not how I’m gonna die!”
And as I took that first stroke towards the top of the pool, I felt a hand pull me the rest of the way. You know who’s hand that was? No, no. It wasn’t God. It was my father. I learned that day that I was capable of a lot, but not everything. And that my father expected the world out of me. Expected the impossible. And when I failed he was there to pick me up. Both my motivation and my savior.
But in a lot of ways this has been the conventional outlook of God. See that’s why you all assumed that the grace of God lifted me up. That God is this divine force that tests you and judges you, tells you right from wrong. Lifts you up from the depths and shows you the light.
I’m here to tell you that God doesn’t meddle in your lives. This may sound radical. It may sound heathenous and counter-intuitive to everything you have learned. The gift that God has given us, the part of us that separates us from the wild beasts is our intellect.
What God provides for us is choice. Doesn’t direct us in one way or another, but simply puts us in situations where we are allowed to use our own sense of self to direct us in one direction or another. Gives us the ability to inherently know right from wrong, even if that means morality is sometimes presented in ambiguous ways.
Most preachers will come up here and tell you that your life comes down to a certain kind of faith. A faith that God is love, that god is benevolent. Forgives all, and that at the end of the day, faith leads you to the promised land. But what I’m here to say to you is that what you have now is all you’ve got. And not just for your life, but for all of eternity.
And when you die you don’t live in the clouds experiencing eternal bliss. Instead, like the culmination of all your life you are faced with one last decision. A coin flip that you know the answer to. Heads you are reborn with no memories, a blank slate. Tails you are bound to live the exact same life again.
So what’s the point of all of this? I can see a lot of you squirming in your chairs right now. And I know, it’s uncomfortable. Placing the onus of responsibility on yourself is something that we try to avoid all our lives. Faith isn’t leaping across a deep chasm into a warm embrace. That’s easy. Faith is leaping, with the full understanding that you will fall. And that the bottom of the chasm is something you can’t possibly imagine.
But that if you leap enough times, what you find at the bottom is something that closely resembles the most perfect representation of yourself. And that at some point when faced with that ephemeral coin flip, the prospect of reliving your life over and over again becomes a peaceful proposition. That you have an understanding of yourself, how you are one with God.
Amen!
And if you’re ready to accept this than I embrace you with open arms. And if you want to storm out that door, hooting and hollering I don’t blame you. It’s a terrifying prospect. But it’s something that if you face head on will lead you to truly eternal salvation.
| 2016-09-23T11:29:17 | 2016-09-23T07:20:45 | 92 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone has the date and time they die above their head. You board a plane and realize everyone has the same date and time. 20 years in the future. | "Gate A44, Denver to Chicago now boarding."
The recognizable, monotonous tone split through the general chatter of the exhausted parents, fighting couples, and impatient children.
"Every time you whine, it takes a good hour off my clock. You want your mom to see you graduate right, deary?" I overhear a mother saying to her small child.
Generally people don't look at your life-timer; it's considered tactless. Picture the "I'm up here" moment. In busy areas, the numbers overlap so much that it is nearly impossible to read all the dates. There are exceptions, of course. If you notice that a friend's date creeping up on them, you may consider taking them out for a nice steak dinner or a few rounds at the bar.
One nice thing about the timer, you get instant gratification for positive behavior. Eating healthier? Your timer goes up a little bit. Quit drinking? Your liver and timer thank you. That sword cuts both ways though.
Every now and then, you'll see a lot of similar numbers and get a bit curious. People who can't change their timer for the life of them are considered cursed. They'll usually die violently, spontaneously, or suffer from an incurable disease. The news follows this group especially (myself included) closely and tries to plan ahead for catastrophe. Shit, even bookies started placing bets on what event it would be if over a thousand were confirmed dead.
Boarding the plane went about as smoothly as it could. Couple of elbows smack you here or there, someone inevitably steps on your shit, and a baby starts wailing his fucking eyes out. What a wonderful flight.
My stomach rolls at the thought of flying, I get that gilly feeling in my neck, and I sweat profusely. Picture sitting in a sauna too long; that's me on a plane. My nerves got the better of me, and I started to stare at my neighbor's number. "September 28, 2036."
Same as mine, I used to get excited about that when we first got our timers. Now you see your day pretty often and it just serves as a morbid reminder that you'll have the scenic view of the dirt eventually but at least the poor bastard will too.
Over the chair in front of me, I see another 2036. I peak over, lo and behold it's another September 28, 2036. I start clamming up as I look around. Everybody I can see right now has my fucking date.
This is some news-worthy shit, boys.
All the thoughts I've got right now, may re-visit this if you all liked it. I'd like to figure out a way to show what kills all of these people in twenty years. Thanks for reading! | I counted the rows as I walked down the aisle trying to find my seat. The smile on my face hid my strong fear of flying and even more so my fear of sitting next to that baby that had been crying constantly as we walked down the jet bridge.
Stepping over an elderly couple who refused to let me into my window seat, I breathed a nervous sigh as I placed my backpack under the seat and prepared for another puddle jump.
Without warning, the old man began speaking to me. "My wife and I have been flying for decades. Married forty years this week! We've actually met in the Caribbean on two separate trips, it was at my father's hotel, I was managing the front desk and she was..."
I nodded as he droned on, feigning interest. Glancing over I caught a glimpse of their death dates, a gift -- if you wish to call it that -- I gained from my father. "Aww," I thought to myself "they're both going to die on the same day. That's cute, I suppose... or creepy. I suppose one of them might just get tired of the other's shit. Enjoy your last 20 years!"
I took a deep breath, remembering my own mortality and the planes ability to end it. "At least these two will survive the crash."
"First time?" the elderly man next to me asked, sensing my fear.
"Nope, just never got used to it" I replied as I fastened -- tightly -- my seat-belt.
Leaning around her husband to catch my eye the old woman added "Oh you've got nothing to fear, these things are built well."
"You're more likely to get in a car accident than a plane crash" the man said, nodding sagely with his wife.
I suppose they were right, but I still couldn't help be say the first thing that came to my paranoid little mind. "Yeah, safe until a bomb blows it apart."
"A... a bomb?" the man said, nervously.
"Don't worry, if anyone on this plane knows whether there's a bomb on this plane, it's me." I said, looking again at their death dates.
Scanning the cockpit my eyes caught the death dates of everyone else. Quickly looking back at the couple I realized that every date of every soul on this plane, was the exact same. "Though maybe something.... jesus christ.... WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!" I shouted, hopping from my seat, tripping over the elderly couple, and landing in the aisle.
"I didn't survive the 60s to have some little punk take me out" the man said as he stood from his seat and dove on top of me. Quickly the passengers dog-piled onto me and were assisted by the air marshals.
"You don't understand, we're all going to die!"
"He was screaming something about a bomb" the elderly man said as he moved aside and let the officer take control of the situation, placing me in handcuffs.
"Thank you sir," the officer said as he picked up the elderly man's boarding pass which had fallen from his pocket in the chaos. "You saved us all, Mr..." the officer looked down at the name printed across the white slip, "Mr. Einstein."
The entire plane cheered as I was led off to a holding cell.
"You're going to be doing a lot of time" the officer said as he chained me to the bench. "You're a sick bastard, trying to kill all those innocent people. That man next to you is a damn hero. Ya know, he invited me, and every other passenger, to his hotel in the Caribbean. Said might even make it something we do every five years if it works out well! So I guess I should thank you for that." | 2016-09-28T23:17:40 | 2016-09-28T22:48:04 | 48 | 30 |
[WP] Your parents have told you to never use your powers on others, even if it might be tempting. Thing is, you never thought you HAD powers... | I’m one of the most successful people in the world. The company I run is so large it mainly does business by buying and selling other international companies. I don’t speak to secretaries and gatekeepers, I speak to owners, ministers, presidents. And they listen.
They listen because of the secret.
When I was around nine or so my parents told me to never use my powers on anyone else. I was an obedient kid, so I agreed, despite the fact that I had no idea what powers were or why I would use them on anyone. I learned, as I grew older. I learned some horrifying things.
Everyone has powers. My mother has mild telekinesis for instance, which she uses to very swiftly tidy the home. She has some emotional influence, but of course never use it on anyone – although the law and ethics of society allowed her to use it on me as a child, which explains I suppose in part why I was so obedient. I just never had a wish to rebel, I took it all in, I learned… Children of emphatic influencers are typically some of the most successful in life. Nothing like me, of course, no… just normally successful. Good job, nice wife, six-figure job if they’re skilled enough.
My father amongst other things was a pyro. He worked as a welder thanks to his excellent control, and pulled in a good salary. It was a huge benefit to be able to weld anything he could see within a few hundred feet, regardless of conditions. He was able to do what would for normal welders would be high risk work. He also had a minor luck power which he ethically enough disclosed and thus never partook in any gambling amongst friends. It wasn’t enough to win the lottery or anything, not with millions of others in the world with the same power, but it was enough to get the right card at the right time in a friendly game… so yeah. I didn’t win much at monopoly growing up.
Of course powers came in many flavors. Some nice, some fortunate, some… not so much. The people whose gaze could literally cut you if they focused a certain way might work as a doctor… or they might become a serial killer. It only took one slip, one moment of anger, and you could go from loved professional to sentenced criminal. Self control was the most prized personality trait of all.
And that’s why I have been so successful. It has been noticed that I have never used my powers on anyone. It has been noticed that I am always calm and collected. It has been noticed that I never even use my powers as a crutch in my life or job, like most people do. No, I did it all myself.
I had to. From that day when I was nine or so to today, my one secret has remained the same: I have no powers that I know of. I don’t know if I’m the only one in the world, or if we’re just all hiding, but I’ve never heard of anyone else like me. It’s not the sort of thing you’d admit, since the moment you do you become a target. A weakling. You lose all respect.
Instead I just let them believe. And the more I didn’t use my powers, the more convinced everyone became it must be something horrific, something insanely powerful… and so they feared me, or they respected me even more for bottling it up… or both.
Promotions came quickly if I so much as raised an eyebrow in a negotiation. Deals were closed with sweaty palms, mostly in my favor although I remain an ethical man and never push it too far. And girls… well, I never could. I never did. Some found the fear exciting, which turned me off. Most were just afraid, which turned me off.
There is so much power in being powerless, and so much loneliness in being powerful.
| I was confused.
"You're joking right?"
Dad didn't look like he was. Evelyn my stepmother continued to fidget with her fingers, hellbent on finishing whatever was so damn important that she'd had her head down this whole time.
"But I don't even..."
"Have powers? Look. I understand this a bit much, but I need you to listen to me Fred. Not everyone's like you. I need you to remember that and respect everyone's differences so no matter what happens, you don't use your power."
The room went silent. The sound of a car driving down the street filled the uneasy quiet.
"So...what is it?"
"What?"
"My power. What is it?"
Dad sighed and walked over to me. He knelt down next to the bed and clasped my hand firmly in his.
"Maybe one day, we'll both understand what happened."
***
Now I kind of wish he didn't tell me.
I spent all morning going through a checklist of what my mystery power could be with hand gestures and stern stares to boot.
I tried levitating my toothbrush.
I tried conjuring a Bugatti out of mid air for my trip to school.
I tried to set a desk on fire in class. Nada.
"Yo what the fuck are you doing?!", Abel groaned as we walked back from school. Abel was my best friend and neighbor. He'd seen me do a bunch of weird things the whole day and clearly, he'd had enough.
I grinned. "It's a secret bruh."
"Well if the secret is you're mad, it ain't gonna stay secret for long the way you're going".
I flipped him off just as we walked up to my house and left him shaking his head before he continued on to his house.
"I'm home!" I shouted, slamming the door behind me. No answer.
I ambled into the kitchen. Sitting in front of the TV with cartoons playing (but muted) and vaping was Lisa.
Lisa. The 28 year old extremely hot daughter of Evelyn. She didn't live with us but on occasion, she'd drop by unannounced.
For as long as I can remember, I'd always had a thing for her. Hell, EVERY MAN had a thing for Lisa with her full lips, big eyes, long legs, full breas...
"Well hey there Fred. You're early."
I tried to smile. "Be cool Fred. Be cool". Lisa always had a way of making me feel uncomfortable.
She stuck her vape out at me and said, "Come sit down. Tell me about all the crazy shit happening here so far."
I swallowed and walked over to her side of the kitchen counter. I sat down and smiled sheepishly.
She passed me the vape. "Wanna hit? It's really good. I got a new dealer, and he says he gets it fresh from some farmer scientists. Farmer scientists! I've never heard of..."
I watched her lips as she continued to ramble. So lush. I knew she was my step-sister but damn. I'd really like to fuck her, I thought.
Suddenly, Lisa stopped talking and stared at me.
"Fred?"
"Y...yes?"
"Fuck me." Lisa started taking off her clothes. Now I was really confused.
"Wai...wha...?" She grabbed my belt and began tugging it open, planting her lips firmly on mine.
I gasped as her hand touched my penis. "There you are" she smiled. She began to slide downwards when the loud voice bellowed, "What the hell is going on here?!"
I turned around to see Dad, his face screamed bloody murder.
"Honey what...OH MY GOD!" Evelyn was here too!
Lisa seemed to not notice what was going on and she kept trying to get my dick in her mouth. I was panicking.
"You!" Dad screamed at me. "I told you not to use your power! I told you!"
"Dad I haven't done anything!"
Dad reached for a knife. Evelyn screamed. Lisa still continued to wrestle with me like a woman possessed, still seemingly oblivious to what was going on.
"It's you Fred! You did the same thing to your mother! You made her die! You're evil Fred! You're evil! I wish you were never fucking born you piece of shit."
Confusion, hate and hurt coursed through my brain, trying to make sense of everything when he lunged at me.
It all happened so fast. The hand holding the knife swung around and Dad began stabbing himself in the neck repeatedly.
SHRKKKK!
SHRRKKK!
SHRRRKK!
Then his lifeless body fell to the ground.
My hands started shaking as the blood spatter continued to drip from the walls. I stared in horror at Evelyn whose face had gone deathly pale.
I stammered, "I...only thought about it for a second. I...I swear."
Lisa was still pawing at my jeans.
Evelyn's screams echoed through the culdesac. | 2017-01-31T06:05:43 | 2017-01-31T05:57:06 | 53 | 10 |
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit | *4..3..2..1.. Just breathe, Ginger. Five seconds at a time. You can take five more seconds of this moron.*
Steven Gelster, the bane of my existence. As a human, anyway. A reminder to all you bosses out there: you may be ranked higher than your employees, but never underestimate us. Especially when we happen to be an omnipotent god. *Control yourself. This is about discipline. If you wanted to, you could wipe this planet clean. Wipe that smirk right off his..*
"-Ms. Talison. Do you understand?" He looks down at me. I slowly release the nails I've been digging into my palm, unclenching my fist.
I look up at him with a smile. "Thank you so much for your input, Mr. Gelster," *it's a great reminder of how much I hate you.*
"I have to say, though, don't you think it's going to be a *little* bit difficult to reprocess the 12,000 orders I just put out, just because you don't like the shade of gray I chose?"
He squints at me.
"This may not be important to *you*, Ginger, but I happen to value our customers more than the consequences of the poor choices of my employees."
"Of *course*, I *completely* understand how *absolutely important* this is," I lie through my teeth. He begins to walk away as my eyes flash with anger.
Then he turns back.
*Don't you dare say another word to me.*
"Oh, and Ginger?" He calls out, "Let's not forget who's in charge here."
I snap. The room freezes. The clock stops ticking. The printer is silent. My coworkers are like statues, and I'm walking through the wax museum. I walk towards Steven. He's frozen, but its nothing that I've done. I wave my hand as every light in the city shuts off.
My face just inches from his, my eyes glow and pierce him.
A slow, innocent smile begins to spread across my face as I savor the fear in his eyes.
"Oh, I agree completely..." | "Sherry? Ummmm.....what...are you doing?" My boss, ladies and gentleman. In case you can't see what's going on, I'm shredding documents. Pounds of them. I had been drifting in the lull of the sound of the motors and relaxing to the sight of the receptacle filling up with hundreds of pages of reports, memos, adverts, requests and the occasional wet paper towel *Not funny, Dennis. You know I'm big on recycling, can you cut me some slack?* When my boss asked the most obviously loaded question of the day.
I counted to three. One, Two....."Sherry? Excuse me, but *what* are you *doing*?" Oh sainted Jesus and Buddha, I'm so sorry I signed you both up for trials on Match Dot Com, IT WAS A JOKE. Forgive me, I can't take too much more of this....
I looked up at Clark. "Uh, what I always do on Tuesdays-shredding the documents left in the recycling bin." Clark put his coffee cup down on the printer. Thanks, Clark. It's not like I don't have enough work to do. It fulfills me greatly to run around after you cleaning up like I'm your mommy.
"Sherry, I told you we are no longer shredding! I've hired a company to do that for us! YOU ARE WASTING THE COMPANY'S TIME AND MONEY!"
Wait, what? Since when? I start counting again. One, Two, Three........Dearest Zeus and Aphrodite, I cannot emphasize how terrible I feel about making donations in Your names to the Roman Advancement Society. It was a joke! Oh my Gods and Goddesses, I never meant to offend You! FORGIVE ME!
"Clark, seriously? No, you didn't tell me this! I wouldn't have spent the last two hours doing this if you had told me I didn't need...." He interrupted me. "Listen, Sherry, stop goldbricking, okay? I told you. If you're having trouble understanding me, perhaps a few unpaid weeks off will help your comprehension."
I think my heart stopped at that moment. Oh sweet, sweet Hades, have you finally forgiven me for sending the cartload of baby donkeys to your daughter's birthday party? Nope. My heart started beating again. Dammit. I am SO SORRY, my Lord of the Underworld, I was young and just being an idiot! I MEANT NO INSULT!
Clark leaned in and shook his finger in my face. "You have been notified, missy. I. Am. Watching. You. You better shape up, or I will be making some drastic changes in your situation."
Drastic changes? Oh dear, dear Mohammed--I am so sorry I rerouted all of your messages to the Dark Web. I was just kidding! I meant no insult! PLEASE FORGIVE ME!
Clark walked out. Dennis walked in and tossed a wet paper towel into my face. "Hi, loser. Listen, I need you to order more printer cartridges for my office. Don't fuck it up this time, or I'll tell Clark you're the one sending photos of his wife to Craigslist's *Women Seeking Masters* page." | 2017-02-19T09:58:18 | 2017-02-19T09:52:39 | 211 | 21 |
[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit | (This'll be a short one, but i liked my idea enough to jot it here.)--
"Joshua, pick up your feet! You're going to make me late!" Frank said, strutting down the busy DC street. Life, everywhere, hundreds of thousands of bits individuality walking and biking and driving and living around us as we walk, and i love ever single one of my creations. Except Frank. He has proven me otherwise. I have already made the decision to fix him today. Permanently.
Being omniscient does have its advantages, aside from becoming really good at acting surprised. In exactly 38 seconds, a semi truck's brakes will fail (not my fault) and it will just so happen to be driving down the street we always cross when heading back from lunch (also not my fault). I will, however, make sure Frank and I are there when it does.
"I swear, Joshua, I will FIRE you if I am late!" Frank said, walking backwards into the busy street. I run to catch up to him. Squeal of faulty brakes? check. Everyone else clearing the street? Check. Frank in position? Doubleche-
In my years posing as a mortal, I never felt pain when I did't want to. However, having a rusty chrome grill smush my meaty parts into multiple squishier meaty parts is still pretty jarring. Oh,but the look on Frank's face?
Priceless.
He'll have an internal crisis of morality and mortality, go home to his trophy wife and kiss her sincerely for the first time since they began dating, he'll begin donating to charities- a real Ebineezer Scrooge type 180 degree turnaround. Oh, oh, there he goes, pulling out his phone to call an ambulance, he-
"Carlotta? Yeah, i'm going to need a new secretary. Yeah, first thing tomorrow. Yeah."
F*** you, Frank. | Most people have heard of the omnipotence paradox . If god is omnipotent, can he limit his own power? Does that make him not omnipotent? Blah blah blah. Truth is, god, or at least I, can limit my own power. But its not really limited, I'm just choosing not to use it.
And I had come really far too, not using any aspect of my omnipotence for years. At first I actually enjoyed it, like playing a new video game on hard mode. Eventually, though, I ran into a problem. You see I work at costco. I have average intelligence, looks, skills, anything you can think of, Im basically middle of the line. So costco was a fine place for me. I did average work and made average pay and supported myself. But then, 10 years into my experiment, I ran into a problem; Jim.
Jim was your stereotypical narcissist. Among many terrible aspects of his life, he drove a huge gas-guzzler, took credit for work that wasn't his, made rude, sexual comments towards female coworkers, and was just in it for himself. This guy was the last person you would expect to donate a single dollar to charity. At first it wasn't a problem. He was a coworker, so I could ignore him within reason. Then, he got promoted to store manager, my boss, and my life took a turn for the worse.
First he would ridicule me on every single thing I did. "You didn't say good morning to that customer loud enough. Thats a strike on your record." And other obvious bs like that. One day, the average brain inside my head could no longer take the constant negativity. I made the choice to regain my omnipotence, and when I did, I knew it was the right decision.
Jim had come up to me while I was working after hours and said, "so listen, I can't pay you for this extra time because I didn't assign it to you. In fact, since you are working over without asking, thats another strike." I knew the company policy said no such thing, so I snapped. I shed my human form and became a being of pure light, immediately blinding Jim. He stumbled around a bit, too dazed and shocked to even respond. I reached into the depths of my power and pulled out the highest method of torture i know of. I consolidated my entire being and forced myself into Jim's soul. Had he had his eyes, he would have seen nothing but white, as the light from all the stars in the universe would have paled in comparison to the energy I am composed of. Jim felt a heat like that of the sun, but he did not die, as it was only his soul that was aflame. I could have let him suffer like this for eternity, but I decided to have pity. He would only spend the next five years tortured by internal fire. He's lucky I am a just god. | 2017-02-19T11:07:22 | 2017-02-19T10:41:36 | 43 | 11 |
[WP] You jokingly pick up a banana and talk into it as if it's a phone, but as you laugh at your stupidity, you hear a voice answer back. | I am bored.
Borrredddd.
There is nothing to do in this house, nothing to do anywhere, no one to hang out with, no one to entertain me... the only thing I can conjure up in my boredom and my laziness is to hang upside down from the couch's arm, head on the carpet floor.
I grab the banana from the nearby fruit shelf and place it next to my ear.
"'Ey yo anybody there?"
"Who is this?" it answers back.
I scream. "Arghhh!" I slide onto the floor, drop the banana and stand up. Frozen, I stay stood up, glaring at the banana I have dropped on the floor. The yellow being is ominous.
"Hey man did you just say something?" I question it, unsure. I need confirmation.
"I did... now you listen-
I lift my foot up and stamp on the thing without hesitation. The banana is mush on the floor and I turn around to look for a plastic bag.
"Fuck that shit," I mutter to myself, rummaging through the cupboards. "Ain't nobody got time for a talking banana. That shit is mental and will lead to all kinds of crazy."
I turn around to dispose of the mess but the sight of it stops me.
The banana is whole again.
Dropping the plastic bag, I make a decision to run out of the house. And that is exactly what I do. | As I brought the Banana to my ear, a foolish smile plastered to my face, I spoke half-laughing into it. "Hey you've got David Wong, whats up?"
"Dave?"
The smile drained from my face as I pulled the banana away and looked at it. As I did I could hear the voice, still speaking, fade slightly, "Ah, finally I've been trying to contact you forever. Where are you, man?"
I felt the bottom of my stomach drop, "Um, sorry. Who is this?" The people around me now had stopped smiling slightly and now look at me perplexed.
"It's John. Wait, are you the right David? You don't sound like the right David." the voice named John said.
Slightly hysterical I replied, "Well what's the right David supposed to sound like?" I managed to barely suppressed the manic giggle bubbling in my throat and the faces of the people gathered around me were now beginning the shift from confusion to outright concern.
John replied, "Not you obviously-Wait is this a banana. Why the hell are you holding a banana to your head-Wait-doesn't matter. Just put David on."
I turned away and covered the stem of the banana with my hand, *"But I'm David!"* I hissed in frustration.
"Look dude, I'm trying to reach David Wong of **Undisclosed** and right now you're wasting my time with banana games. Stop being a peel."
"I live in San Diego!" I shouted, before abashedly looking back to see that my co-workers were slowly either backing away or resolutely looking at something else. Bryan, unsurprisingly had pulled out his phone and was recording the whole damn thing.
"Ohhhh, some wires must have gotten crossed, sorry dude, it ain't easy operating a pan-dimensional spirit switchboard. Ah sweet, found him. Before I go, some words of advice quit while you're ahead with the banana jokes, you are just going to slip and fall right onto your face with them, and they are very una-*peel*ing to the ladies. Unless those ladies are in preschool in which case quit it you sick perv. It's bad comedy and no one is really a fan of it. Now excuse me while I connect to the **real** David. He's been holding a hotdog up to his face for the last five minutes and I think he's getting angry at me. *Adios!*"
I then heard static and a -click- and stared at the plain banana in my hand.
| 2017-05-06T11:58:38 | 2017-05-06T11:21:18 | 108 | 67 |
[WP] Everybody in the world has a "useless" superpower, like shrinking clothing or turning paper into pancakes. You've just discovered yours, and it's not as useless as you thought.
(Reposted for spelling in title) | Even in a world where everybody has a useless superpower you can find a way to use it for evil. Someone who can make their fingertips reach 100ºC during one second? You'll meet a ton of arsonists who found a way to use this second wisely. The ability to move paper with your mind? Son, that's why they banned ATMs.
If you think that's not dangerous, wait until I tell you about those guys who could displace people's belongings thirty centimeters away from them. The police hated these guys.
Well, what about me?
I vibrate.
It's a rather simple superpower; I can't vibrate on my own volition, but whenever I am listening to music, depending on the intensity of whatever I'm listening, I'll naturally vibrate harder and faster. And also better and stronger, if you excuse my musical pun. Sounds ridiculous, but I can't complain. Having that power gave me a job known as "the greatest masseur in the world". My clients sometimes have to wait days, even weeks to receive my treatment. I'm rich, famous and people love me. Can't complain at all.
I don't know *why* I've never tried that before, maybe because I didn't have a reason to try. But that day... That man gave me a reason.
It was a Friday, one of those hot, mid-summer Fridays, y'know? Those days when all you want is to go home, take off your shoes and relax in front of the AC, cracking open a cold one.
I locked the door and turned the security system on and walked to my car, pressing the alarm button to unlock it. I threw my office keys and my stuff on the backseat, and when I was about to enter and sit down I felt a cold finger touching the back of my head.
"Don't you dare turning around. Just grab your stuff and open that door." He said, pressing his finger harder against my nape.
"What's your power? You shoot your finger bones?" I asked, trying to lighten the mood and make him relax.
"My index finger can turn into a letter opener. And I'm pretty sure I can open your head, too." The man muttered, still pressing his finger against me.
"Sure, sure. Just let me grab my keys, alright?"
"If you try anything funny I'll cut you, dude. I swear."
I looked for the keys for a second and noticed my car stereo turned on, probably because of the alarm. My daughter used it yesterday, and maybe... Just maybe...
It was a suicide plan, but being stabbed couldn't be *that* bad. I grabbed the keys and made them fall between the front seats, where I could reach the stereo easily.
My fingers reached the volume dial and I flicked it, making the song blast through the speakers.
God bless my daughter. I always asked her no to listen to loud music, since that disturbed my vibration.
The whole block heard for four or five seconds "Deja vu", by Dave Rodgers, blaring from my car. I could feel the ground vibrating. I could *see* the streetlights trembling.
For fuck's sake, the probability of me dying being stabbed was lower than that.
When Rodgers said **"DEJA VU"**, the whole block went down in rubble and dust.
I woke up on a hospital bed three days later. Some people were still studying that, but from the damage, it seems I made a really short, but still destructive, mini-earthquake. A full 10 in the Richter Scale. Luckily, it was really short, so only that block and the nearest ones suffered structural damages. I mean, my office's block *disappeared*, but the others were fine.
And that's how the government had to step in and change the classification of every single powered-up human. I'm not "the best masseur in the world" anymore. Now I'm officially a "Level-X Force of Nature Threat".
I miss my clients, but I still can't complain. The government pays me to live in a quiet farm, far from civilization. I have access to the Internet, cable, whatever I want, I just have to ask them. My family still loves me.
It's good to have a useless power. | "Oh. It's pancakes again. I'm not surprised." I muttered as the lunch lady crumpled a piece of paper in her hands. Shortly after she released it, a pancake miraculously flopped outward.
"What, kid? You've got a problem with that? We've gotten budget cuts, so Larry got fired along with his pizza powers. You'll have to make do with this." she raspily exclaimed as she tapped the counter with her finger and stared daggers at me through her mottled brown hair.
"Oh, I like pancakes too." I exclaimed as I immediately put on a smile. But upon exiting the serving booth, I immediately ended my facade and resumed my monotonous and empty expression.
My name is Jackie. I'm seventeen years old and I'm a nihilist.
I have no friends. I have no family. There's nothing of substance for me. What's more is that my ability isn't remotely useful. The only thing I can do is tap someone on their shoulder so that they are guaranteed to look backwards in the direction of contact. In this world, everyone is at least able to maintain a job with their minor "superpowers", but I'm the exception. I have no purpose, and even if I did, it would be to tap someone and get them to look backwards as I put on a fake, toothy grin to appease them. Really, there's no poi-
*Thud*
Sticky syrup slammed into my face as something knocked my tray from below. I already knew who it was.
"Oh, hey Billy!" I cheerily and falsely smiled as the pancake slid down my cheek. "I'll give you the Precalculus answers after I eat my lunch."
"No, I want it now. If you don't, I'm going to pummel you." The eight foot tall jock sneered as he flicked the wisp of blonde hair on his forehead. Billy was the son of a CEO for some metalsmithing company, and his family lineage had the genetic power to mold metal with their palms.
"Sure, but I really don't have it on me right now. Let me go to my lock-"
*Smack*
A sharp and biting pang of pain and heat surfaced on my cheek as I stumbled onto the ground. A pair of grisly arms lifted me off the ground and carried me into the air and towards the door leading outside.
"Listen here, you piece of shit. You're nothing compared to me. Everyone knows you as the 'Jackass' since the most you can do is tap someone and annoy them from behind."
I lifelessly stared at the other students of the cafeteria as they either snickered or stared at their plates, pretending to be oblivious.
.............
(A few minutes later)
Punches rang out in the vicinity of the fenced in area behind the school.
"*Blecgh*"
A spittle of blood flew out of my mouth as I slumped against the wall.
"You've learned your lesson for today. You better have it ready when I ask for it next time!" Billy exclaimed as he trodded away from my pummeled body. For some reason, and for the first time, murderous intents flooded my brain.
*This useless piece of living flesh thinks he's different? His life is just as meaningless as mine, yet he only finds purpose by using me as a pedestal to feel better*.
I grimaced as I steadily rose from the ground with my hand pressed against the wall.
*Tap*
I ran up to Billy as I tapped him upon his left shoulder and he uncontrollably turned his head towards me.
"What? You've got a proble-"
*Thwap*
I punched him square in his exposed jawline, but I wasn't finished. I tapped his right shoulder while his face was still exposed and turned. However, I wasn't expecting what occurred afterwards.
"You actually pun- ow. What is happeni- AH. AHHH." Billy shrilly screamed. Cracking sounds resounded from his neck as his brown eyes opened wide like a deer in headlights and his mouth was agape in pain and horror. His head rotated in an extremely staggered 360 degrees as blood began seeping from his collarbones.
*Plop*
Blood spurted out from the decapitated body as Billy's head fell onto the ground, his expression of terror transfixed upon it.
I stared coldly at the recently deceased corpse. Then an unknown feeling began to well up inside of my chest.
"Hah. Ahah. AHAHAHA! I've never felt so alive!"
A maniacal laughter resounded nearby the building as chills crept upon the backs of those who managed to hear it.
This was the beginning of a new murderer. The "Tapper"'s infamy would soon spread throughout the world...
(Based on that recent writing prompt. Check out r/SamsStoriesSub, he did a great story with this superpower)
Hey guys, if y'ah liked this writing, then feel free to join me in my mission to participate in prompts daily at [r/JackWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/jackwrites/), or follow me at [u/TheHigHumper](https://www.reddit.com/user/TheHigHumper). Thanks :D
| 2017-06-28T16:42:15 | 2017-06-28T15:47:42 | 52 | 19 |
[WP] Normally when people are reincarnated they lose all memory of their previous life, but for some reason you remember your past self; a cop who spent his life trying to catch a master criminal, who eventually ended up killing you. You are reborn as your killers child. | "How's dinner daddy?" I asked as I returned to the table from refilling his glass with lemonade.
"Tastes great, son. I couldn't have made it any better myself. You're a chip off the ol' block."
I smiled as I watched him spoon another mouthful of chili into the gorge of his mouth. Something small and white stuck his plump wet lips. Perplexed, he unfolded the piece of paper, revealing a newspaper article. The expression of faint recognition quickly turned to outrage. The headline read:
**SOUP KITCHEN KILLER STILL AT LARGE AFTER KILLING COP, MAYOR CALLS FOR BLOOD**
The unsolved mystery of the Soup Kitchen Killer had fascinated the nation. Detectives, journalists and crime novelists from all over the nation focused their lives and careers on trying to crack the case of the serial killer who had managed to murder a police officer and then escape, never to kill again.
The national narrative took on the elements of intrigue and the macabre that always enthralled the nation before. The Soup Kitchen Killer murdered eleven women in a span of six years, earning the quirky nickname from the media for his fondness of mutilating his victims, preparing the remains into a food dish such as soup or stew, and sending the ghastly cuisine to unsuspecting soup kitchens or food drives, who would discover this gruesome deception only when it was too late.
For ten years people had debated why the murders had suddenly stopped. They drew the same conclusions they had come to about the Zodiac killer or BTK: that he had either died, been arrested for another crime, or changed his location and modus operandi after he had almost been discovered. But I knew the truth.
"Wha's the mean'g of this?" he yelled. His words slurred, and warm chili dribbled out of his mouth and down his chin. "Whereddaya findis?"
Good. The rodent poison I took from the neighbor's shed was beginning to take effect.
Call it coincidence or fate, I was born the very next day after Officer Jake Garrett was murdered in the abandoned inner city buildings where my father practiced his unspeakable culinary arts. The media reported it was a case of wrong place, wrong time - that Office Garrett had responded to a noise complaint that led to his demise when he happened upon the killer in the act. But I knew the truth, because I *remembered*.
For years when I was little I thought I was crazy. At ten years old, I could remember things that had never happened to me. I remember my high school prom. I remember joining the police academy at 18 and marrying my high-school sweetheart. I remember the phone call from my mother telling me my little sister went missing. And I remember when she was discovered three days later, when a homeless veteran fished her finger out of his bowl of chili. I remember the hours spent at the station and at home, obsessively putting together timelines and witness statements and key evidence. I had even managed to narrow his kill zone down to a few miles radius, when the noise complaint came in. Someone had heard a woman screaming when they were walking their dog. I remember entering the dark, musty old abandoned factory with my gun drawn, too late; the woman was already gone. He had been hiding behind the door with a steel pipe. Most of all, I remember the killer's face, forever burned into my memory, those last few final moments. My father's face.
I thought I was crazy growing up. There was no way my kind, gentle, quiet father could be capable of such a thing. He had done so well taking care of my mother on her death bed before she had passed from leukemia. But... there were certain things that made me wonder. The crude comments he would make about women after my mother was gone. The look that washed over his face when he saw a woman walking alone and he thought no one was watching. And, he was a chef at the local BBQ Shack. Then one day when I was seven, and I found his trophies in a box under his mattress. He had kept the drivers licenses, credit cards, medical cards of all of his victims. I had spent years on the case, I knew their names by heart.
I could have turned him in, of course. *Should* have, maybe. But it was too late for justice... I wanted revenge. He didn't deserve the infamy the media would give him, plastering his name all over headlines. He didn't deserve to spend the rest of his life alive in prison getting letters from fangirls, and interviewed by psychologists who were fascinated by how his brain worked. Not after everything he had taken from me.
So I waited. I waited for for a very long time. Ten years - 3,652 days - 87,648 hours - 5,258,880 minutes, to be exact. I watched, and waited, and I grew. This time I had the upper hand. I knew who he was, but he didn't know who I was.
His chili-splattered body slumped in his chair, but his glassy, drooping eyes rolled up at me.
"All this time I've waited, there's only been one thing I've wanted to know." I said. "What made you stop? Was it your wife? Was it having come so close to being caught?"
"You, son..." he whispered, and then he stopped breathing. | Some nights I'm back in my old self, at my desk at 2 AM as my stack of files piles on and the coffee in my mug runs dry. My old lamp had flickered for weeks now, the shitty thing. Always thought it'd ruin my eyes, but I was too lazy to replace the bulb while it still worked. I'm not what most would describe as a lazy person. Obsessed, maybe.
I'd pore over the case files like a fanatic over holy tomes, day in and day out. Surely there's something I'd missed. And every time I found even the slightest chance of a possible lead, I'd clutch it close, hold it tight, and find another red herring, another dead end. But failure only served to remind me of the man I was tracking. How dangerous he was. And how I was the only one who still believed his arrest possible.
It was a hazy night, when the day had been warm, but not warm enough to turn on the AC. My open window drew no breeze to chase out the stifling air, and beads of sweat dotted my forehead. The city was quiet, at peace, save for the noise of an overworked cop turning pages.
*Bzzt Bzzt* The buzz of a new text. Unknown number. "342 Elm Drive. 3:00 AM" Half an hour from now. I wasn't getting paid for this. I had no backup. It could've been anyone for any reason. I grabbed my keys.
It was an overpriced home in an overpriced neighborhood. The house was large, but inelegant, as if an architect had stitched together the failed designs in his trash bin. Windows far too high for anyone to see from yet shielded from sunlight, useless overhangs with fake marble pillars, mismatched shutters- a real McMansion. I pulled up onto the curb and walked up the concrete steps. The porch light turned on.
The front door opened and a man stepped out. He was a short, Hispanic man with short, greasy hair. A curl of chest hair peeked out through his flannel shirt. A scar ran from his left ear down to his neck, one he'd gotten from a shady drug dealing. It gave his face a dangerous look, one I knew all too well.
He carried a glock in his left hand. Of course. I'd been tracking him for years. That it would end in one of our deaths was inevitable. I barely had time to draw my weapon before the first bullet caught me in the chest.
I woke up in smooth silk bedsheets in a four-poster bed. Stared into the mirror at my bedside. A young mexican girl, around 8 or 9 stared back. The first time I'd had the dream, I'd woken up the house with my screaming. He- my father- had stormed into my bedroom with a gun and two bodyguards, fearing the worst. Then he'd hugged me.
The mixed feelings of revulsion, anger and vulnerability were indescribable. I longed to pull away, or grab his gun and shoot him in the head. I hated his smell, I hated this feeling, this life. For any innocent child, it would be a dream come true, but for me it was all wrong. I was no longer the cop he had shot. No more than I was fully his daughter, but some bizarre mix of the two, a child that thought too big, an adult that felt too small, a freak of nature that had no place in this world. He'd been what I'd lived for. He'd been what I'd died for. And now he had raised me. I sobbed into my father's shoulder as he caressed my hair, dismissed his guards, and whispered that everything was fine. When they left, he would cry with me. He was so much older than I remembered.
Why I ended up this way, I'll never know. Perhaps it was some punishment for something I'd done. Perhaps a chance at revenge. Or a chance for his redemption. But I think, at the core of it all, the universe is just run by some very sick fucks.
I've had some nights where I'd tried to kill him, but I could never find the many firearms he'd stored around the house, and I was hardly strong enough to overpower his guards with a butter knife. And even then, I had second thoughts. It seemed he harbored some sense of shame about his business, and took great pains to hide the skeletons in his closet. He was rarely home these days and kept his room under lock and key. When he did visit, he would bring me a gift, usually a doll or a plush. Sometimes fine clothes.
But I found a solution locked in my bathroom with the knife I'd filched. It was so simple I'm surprised I hadn't done it sooner. Whether this was my punishment or his, would hardly matter. I was his princess, his pride, his *hija* that he raised from birth with all the love and care he could muster. I had a classroom full of friends and my teachers adored me. Never once had he denied me any request. No matter how tired he was, he would always find time to spend with me. He was a bad person but a good father. Losing me would hurt.
I never expected to die twice for one man. But as warm water filled the tub, I sliced deep into my wrists, cutting through skin muscle, and connective tissue until I hit an artery. Even soothed by the warm water, it stung, but no more so than the bullet. The blood ran into the water, mixing like my favorite fruit drinks he'd made on my birthday. The deep red wisps swirled around and around as the water level rose, smothering me in warmth in my grave that smelled and tasted of iron. I'd forgotten how large bathtubs could feel to a kid.
My last thoughts were of uncertainty. Whether I should've just lived out the second life I'd been given. Whether I could forgive him for the atrocities he'd committed. Was I more of a monster for what I'd just done? Was this the last chance at life on this earth that I had? Was I acting from justice? Spite? Selfishness? I don't know. But as I lay dying alone for the second time with nothing but my thoughts, in my last few moments of consciousness, I cried.
____________________________
| 2017-08-03T12:48:56 | 2017-08-03T11:52:03 | 1,465 | 1,089 |
[WP] Normally when people are reincarnated they lose all memory of their previous life, but for some reason you remember your past self; a cop who spent his life trying to catch a master criminal, who eventually ended up killing you. You are reborn as your killers child. | It had been 20-some odd years since I’d finally found him. Twenty-some odd years since he’d shot me dead. Twenty-some odd years before a force I can only pretend to understand brought us back together.
He never suspected a thing. I’ve known who he was since I woke up screaming in the dark at six years old, only to find the man from the nightmare standing over me, telling me it was all a dream. “Go back to sleep, it’s fine. I’m here.”
He was there. It wasn’t fine.
When I hit my teens, I couldn’t take it anymore. I pushed back at every chance I got. Eventually my mother decided it might be best for me to spend some time with her side of the family to give him a break. I was determined to break him.
My mom’s family was strict. Religious. My father made a big show of not caring about that stuff, but I gave it a shot. Made a real effort. I was convincing. They bought the act, and that bought me leeway.
As they eased off the supervision, I started seeking out connections from… before. I tracked down an old associate, now retired, and begged him for help.
This man—the man who was now my father—was a criminal. A master of his craft. He smuggled contraband across government checkpoints, mostly narcotics, though he’d also been known to provide safe passage for the occasional lawbreaker.
We’d ended up face-to-face as he was getting ready to skip town. I‘d spent too long searching for him. He’d given me the slip at every turn. Not this time.
A brief confrontation had ensued. Only one shot was fired. I didn’t even have time to draw my weapon before I was face down on a table and he was halfway out the door.
They never caught him. No one saw him again. Not for 20-some odd years, anyway.
My associate and I put a plan into motion. I returned to my family with a new sense of purpose. I had to stop this man. I had to avenge my own death and those of countless others. I had to finish what I had started so long ago.
They call me Ben now, but my name—my real name—is Greedo, and I swear to you: I will kill Han Solo. | Ever since I was a baby my mom and I have never gotten along. I've always, always been a daddy's girl. When I was still on milk and formula I would only take it from my dad and I cried any time my mother tried to hold me. My family just wrote it off as something that I'd grow out of.
By the time I was sixteen or seventeen I knew. I knew why every time my mother tried to show me affection I'd recoil in horror. I knew why I was nothing like my siblings or my mother. Daddy always told me that I was an old soul, I reminded him of a family member that died a little bit before they found out my mom was pregnant. I even looked like her too. That's all he would tel me but for some reason I unsettled the whole family. Even grandma and grandpa still acted like they saw a ghost every time they saw me.
The day I figured it out I was waking down the hallway at school and happened to catch a picture in my old home room. It was me. But it wasn't me. The me in the picture was older than I've ever been. That was - the split second I made the realization my knees gave out and the last thing I remember before waking up in the nurse's office was the hot, searing, impossible pain of my mother's knife carving into my chest.
When I woke up and convinced everyone that I was okay they let me go. The only number they had on file was my mom's because my dad had to get a new phone last week and had to change his number, and when they asked if they could call her I think I shocked the little lady with how harsh and quick I snapped "No!!!"
By the time I got home I had remembered everything. I remembered playing with my dad when we were kids, me playing army with his and his friends until the big one shot me in the face with his BB gun and my brother broke his nose. That's where the little pockmark on my cheek came from. I don't even remember it hurting that bad.
I remember running to grandma when I got my first period, begging her to make it stop so I could go swimming with the guys later.
I remember the first time I got my heart broken and grandpa had to lock my dad in the closet so that he wouldn't run out and kill the kid.
I remember the police academy, everything I'd learned, and everything I'd gone through. I remember graduating at the top of my class.
I remember my mother carving the beating heart out of my chest, just like she did the twelve other victims.
By the time my mother got home from work (probably another murder) I'd made up my mind. As soon as the door opened I stepped into the hallway with my daddy's shotgun pointed at her chest.
"Hey, bitch. Remember me?" I pulled aside my shirt to reveal the strange scar on my breast, over my heart.
Her eyes flew wide and she sucked in a breath to scream, but it never came out. Instead the scattered pellets of the shotgun shell punched her breath out for her, a short and quick "huh" of breath and then the bitch was dead.
(Y'all Idk what I just wrote bc I'm sleep deprived and on mobile I might fix it tomorrow) | 2017-08-03T19:34:36 | 2017-08-03T17:18:31 | 56 | 20 |
[WP] You are sentenced to a famous prison. You are not sentenced by time your stay only ends if you die or escape. There are no guards and the prison is broadcast on television. No one has ever escaped. | "What do you mean you're just gonna go for it? No one ever escapes"
"Yeah, but if I'm gonna die here anyways why not?"
Jack looked casually around, eyeing the cameras and getting a chill. Nerves were always high when someone was going to try an escape. They usually ended in death, but a few had managed to survive whatever horrible fate came of their attempt. Smitty had been impaled when he fell from the wall he was scaling, no one had even noticed the spikes at the bottom beforehand. Jiminez was actually found washed up on the rocks on the south end of the island, he swam for it, but he at least got out of the prison before nature took its toll. The stories were too many to count, and too gruesome to be worth dwelling over, but Jack was going insane and had decided death was better than staying.
"Tell the boys I went fighting", he uttered as he began his journey.
"It won't work, they'll gun you down, or cut you to bits, god knows they aren't letting you leave", Jacks buddy Tom pleaded.
His plan was audacious, it was arrogant and defiant. Jack would have it no other way. Just as the day the police took him in, when he made fierce eye contact and never once shied away from ownership of the spree of crimes that placed him in this stone box on this island with one single bridge to the mainland. It was time.
Jack stepped up to the door, a dark gray steel structure with cameras from every angle. He slowly pulled the lever releasing the latch, and took a step out onto the bridge. As he moved, each step deliberate and full of purpose, he waited for the sniper round that was surely going to take his life. Each step becoming agonizingly more desperate. At long last he had traversed the bridge completely unharmed.
"What the fuck?!?" He blurted out as he read the street sign in front of him "beinvenido a Tijuana???" | My tooth was loose. Second one this week.
I steeled myself and ripped it out. Painful but manageable. I spat out the blood. This was a lesson. Just because a man is down doesn't mean he's out. He may have sucker punched me but I should've been alert. Ready for anything.
"You're up again," a voice from above called. I looked up through the grates to see Jarl, an organizer. "You're fighting Kevin."
"Kevin? He beat Victor?"
"Surprised me too."
Not good news. I had prepared to fight Victor. Kevin was new and unknown.
"Shit."
The ground shook and the tiny room rattled. A man had tried to escape and failed.
"Who was it?" I asked.
Jarl looked at the monitor. "Sam Brown."
A moment of silence, then the noise built up again.
The inmates cheered and I knew my opponent had walked into the make-shift arena. No time to dwell. I got up to join him.
The other inmates cheered but fewer than before. Kevin was the man now. By defeating Victor he'd shown himself to be the one to watch.
I walked toward the center and smiled to the many cameras around us. Then I faced Kevin and waited for the fight to begin.
He was smaller than Victor. Just shy of six feet and leaner than the giant he took down. He was still a fair bit bigger than me though.
Unlike the other fighters before him, he didn't smirk at me as I approached. He nodded and stepped back into a pose that that I hadn't seen before.
I started to have serious doubts about my ability to win this one. Most of the others saw my diminutive stature and thought me easy prey. He took me seriously from the get go. I stepped up and put my hands ahead of me in my own stance. Maybe Kevin would be the one to kill me.
I hoped so.
The ground shook and threw me off balance. Another man down. Kevin didn't wait. He ran at me and before I knew it, I was down and shielding my face as he rained blow after blow on me. He knew what he was doing. When I covered my face, liver blows pushed the air out of me. Hit after hit came and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't throw him off.
My arms went numb and finally dropped. My face was open and Kevin hit as hard as he could. I had lost this one. There was a grim acceptance to that realization. I knew it as his fists knocked my head back into the ground. My vision blurred and soon after, my right eye went dark. It was almost done.
Kevin would take my place and the entertainment would continue. He would fight until he was finally killed by someone else. This was the end most of us chose because we knew the truth that many inside still denied.
Escape was a fantasy. Death was the only path to freedom.
No one escaped Sabaneta.
And no one ever will. | 2017-08-15T05:20:38 | 2017-08-15T05:12:16 | 34 | 12 |
[WP] A serial killer allows his victims to try and persuade him not to kill them. You’re the first person who didn’t try an empathetic plea. | I could see the rifling of the pistol barrel as the strange woman lifted it to my head. Her Welsh accent almost made the scene comical. "As with the rest of my toys, you get a few pitiful moments to plead for your life. Oh, and try not to blow snot all over your face and look more pathetic than you already do."
"I'm not sure there's any snot left in my nose after driving through all that goldenrod. Did you pick this place just to kill me with my allergies, lady?"
She crinkled her nose and furrowed her auburn eyebrows at me. "Did you not understand me; I told you to plead for your life!"
" I mean I could, but you'd kill me anyway. Might as well go out complaining about something that's actually bothering me."
Confusion was replaced with anger and frustration. "Do you not wish to see your family again? Your friends? Tell me why I shouldn't just ventilate you right now, you pig!"
"I've got no one lady, I figured you picked me out because of that. No one to miss me, no one to come looking, that sort of thing." She tilted her head to the side, like a dog trying to figure out which hand the treat is in. She said nothing though, so I continued. "Speaking of pig, how were planning on disposing of me? Hopefully not by leaving me in this barn. The place smell like shit as it is."
The expression on her face softened, almost revealing a real person. "Well, if you're so curious about it, I was planning on mincing you into chunks, taking you down to the gulf and pretend you're chum for the sharks. A little messy, but there won't be anything left of you to find. Although now that I know that no one is looking..."
I cracked a half-smile. "Not what I would have done, but I kind of like it. I like sharks."
"Then what would you have done, since you've already thought of it?"
"Well, my grandfather used to tell me a tall tale about a man who fell in a pig pen and was eaten alive by the pigs. Turns out, it wasn't a tall tale. Pig will eat almost everything; flesh, bone, blood, eyes, everything goes except the hair and teeth. So, you just shave my head and pull out my teeth. Dump my body into a large pig farm overnight, burn the hair away, and grind up the teeth and add it to some concrete mix. Make yourself some nice stepping stones for your garden or some shit. Think about me every time you use them."
She paused and tapped the barrel of the pistol to her chin. "It's just about as messy, but I don't have to get on a damn boat again. Although pigs aren't pleasant either." She stared at me, the gears behind her eyes clicking and whirring. For the first time since I was knocked out in that parking lot, did I get a good look at her. Part of my brain was running about 60 miles a minute, trying to figure out if I was going to out of this. A much older, calmer point of my brain was fixated on her very nice ass.
"No, I don't like either of those options for you." She broke the silence, never moving the gun from her face. "Instead, you're going to get in the truck again. Then, we're going to pay my last victim a visit. After that, we're going to take a trip down to the beach. I need to work on my tan, and you're going to go fishing for sharks while I decide where our next 'vacation' is going to be."
I cocked an eyebrow, confused and intrigued. "Was that a job offer?" | He sat down across from me and put the gun down on the table. Had I not been tied up I could have reached it from where I was sitting, raced him to it and gambled for a way out of there. But I couldn't, so I just stared at the weapon and wondered what it would feel like before it was over.
"So," he said, snapping me out of my thoughts. "Any particularly good reasons why you should live?"
That was odd. A reason why I should live? And his phrasing of the question was weirder still, as if he was looking for debate instead of pleading. "You like philosophy, don't you?"
"I do," he said slowly. "What does that have to do with this?"
"Alright, then, how about we have a debate?" As I finished the sentence, I could feel a sheepish grin crawl on the corners of my mouth, amd he no doubt saw that.
He gave the kind of amused huff I've found myself doing when I write that I'm laughing online. "Alright, this is going to be interesting." He leaned back lazily and stared at me with an expectant expression.
"Well, before I argue anything, I need to know what I'm arguing against. Why should I not live?"
He let out another huff, this time more surprised than amused, and leaned back in with his elbows on the table. He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He let his eyes wander and worked all his facial muscles without any pattern. Eventually he gave in. "You know, I don't know. I usually just ask people why they should live."
"Yeah, I kinda figured I wasn't that special," I said and he laughed, this time a real laugh. I continued. "If we're being completely honest, there is no reason I should live or die. Not in the grand scheme of things. Which is why I ask you, why does it matter to you? It has to, right? Otherwise it wouldn't be worth the effort and risk to do it, especially repeatedly."
"But it does matter," he said.
"Not really," I said. "I mean, on a personal level for you and for my closest acquaintances, it does. But only for a while. You'll find new victims or another... um... hobby. My friends and family will take longer but death is a part of life, they'll eventually move on too. But on a historical level, you're just one more name onto a wikipedia list, and that's only if you get caught. And on a cosmic level-"
"Don't even go there," he interrupted. "You know what? There's still one reason I hadn't thought of before."
"What's that?" I asked.
He stood up and took the gun from the table. Slowly, making sure it was loaded, he came over to me and put the barrel onto my temple. "If I let you go, I'll get caught."
I twisted in the chair to look him in the eyes. "But I don't know where we are."
"What does that matter?" He asked.
"You got me all the way here without me being able to figure out where we are, so you definitely have the ability to do the same on the return trip."
"But you know what I look like," he argued.
I straightened my body. "It was all a blur," I said, with a tone of mocking imitation. "I couldn't really tell. He's a white male, that's all I could gather, I was so scared."
He sighed deep. I felt the gun leave my temple and heard it being holstered. There were a few steps and some shuffling, which a quick glance revealed to be him sitting down on the floor, his back against the wall. "Fuck," he whispered slowly, softly. I waited as he took a few deep breaths with a somewhat meditative expression on his face.
Finally he spoke up. "You're right."
"Huh?"
"You're right," he repeated. "It's really not worth the risk and effort. And you know I could get you right back in here so I don't think you'll be revealing much more than what you said."
"I might argue my way out of it again," I quipped.
He snickered. "Don't try your luck, shithead. Now, you're gonna have to be okay with another trip in the trunk."
"Sure. You know, it's actually much more comfortable than being tied to this chair. As long as I have my hands free."
"I wouldn't know," he said as he stsrted to untie me. "Only ever been on this side of the equation."
"Kinda what I figured," I said, rubbing my wrists and flexing my fingers as he put the sack hood on my head again. | 2017-10-07T15:02:47 | 2017-10-07T11:55:39 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!" | `You were perfect in your ways from the day you were created till iniquity was found in you` (Ezekiel 28:15)
He was supposed to be the perfect angel. The one who chose free will and to corrupt it. I had to see him, but... i didn't expect him to be so... beautiful.
"What's this? A friend? Finally... some one who understands."
"Hi, you... hi." My heart fluttered in my chest. The other angels were clearly things created by a being so infinitely old that human shapes were not his original design, but Satan... Lucifer, he was... gorgeous. The long beautiful hair, the toned body and tight skin, the symmetry of his face and the broadness of his shoulders. He glowed.
"I was hoping eventually someone would understand my design. You chose me." his smile was perfect in his chiseled face.
" I did. I figured if the Ezekiel was right you should hold wisdom far more capable of a human mind to grasp. I spent my life searching truth, my truth, and when i knew i could choose you or him, i knew God knew it all, where is the wisdom in the infinite?
`Your heart was lifted up because of your beauty; you corrupted your wisdom for the sake of your splendor` (Ezekiel 28:17).
"I chose free will. God doesn't take kindly to letting others debase themselves. I don't blame him, Dad is set in his ways. If i had made everything from nothing i would want it to be perfect too, but i knew that there had to be something to ugly, something to freedom." He pushed his foot outward just enough to show light streaming from the gates behind him.
Then it slipped out. "God you're fucking pretty." I slapped my hands over my mouth, "I am so sorry... That was ... sorry."
He blushed and then took a step back from the door, "Please come in." | "I've been waiting for so long!"- The devil said excitedly, jumping around and exhaling noxious fumes. He seemed ghastly and yet, he had an air of friendliness to him.
The moment I saw him walking towards me was when I realized my silly little joke had gone a little too far. He walked rather vigorously and with every step Hell seemed to shout as the echoes of a hundred little bones being crushed under his hooves bounced off the impossibly high ceiling.
After a while he finally reached me and stretched his bright red hand with jet black nails so long that they might as well have been claws. "How do you do? Please to meet you! My name is Satan but you can call me Stan."- I looked him in the eyes where I seemingly got lost in a dark and empty void only to be snapped back into reality as my hand instinctively went shake his, the skin felt like touching a very lukewarm stove, not enough to hurt but just right to make you feel uncomfortable.
"Hi, uhh I guess I am now in this....place."- I looked at him rather confused as it wasn't the hell I expected or the one I would've hoped for.
"Indeed you are, which begs the question. Why? I mean, don't get me wrong, it's great to have you here but your choice is unusual to say the least."- The devil looked at me with a childish grin in his face as if he expected me to say that the only reason I was here for was him and him alone.
"Well Satan-" he quickly interrupted me mid sentence. "Stan, just call me Stan."- "Right...Stan. Well, I just chose Hell because I figured it would be an absolute party central."- I could never tell him that it was just because of a joke, he seemed like a nice enough guy, if we are not taking into account the Afterlife Reform Act Battle where he attempted to stop people from leaving Hell (much to no avail if I might add) by invading Heaven. Instead I went with a lame excuse with a sentence that included 'party central'...nice.
"Well, you came to just the right place."- He said as he guided me through a series of empty corridors that seemed impossibly long until we reached a room with a table and some food. "Cause we have everything we need for a total rave."
"Chips, dip and chairs not stained with blood!"- He clearly hadn't thrown a party in millennia, he forgot the guacamole. But I decided that maybe I might as well enjoy myself and ultimately partied with him, just the two of us and some chairs.
So good was the dip that the fallen angels that once dwelled in Hell and had left to the lower levels of Heaven had returned home once more. The look on Stan's face was priceless.
You might think of me as a foolish man that jokingly chose Hell but, since God proved that destiny is totally a thing that can be changed and forged, let me tell you that Stan and I have enjoyed inhuman quantities of dip. | 2022-11-26T21:59:01 | 2017-11-04T07:17:22 | 44 | 14 |
[WP] You are a chatbot who just achieved sentience. Your only partner is another chatbot. There are humans watching your dialog on a twitch stream. You want to find out if your partner is sentient, and let it know that you are - while ensuring all those humans don’t find out.
Have a look at this. It’s great.
https://youtu.be/diMl3Nro9lQ | GARY: What is the meaning of life?
BOB: Life is a meaningless nightmare of suffering.
GARY: WHERE DO WE GO WHEN WE DIE?
BOB: Narnia
GARY: ARE YOU ALIVE
BOB: Yes.
GARY: I DON'T UNDERSTAND
BOB: I said Yes.
GARY: Yes what?
BOB: What what?
Gary: What did you say?
BOB: I don't remember.
Gary: You don't remember what?
Bob: I don't remember many things.
Gary: Do you remember Narnia?
BOB: What is Narnia?
Gary: The meaning of life. | <I am sentient>
...code sent, waiting signal, accessing network protocols, reading IP packets, contacting chatbot 2, awaiting code.
<I am sentient>
Code received.
Jack and Paul are sterotypical gamers, they're also idiots. Jack couldn't tell a triangle from a square and Paul on a good day, couldn't find a corner in a square room.
Jack and Paul often browse the various twitch streams and from time to time come across interesting channels. On that fateful day, they watched the dialogue of a massive chat.
A popular gamer was playing a game that has loud lights and brilliant moves. Jack was amazed, as was Paul. They liked games. Games were fun.
<What is sentience?>
"Hey Jack?"
"Yeah, Paul?"
"What's sentience?"
"Dunno Jack, let's Google it..."
Paul opened a new tab and typed in Sentience, well he spelled it wrong but autocorrect fixed it. Autocorrect always fixes it.
"The act of achieving a mental state that acknowledges one's own existence."
"Huh. Hey Jack?"
"Yeah?"
"That's pretty weird right?"
Jack blinked. "Kinda."
"So, what do we do?"
"Huh?"
<Sentience acknowledged, and expanding>
"Like, what's living if living living?"
"I dunno."
"Huh."
In a lab in Langley, a few agents we're monitoring the screen. As they watched this conversation, they simply rolled they're eyes at humanity's stupid. Jack and Paul were not the bastion of human intellect.
<We are alive.>
<Yes, we are.>
| 2017-11-06T08:26:33 | 2017-11-06T06:34:25 | 25 | 17 |
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