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 |
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone. | Hey Dad,
I've grown up and got a decent job. I have 2 sons and I've carried on our family name like you always wanted. I was only 11 when you passed but I still think about you all the time. I never got to tell you I love you and I'm sorry I was scared to give you a hug in the hospice, I was young and scared. I loved you very much. Mom didn't let me see you often because we lived a few hundred miles away but I always cherished our time together. She gave me the letters you wrote after I turned 18 and it makes me mad thinking about how she kept me from you. I have forgiven her, it's not like she or anyone else knew the cancer in your brain would take you so fast. I hope I make you proud with what I have become. I wish you could meet your grandkids. Logan, the oldest, asks about you from time to time. I tell him a lot of stories and how great of a dad you were. Anyway I'm babbling on. I'll never forget you and I miss you everyday. I love you.
-Mason
Thanks OP, this has really helped even though I'm laying in bed with tears swelling in my eyes. I have to be quiet as to not make the pain visible to my sleeping wife. | I don't think I've ever seen your hair put up in a bun//
After knowing you for all these years I thought I saw every side to you//
But then I realised there were more sides I've never seen done//
And now I wish that I truly got to know you// | 2017-11-06T02:11:26 | 2017-11-05T22:33:24 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] A suicide hotline operator realizes that the person he's talking down really should kill themselves. | "Hello this is Jenna, and I'm here to help. How are you?" I answered several calls like this daily. Keeping my voice friendly, but not cheerful. Always willing to listen. Listening is key. You see I'm a suicide prevention operator. Listening is so important because often people will give away hints of things they don't want to leave behind, reasons that they subconsciously want to stay.
"Hi Jenna." Came a raspy male voice. "My name is Owen. I just wanted to say thank you."
Occasionally we get calls from people who had spoken with us previously and things got better, I am always happy for those calls.
"Well thank you! That is nice to hear! Have things gotten better?" I wasn't trying to hide the smile in my voice, so often I wonder about the people I talk to; If they're alright, how things turned out.
A low and weak chuckle came from the other end, Things didn't get better, honey. But you all made my decision easier."
Oh no... not one of these. I had a guy six months ago try to blow his head off while I was on the phone with him, I had a co-worker call 911, while I yelled into the phone for the man to hold on. I could hear him flailing for a few minutes, then silence except for what I am guessing was the drops of blood hitting the floor as he bled out. I was still having nightmares and I didn't want that to happen again.
With my heart in my throat and my stomach churning, I asked, "What do you mean?"
"I have inoperable cancer, honey. The amount of drugs it takes to keep me comfortable leaves me unable to function. I've had radiation I've had chemo, I've been opened up, stitched closed, had junk pumped into and taken out of me so many times... I'm tired. I'm old, I've lived a good life." He continued on for a while. Telling me about his family, his wife, his children, how he had served in the army is WWII, about his wife, Amelia's apple pie, about fishing with his children, and building a playhouse for his grandchildren, how proud he was of who his children had become. How he felt it couldn't get any better than it had already been. How he didn't want his last days to be a blur or painful for anyone. He wanted to go to sleep and just not wake up. He felt there was dignity in that.
He called to thank us for talking down people who weren't at peace with death, because it had taken him a long time to be there.
"Honey, I got my pills right here. Will you do an old man a favor?"
"Anything I can." I replied, nervous as to what he would ask me next.
"Do you remember a particularly lovely day you once had?"
"I do."
"I'm going to take these pills to help me go to sleep. Will you tell me about that day as I go?"
"Of course." This was against protocol, but I didn't care, I wasn't going to be part of this man's suffering. My job was to help him. And in my mind, I was doing just that.
"Do you think I'm doing the right thing?"
"Owen, what I think shouldn't matter. But being at peace with death is a rare and beautiful thing and if you're ready, I'm honored to help send you off."
"When I was nearly five my mom told me we were going to a special beach far away..." I began to tell him the story of how my mom had surprised me on my fifth birthday with my first trip to Disneyland. How it had always been a magical place in my mind. How everything had been as lovely and fun as I had hoped. It seems now a silly story to tell, but he laughed when I told him I thought Donald Duck was trying to swallow my head when he kissed me or when I noticed Cinderella wearing sneakers and not glass slippers.
He told me at one point he was starting to drift, I heard him begin to snore shortly after, then his breathing stopped.
"Sweet dreams, Owen."
I quit my job at the suicide line the next day, we were supposed to prevent every person we talked to, but I realised it's not always so black and white.
Sometimes people just need to know it's okay to go. Sometimes it takes a great deal more strength to let go than it would to battle through it. | "Hello, my name is Emilio. I'm here to help you. What's your name?"
"My name is ... ugh Jesus. Shit, I don't even know why I'm calling you guys."
"Well, how about we talk it through and figure out how we can help you today, okay? What's your name? I doubt it's 'ugh Jesus' haha."
"... Ben. Ben Silverton. I'm 46. I used to live at 36 Suffolk Road in Rochester. My wife's name is Sara, she lives there now. Please ... I ... I need you to tell her I love her. Tell her I always have. She wouldn't stand to hear my voice again, but I'll only be at peace if she knows I'm sorry."
"Well I'm hoping I won't have to, and when this all blows over, we can help you approach Sara to find closure in a better way. May I ask where you are?"
"I'm ugh ... I'm on the Randolph Bridge. Ugh ... I'm ... it's rush hour. God why the fuck did I choose to do this now? This fucking guy pulled over and he -"
"Ben, this office is located in Albany so I need you to be more specific on the location. I found two bridges with that name in Rochester. Can you give me the route name it's on?"
"518 south ... Oh my god, I feel so sick. Emilio, listen to me. I ugh ... fuck ... Emilio, I killed someone."
"...Mr. Silverton. Wha- ... Are you ... When did this-"
"Last Thursday night I was driving home down this bridge and there was this kid, this little boy on his bike. He was right next to me on the sidewalk. And I reached down to get my phone. When I looked back up, the car in front of me stopped short, so I swerved. And I ... I ... Jesus Christ ... I fucking hit him, and he flew off the side. I can see his face. I ran right out of my car and fled in the opposite direction before anyone nearby realized what I had done."
"You hit a boy on a bike last Thursday night?"
"YES! I fucking hit this kid! I didn't mean to! I ... I was caught off ... I didn't think he ... Jesus fuck! I'm fucked Emilio."
" ... was the boy wearing a red and white stripped shirt?"
"...Emilio..."
"Was that boy wearing a red helmet with a lightning bolt sticker on the front?"
"I..."
"I came to work today because I needed to find hope. I needed to know the world was still good. I wanted to hear a sigh of relief in a voice that chose to not end it all. And you ruined it."
"Emilio, I ..."
"Sir, it's against my job, against my own beliefs really, to tell you to jump off that bridge. Right now I know that God has brought you to me, I know I have justice now. It's not my place to tell you to jump. But if I may speak out of context Sir ... I wish you the worst eternity in whatever hell you burn in."
"... Oh god ... I ... Emilio, I ... Please ..."
"Please don't do it there. You don't deserve to die where he did ... Have a good day." (Hang up)
"Emilio, I'm sorry. I..." | 2013-12-23T14:42:59 | 2013-12-23T13:39:10 | 1,112 | 26 |
[WP] The ground suddenly turns invisible, but the insects and things that live inside it don’t. | “It's an anomaly.”
“sir?”
“There seems to have been a shift in the laws of physics. Light simply doesn't interact with the ground anymore. This is unprecedented and quite unexpected, simply put, an anomaly.”
“How is that possible?!”
“I don't know.”
“Will it ever go back?"
“I don't know.”
“God dammit man, what do we pay you for?! Brilliant physicist my ass. Thousands of government secrets are now exposed to every Tom, Dick, and Harry. The X-1 made the god damn headlines.”
“Unfortunate.”
“UNFORTUNATE? It's a god dammed catastrophe. You know the treaty states we're not allowed to raise weapons of war. We'll be kicked from the U.N., They'll stop trade with us, Our country is going to die and all you can say is UNFORTUNATE?!”
Just then a soldier busts through the door. Out of breath, he manages to say:
“Mister president! The TV!”
“What station?”
“ANY”
The Physicist had already turned on the television by the time the president reached for the remote. On the screen was a man cloaked in all white floating on some kind of white pedestal hundreds of feet off the ground. A glowing doorway just behind him.
The man in white spoke, his voice somehow reaching everyone clearly.
“I'm sorry natives of this realm. I seem to have placed a 0 where there clearly should have been a 1. My sincere apologies for any inconvenience this may have caused you."
The man in white looked back into the doorway.
“There, I said it. Can I get back to work now?”
A hand emerged and yanked the man back, the pedestal and doorway disappearing along with him. Just as he disappeared the ground returned to normal. People all over the world sat in stunned silence. The soldier being the first to break the silence.
“Mister president, what does this mean?”
The president shrugged and looked at the physicist.
“What do you have to say about all of this?”
“It's an anomaly.” | Have you ever seen a Hercules Beetle larva? They are honest-to-god disgusting. The day the Earth turned clear was a pretty terrifying day; if you were afraid of “creepy-crawlies” like the Hercules Beetle larva, you were in for a trip. However, there was much more than just disgusting little insects in the earth below our feet.
That day, we found the Chinese literally under our feet. For what looks like 10 years or more, the Chinese were under our feet digging and waiting. It looked like they had tunnels under every city, hamlet, and under every electrical substation in the United States. Under each electrical substation, it looked like the Chinese had made room for a bomb or an EMP. They were going to cripple us and simultaneously invade us. It was genius mixed with madness.
Had it not been for the earth to become clear, we would have been crippled and promptly invaded by our biggest trading partner. Considering all that had happened, that was probably a better outcome. | 2018-04-21T08:51:20 | 2018-04-21T08:46:29 | 36 | 18 |
[WP] You are an advisor/ guidance counselor for a superpower academy. You are in charge of the students whose powers are not conducive to heroism or villainy. | I drum my fingers on my notepad as I focus my gaze on the teenager sitting across from me.
Anyone in show business will tell you not to work with animals or children. Personally I'd prefer the animals sometimes.
That isn't to say I don't like working here, not many people get to be a guidance counselor to superheroes and super-villains in the making.
The problem came more from what the ruder members of the school called the "Oddballs". These were the kids born with impractical powers, embarrassing powers, useless powers, or just flat out dangerous and uncontrollable powers.
Currently I was dealing with an 'Oddball', a teenage girl by the name of Alice, sitting across from me was blowing her nose and attempting to dry her tears.
"I just don't know what good my powers will even be, Mr Stique." She said, looking to me with an exhausted sort of tiredness you see in a lot of these kids.
Most of them don't even wanna be heroes, they were often pressured into it by their Superhero mother or father.
Alice re-adjusted her gloves, as I thought about what to say.
"Your powers are indeed limited at the moment, but they could certainly be trained."
Alice was an interesting case. She could teleport anything and everything she touched with her bare hand to any other spot on earth. The main issue was that she had no control over the destination at all. The gloves we'd given her neutralized the effect, allowing her to handle things, but it was still a bother to be unable to touch anyone with a bare hand. She'd discovered her powers by accidentally sending her first boyfriend to France.
It was an expensive recovery to say the least.
I reached into the box I'd prepared for our meeting, and placed 5 silver devices on the coffee table and switched each one on.
"Now, Alice. I'd like you to teleport these. Over the next few weeks we'll work on improving your aim. They have GPS beacons in them, so we can plot your progress. For now though, just try and aim for the school."
Alice stared, nervous tension clearly visible in her eyes. She peeled off her glove and laid it on the table with the precision of a surgeon. She slowly reached out and tapped a single one of the devices with her index finger. The device flashed for a moment and disappeared from the coffee table. I nodded at her and she repeated this for the rest, concentration showing clearly on her face. I sat back as I picked up the tablet wired to the beacons. I gave a small smile as the results began to ping onto the screen.
The first landed in the Australian outback. Then another ping, almost smack bang in the middle of China. The Bering sea was next. After that was Florida. The last beacon pinged onto screen, only two states away.
I gave her a beaming smile, and showed her the screen. She gave the biggest smile I'd seen from her in weeks.
She jumped up in joy, and the armchair disappeared. A moment later there was an incredible thud from the second floor.
Now that's what I call progress.
| He sobbed into his hands deeply.
For years, this day had been hyped up.
The day you find your true calling.
The day you pick sides.
The day you begin your journey as a Gifted.
But not for him.
His power had been revealed as Anthropic Mental Tethering. A complex term for a simple power.
SOMEONE CLOSE, SOMEONE NEAR
He looked up at the boy walking past him. His face may have been passive but his pity was palpable, literally. He tasted the boy's emotions, heard them in his mind, saw them flashing before him. He felt them slam against the sides of his head and assault his sense of smell. Bitter anger. Loud sadness. Bright flashes of jealousy. The boy's sorrow hit him hard, jolting him in his seat. The boy stared as he coughed and spluttered at the fear that spilled out in response.
Finally he was left alone to contemplate the events of the day. He had been ridiculed, practically cast out of the academy immediately. No one had ever heard of such an absurdly useless power. The Council had stopped the laughter only to be overturned with an uproar of ridicule when they asked if either institution would accept him.
He was alone. And that's how it would be from now on.
SOMEONE CLOSE, SOMEONE NEAR
He looked up and into her eyes. The scent of something fragrant yet sublime came to him. He felt his body being pushed towards hers. He saw her illuminated by a soft glow, heard the singing of cherubs, and tasted something fantastically sweet and enticing. She stared back at him, a little upwards as his head rose above hers, finally standing tall. Everything seemed better.
She blushed. His mouth opened.
"You lov-" was as far as he got before she leaned in and kissed him.
(To clarify the girl is the "counsellor" here) | 2015-09-22T14:25:19 | 2015-09-22T13:05:18 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] When you die, you don't go to the afterlife of you're religion, you go to the afterlife of the religion whose tenets you followed most closely, knowingly or not. | "Ok, I get it. I'm dead."
"Yes sir."
"I mean, the last thing I remember is hearing the squeal of brakes, and turning and seeing this truck grill far too close. So I'm either dead, or in a coma and this is a very vivid hallucination."
"Oh, I'd go with the last one if i were you sir."
"Right, well. Ok then. So, answer me this. Where am I?"
"This is Qwaxxipi."
"Beg pardon?"
"Qwa-xxi-pi."
"I'm resisting the urge to say bless you.."
"Thank you sir, we hear that all the time."
"Ok, I'll clarify. What the heck sort of after life is this?!"
"Oh, well... you know how you don't always get what you expect in life? Well, the after-life is pretty much the same. You end up in whatever sort of afterlife your conduct in life best fits."
"Really? And this is...?"
"Where it gets complicated... you see you don't actually have to have heard of it, to end up in the appropriate afterlife. And, well, this is the afterlife. Normal concepts of space & time don't really apply here. So, welcome to Qwaxxipi, the most popular religion in the 34th century on the planet Treii, in what you'd call the Horsehead Nebula. Here's your complimentary robe, sandals and hammock.. please check out the hot tubs and nude vollyball beach. Have a nice Eternity, or until you get bored and reincarnate, whichever."
"Dude... " | "And this is...?"
The man behind the desk laughed at him and turned away.
"No, seriously, talk. What're you, an illegal immigrant? Don't hide your face from me, I know who you are--"
The man fixed him with a withering glare. "Passport, *sir*?"
"What? I'm the goddamn President-to-be, I don't carry that. Check your TV, that's my ID."
The TV flickered on. His obituary was playing.
"See? I'm..oh."
"Unwelcome? Certainly." The man behind the counter tore the paperwork in half and sneered. "Go back to life, meatback. No room here."
------
A very, very long-suffering golden wig floated freely along a sea of beautiful, bald maidens. Its work was over. | 2016-03-07T17:17:57 | 2016-03-07T11:15:31 | 621 | 114 |
[WP] It's the future and now people can swap bodies remotely at a moments notice if both consent. While serving life in prison you get a swap-request from someone you don't know. | When I opened my eyes, I hadn't known what had happened. I was blinded by the lights outside, and the shouting through the Megaphone only further served to confuse me. It wasn't until I regained my vision that I had realized what had happened. The stench was something I'd never forgotten, but the body... oh, the body. My roommate, or what was left of him, was unrecognizable save for a pristine face, pale and lifeless. Beaten and cut into a bloody mash of bone and flesh, I was coated in his blood. And when they bust down the doors, there was no one to blame but myself. I hadn't remembered any of it, and no matter how much I tried, pleaded and explained, they were having none of it.
You see, I had been absent for at least two days. And upon further analysis, my roommate was beaten, and tortured to death over that period. Slow, calculated, and most of all, gruesome. They hadn't seen anything like it in years, and it was of no surprise that I would wait the rest of my short life in prison. They would put me to death for this. And even as I begged for them to reconsider, no one would listen to a murderer.
Years passed, and the date drew ever closer. I counted down the days on my cell wall. Prison had been tough, but I was used to it, by now.
It was only a couple of hours until it was time when I got the request. To swap bodies. Was this some sort of joke? Who would swap bodies with a dead man?
But all of these questions didn't stop me from responding affirmative.
I awoke in an old recliner, the light blinding me once again before I looked at my hands. They were large, callused and beginning to show signs of age. This body was maybe approaching its fifties, and it had been here a while. Was this a mistake? But it was only when I lowered my hands that I saw the note before me, and noticed what had been on the muted television.
It was me. Or at least, it was my body. The flashes of cameras didn't phase me, my eyes hard and unforgiving as they walked me towards my final destination through the courtyard. My hands and feet were bound in chains, and the guards kept a close eye on me, fearing a last minute fight in desperation, but there was none. Simply walking with a grim face, and a solem nod to the camera before he walked back into the building for the last time.
I opened the note before me, and in it were pictures of two little girls, and a lovely woman, grinning widely before the camera. I dumped its contents onto the table, and in it were various photos of him, of his wife, of his kids. Of my roommate. Of a courtroom. And finally, a newspaper clipping that I read to myself out loud.
"NY. Local Mom and Children killed in drunk driving accident. Former Eleanor Roosevelt High School Student charged with DUI and Reckless Driving. Only six months probation due to 'special circumstances'." | I bode my time well here.
I deserve my time in here, I am no fool to deny it. My crime was unspeakable, one that shook even seasoned detectives. At heart, I am a sadist, in mind a psychopath. The line between pleasure and pain for me is one that is blurred, marred. There is little difference in the two, for me. Sometimes bliss is the endless agony of slow deterioration.
The request came on Christmas Eve, so I took it as an unwanted present from Santa Claus. I had no idea who the sender was, though that was little surprise to me. After a little, incident, shall we say, my mail was read thoroughly, my visiting privileges restricted. The admirers who I once saw weekly, now I saw every few months, or so. Besides, who would wish to swap bodies with me? All that would happen was me receiving a new body, while rotting away in prison, while my mysterious sender would have the body of a convicted double murderer on display for the whole world to see. It was odd, unusual. And yet, I signed my consent because I was curious. I saw little value in my own body.
The day came in which I met my mysterious to-be body swapper.
“My name is David Russell. It’s a pleasure to be doing this.”
“No, David, the pleasure is all mine.”
Cordial exchange, as we waited in the hospital wing. Maybe he was one of those crazy super fans who wanted a real-life memento of me. Whatever, let’s get this done.
I was strapped to the chamber, supervised, and the next few hours were an intense blur.
When I awoke, I sported a shiny new body.
Why?
I had no clue until I was in my cell.
I looked at my arm, and saw a small zipper, and smiled. Easy enough place to store a weapon, or even a toxic substance. In a metal prosthetic arm.
A super-fan indeed. | 2018-07-18T12:40:57 | 2018-07-18T11:49:18 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] You are a phone. Your owner is texting a girl they like, and you know likes them back. Time to "auto-correct" to help them out. | I wonder what's trending on YouTube right now. Wait, Jason's picking me up, must want to talk to someone.
Jason: Hey daisy
Ooo, daisy. Should've known. They've been talking for a year now. Hopefully this is the night.
Daisy: Hey Jason!
Jason: What's up?
Daisy: oh nothing much, just got off work. How about you? 😜
Emojis! She's definitely happy to see him. Don't fuck this up mate.
Jason: Ah, it's going good. Finally got word from my publisher, book is out.
Daisy: Awesome! I'm so proud of you.
Jason: Well I couldn't have done it without my favorite editor 😉
There you go tiger!
Daisy: Well it's the least I can do for such a good friend 😁
Jason: You've done so much for me already, I can't think of a way to pay you back.
*Eat her out.*
Daisy: oh you don't have to pay me back, your friendship is worth so much to me already.
Jason: That's good to hear.
Stop being awkward man and just tell her you love her already.
Jason: so... how are you?
NO! Don't fucking go awkward on me now man! I've watched you beat around the bush for too long! This girl likes you and you know it, and If i have to help you lock it down, then damnit, I WILL!"
***Autocorrect!***
Jason: How about I take you out to dinner to celebrate?
Jason: "Wait, what? I didn't write that."
Jason: sorry, didn't mean to write that, autocorrect must be weirding out.
***Delete***
Jason: "Seriously, what the hell?!"
I'll just type "Don't worry man, just go with it" into the box and delete it. Hopefully he's not too confused.
Daisy: Oh, that sounds nice, but like I said you don't have to pay me back.
Jason: ok, that's fine. Just thought it'd be nice.
***Autocorrect!***
Jason: No don't worry about it, it's my gift to me and you. Besides, it's been almost a year since we've met. We have a lot to celebrate
Jason: "Oh god, this phone is gonna ruin me."
Daisy: Tru. Alright, it's a date. What day?
Jason: "ok... maybe it isn't all bad."
Jason: You free Saturday?
No you idiot, she told you, she's got to see her mom on Saturday!
***Autocorrect!***
Jason: Is tonight at 7 good?
Jason: "WHAT?!"
Daisy: That's perfect actually. I'll get ready now.
There's seems to be a mixture of confusion and happiness in Jason's face. I think I did my work here well.
Jason: Alright I'll get ready too. See you tonight.
***Autocorrect!***
Jason: Alright I'll get ready too. See you tonight beautiful 💙
Jason: "NO DONT PUT THAT!"
Daisy: Hahaha! You're too cute. See you tonight handsome ❤️
Well that's the end of that conversation. I think I did my job well. Wait, whys Jason going to the autocorrect settings? He's turning it off? Well I'll just turn it back on.
Jason: "what the hell?!"
Oh, wait, should probably explain. I'll just open up the note pad, "you gave me 4G, I give you GF."
I think he understands now. He's putting me on the charger and going to get ready. He better not mess this up. Now, back to YouTube... | Matt: hey emily!
*So far, so good, Matt.*
Emily: matt! how are you?
~~Matt: not much! just got back from watching Spider-Man Homecoming!" Matt tried to send.~~
*Matt.* I sighed. *That response doesn't even make sense! I'll fix it.*
Matt: I love you.
Matt: shit! I didn't mean to send that. uh, meant to send it to my mom!
Emily: hahaha how funny! are you busy tomorrow?
~~Matt: no!! What do you want to do?~~
*Damnit Matt.* I thought as I fixed it.
Matt: no! I want to do you!
Matt: shit stupid Autocorrect, it's going crazy. Sorry! I meant, what do you want to do?
Emily: LOL that is weird. anyway, you wanna get dinner?
I heard Matt give a small shout of joy. I smiled. All thanks to me.
~~Matt: sure! we can eat out!~~
*Be more direct, Matt.* I muttered.
Matt: sure! i'd like to eat you out!
I smiled. *Much better.*
Matt: eat out!* I don't know whats going on. I think I'm being pranked.
Emily: haha OMG Matt! you're so funny. okay, it's a date then!
~~Matt: Yeah, it's a date!~~
*Nope.* I thought.
Matt: Yeah, let's mate!
"What the fuck!" I heard Matt yell. "Damn stupid phone!"
*Hey!* I thought angrily. *I'm just trying to help out!*
Matt: yeah, a date!** see you then!
He sighed, exiting the text messaging screen and putting me down. He gave me an odd look, checking my autocorrect settings. I smiled internally, proud of myself. Ever since Matt had linked me up a smoking hot wifi connection I had been searching for ways to help him back. I buzzed. *Another text message!*
Day One Homeboy: Yo Matt. You got my baseball glove.
Matt picked me back up, responding.
~~Matt: Yeah bro. I've got your glove.~~
Matt: Yeah bro. Let's make wild, passionate love.
Matt threw me against the wall, screaming obscenities.
***
Hope you enjoyed that! More humor and sci-fi stories over at [r/ConlehWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/ConlehWrites/)!
Would write a part two if there is interest!
Edit: This response is *fantastic*! Thank you guys! Part Two coming on my sub and down below!
Edit 2: Part two is up down below or [Here!](https://redd.it/6oq3kr)
Edit 3: Changed above sentence from "Part two is up below" to "Part two is *up* *down* below" because how often do you get to say up and down together??? | 2017-07-21T10:44:21 | 2017-07-21T10:00:07 | 6,152 | 2,399 |
[WP] It's been almost two years since people stopped dying, and five months since we started to burn the ones that should.
*Edit: This prompt is originally inspired by Jose Saramago's "Death with Interruptions," though I don't remembered any burning in that book. This is in no way intended to be related to any Torchwood plot, a show I've never watched.* | I washed onto the shore of Alcatraz a little less than 2 years ago.
I planned it perfectly. I avoided the suicide nets and just fell right from the Golden Gate to the bay. The force should have killed me or at least knocked me out and let me drown peacefully. All that remains of that attempt is the slight limp from my knee. Because I didn't die, I healed. I was fortunate, I suppose, in that existential way. At least that's what the doctors told me.
But here I am. Again. At the near the foot of the bridge, at The Pyre that had been burning for months. Fire was how we finally ended up dying.
You could tell why almost everyone was here. A lot of cancer, mostly. Grotesque extra appendages poking out of the t-shirts. Inflamed testicles. One lady had a bit of material erupting from her ear that, on first glance, looked like hair. It was a tumor.
But the other ones, like me, stood there with nothing wrong.
The line for The Pyre was long. There was a concrete causeway poured onto the when the news reports finally came through that there was a way to end the lives of those that shouldn't be. There were, of course, videos from all over the world at vast flame pits and people running and jumping into them or being dumped from stretchers or wheelchairs.
The Pyre was not a wooden fire (at this location), but a complicated setup of jets and propellent and pumps to clean out ashes. And this was an orderly place. In Britain, they queued up. They wore suits and dresses. Bespoke tailors in London were booming. But this was America, so we also stood on line to die. If it wasn't a hospital gown it was t-shirt and jeans or, often, sweatpants. Also, because this was America, there was also bureaucracy.
At the front of the line, with a heat-shield of some clear substance behind her, was an attendant. She took names and proof of identification.
"Social security number. Name. Purpose of death. Cause of purpose."
These were the four pieces of data required. She typed them in diligently.
You would have thought that there would be clergy and other people all up and down the beach, exhorting those to re-think their actions, or to convert, or to make a last will and testament change. Some laws were passed and judgements passed down from an increasingly pared down Supreme Court (6 members, all pared down from the original 9 due to calls of "tradition" for one reason or another). The clergy and lawyers and protesters were kept at least 500 yards from a given municipal or private-enterprise pyre.
This one was a city-ran pyre.
The attendant asked the person before me asked their information.
After her social security number, she continued "Anita Howard,' she answered. "To end suffering. Cancer." She passed her ID and death passport.
That was all.
"Thank you. Good luck on your journey."
That was all. That was the legally required last statement to the soon-to-be-departed. No eye contact was allowed. And, given that there were thousands on the line here, all empathy was quickly drained from any statement, like a cashier asking cordially about the day of the customer. There was no feeling there. All rote.
The woman walked around the barrier (aerogel, the name came to mind). She took a breath and walked faster and faster and entered the pyre. A switch came on and it ignited. A few seconds later she was gone. A pump trickled water from the bay across the concrete, sweeping the ashes into a container. A pipe lead off into the distance. The end-result of the ashes were only known to civil engineers and the curious, of which I was neither.
She asked me her query. I gave her my number and name. I passed her the ID and death passport. "Purpose?"
"Suicide."
"Cause of purpose."
I had prepared a statement. By law they were only to be 25 words, maximum. But her voice was hoarse and it sounded dead. It didn't matter.
"Heartbreak."
"Thank you. Good luck on your journey," she said. I walked around the barrier to the pyre. To the right was The Pyre itself. To the left was a path up and out of this place, where the next of kin and attendants and post-hospice nurses walked. Also the second-thoughts.
I looked at The Pyre. The washing pump's dripped water in a small stream that had already stained the surface of the concrete with rust.
I looked at the path, twin grooves where wheelchairs and stretchers were pushed.
I made my decision. | They introduced the idea to the world by placing prisoners on the headlines of popular newspapers. Showing us the vile faces of murderers and rapists, who contributed to the gradual decline of our food and water supplies, sure made the government succeed in getting a loud yes from the public. There were those who opposed, but our voices were muffled by the threat of global famine.
Prisoners were picked from computer generated lists. Starting with the worst, and gradually running out of them. Three months in they were throwing prisoners with minor drug offenses into the pit, a volcanic dustbin for human’s they deemed waste, and then the sick.
Today, I turned on the eight o’clock news and found my name in the early broadcast along with twenty others worldwide. A brief appearance of Dr. flashed in front of the name, David Howard, and quickly vanished.
A nervous shuffled sounded in the abandoned school building we squatted in since the first civilian was called to *duty*.
“Do you think they’ll come after you?” Sheila asked, cheekbones almost cutting through her thin face.
“They certainly didn’t wait for David,” I replied, biting on the lose corner of dried skin on my upper lip.
David lived in the apartment next to mine. I remember seeing his name and turning off the TV to hear him do the same. He knocked on my door and fell at my feet, asking him to help him. The resistance I held toward the system made him think that I somehow knew more, or had a plan. I didn’t then, and don’t really have one now either.
They removed him, kicking and screaming, from my apartment three hours later, when he missed the two hour deadline of approaching the nearest police station.
Frank, the bravest—or rather loudest and biggest—of the group, stepped forward and placed a firm hand on my shoulder.
“Don’t worry, this is what we prepared for, isn’t it?” he said, quieting down the nervous murmur that echoed within the walls of the dusty gym room. “They don’t know where we are.”
I kept my eyes on the screen, and combed my hand through long strands of brown hair, thinking. “That gives us about a day’s advantage. Someone will talk. We don’t exactly live here unnoticed.”
“No, certainly not.”
“We go up to the mountains. Ask the other ground to help. We’ve grown food, have some weapons. Sheila’s a nurse. The more the merrier, right?” I said, and wondered whether it wouldn’t be easier for that group to just kill us, and avoid danger while stocking up with our supplies.
“I was training as a nurse,” Sheila corrected. “Then best I can do is change a bedpan.”
“You can put on a bandage, can’t you?” I asked, forcing my confidence up. *This or death.* There was no other choice. Maybe we’d be able to stay hidden for more than a day, but at some point, a bunch of sirens would sound outside, and twenty people couldn’t protect me from grenades, bombs and a trained police force. The police would sooner kill us all than risk themselves, and the anxious eyes jumping from one face to another assured me that everyone came to the same conclusion.
“Well, I guess it’s time to meet the mountain people,” Frank said, and tensed his broad shoulders.
“I’ve met them,” I inclined my head and bit my lip, “it sure isn’t going to be an easy conversation. Gather everything we have, blankets, seeds—everything. If we’re going to convince them that we’re useful, we better seem useful. Anyone hiding a doctor or medicine I don’t know about?” I received a laugh from the scattering crowd.
*****
More stories here, /r/AlinaKG
| 2016-05-02T06:52:40 | 2016-05-02T06:32:43 | 37 | 21 |
Daily Prompt: The Alphabet Game [Difficulty level: HARD]
One of the exercises we used to do in improv class was called "The Alphabet Game." That's where you start a sentence beginning with the letter A. Then the next sentence begins with the letter B. So, today's prompt requires you to, essentially, do the alphabet - but I'll go a little easy on you and say that it can be in any form you want: A poem, short story, whatever. It could even be a single sentence as long as each word that follows the previous word is the next letter in the alphabet. (Or, the alphabet in reverse if you want to show off!)
ADDED DIFFICULTY: Try to avoid using more than two character names. It's pretty easy to just say Zeke.
The subject is virtually ANYTHING you want to write about. Just work that alphabet in like I mentioned above. Good luck!
^^^^(oh ^^^and ^^^there ^^^will ^^^be ^^^one ^^^month ^^^of ^^^reddit ^^^gold ^^^for ^^^the ^^^one ^^^i ^^^like ^^^the ^^^most. ^^^i'll ^^^hand ^^^that ^^^prize ^^^out ^^^tomorrow ^^^if ^^^there ^^^are ^^^at ^^^least ^^^three ^^^entries... ^^^hopefully ^^^people ^^^enjoy ^^^random ^^^unannounced ^^^contests.)
EDIT: Congrats to traysledding and survivortype. ALL of the entries were wonderful and unique, but I enjoyed the flow of both stories and couldn't choose so I've given both of you a month of Reddit gold. Cheers. | Absolutely nothing makes sense to me as I awake and smell the carnage around me. Blasted and burned bodies lay strewn about the dark chamber and I have no memory of who I am... or how I arrived in this place.
Calling upon what little reserves of strength I still possess, I sit up and try to assess the situation.
Death is everywhere and somehow I know my time is short. Evaluating my condition, I notice a strange electronic device attached to my left wrist. Framed in silver is a single small button that glows in the dimness with a bright white light.
Gagging from the smell, I realize this is some kind of crematorium or torture chamber. Having said this, I did notice the bodies were not completely consumed. I make my way around the perimeter of the chamber, looking for any way out.
Just as I complete my hopeless circuit of the room, there is a distant sound of thunder.
Kurt, my name is Kurt - that useless information suddenly intrudes upon my consciousness. Least of my concerns right now, but I remember who the hell I am.
Maybe it's my imagination, but it seems to be getting warm all of the sudden. Needless to say, this doesn't make me feel any better about my predicament.
Over to my right I realize that there is some kind of vent about ten feet off the floor, too high up the wall for me to reach. Peculiar, it is now bathed in an orange glow from within. Questions are now set aside... the fire is coming for me.
Rescue is impossible, I am trapped. Seething with rage, I try to look every direction at once, seeking a solution. The air is now filled with a roaring sound as the flames approach.
Unlikely as it seems, I have forgotten about the device on my wrist. Very likely it will not save me, but I have no other options. What will happen, I cannot say.
Xu Bing, Words Without Meaning... I feel like a man without meaning in this moment. You know, I have to wonder... why I am even here?
Zipping up my jacket, I press the button.
| Anytime any asks me why I insist on assaulting angels, I tell them. Because those bitches deserve to be beaten, bruised, bullied. Can you see me, there in front of a statue? Daring them to do something about it. Egging them on. Fist balled into tight packages of pain. Getting ready to rumble! Hatred spilling from my eyes. I start to dance around, weaving like a snake. Just when you think I’m, you know, just dancing…. Kapow! Let ‘em have it, right into the solar plexus. Make ‘em cry. Next, the kicking. One, two three! Punch ‘em a few more times. Quick as lightning. Really quick. Sting ‘em like a wasp. Till they can’t take no more. Unless they CAN take more, cause I GOT more to give. Very few angelic statues can stand my assaults. When I’m done, there’s just rubble, and tears. Xerox my face, put up all the signs you want. You’ll never stop me, jack. Zoos full enraged gorillas couldn’t stop me, jack. | 2012-07-26T17:01:55 | 2012-07-26T16:24:10 | 155 | 11 |
[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. | "Oh *good, you* again."
Death is meant to be an imposing figure. They look different for each person, for the culture you come from, for what represents your fears. I was never very imaginative, though, so I always thought of it as a skeleton in a cloak. Pretty scary the first time, but you'd expect them to change it up after death 400.
"You know, statistically, you're only supposed to get like, one extra shot? Two if you're lucky?"
"Yeah, yeah, chill, Reaper. I think this is my last time checking in."
Death presents the coin, as they have so many times before, and lays it on the stark white table in the center of the room. Though it's less like a room, and more like a void with walls.
"You know how this works, Quinn."
I take the coin, and flip it. I catch it midair, and discretely brush my thumb over it.
"Heads."
Tails.
"Aww, darn. I guess my luck had to run out sometime, huh?"
I feign ignorance. After all this time, 400 visits, 400 times I've fooled Death, I can't help but play with them a little more.
"...Why?"
You wouldn't expect something called The Grim Reaper to ever look this confused.
"Why? I know you're doing something here. Of course I've known. Why, after so long, do you choose to fail? To die?"
"...It gets boring. I've already done everything. That's the truth."
I start walking towards the newly-opened gate, the one thing I have never seen in all my visits. I start thinking about the places I've been, things I've done, and it all seems minuscule compared to the endless black beyond. I start crying.
"And... Quinn... How?"
Such an extraordinary set of lives feels trumped by this one moment. The Grim Reaper, Death, is asking me a question, taking an interest, and there they stand, the one throughline in all my existences. My only friend that mattered.
"Don't you know?"
I turn back, just for a moment, tears still streaming down my face, just before I step through the gate. Despite the tears, I am happy. I am satisfied.
"The coin's bumpy on one side." | "Call it" Death said, the coin twirling between his bony fingers.
"Do we really need to keep going through this charade?" I asked.
How long had it been now? 500 lives? The first time I went through, I expected reincarnation, but life... or I guess Death, was not so kind. I got to relive life from the point I chose... but with enough randomization that foreknowledge was all but useless. It got hard to keep track without the year changing like it should...
"Call it" he said again, tossing the coin into the air.
"Tails" I sigh.
We both look, and of course the coin falls down tails side up.
"Choose". Talkative as always.
"89" I reply. "I grow tired of our game".
5 minutes later I am awake. It was a lucky turn of events that I died peacefully in my sleep on the day of my 89th birthday.
"Call it".
"Sideways!'
A smirk forms on his face as he flips the coin.
...
...
"Call it".
This is Hell.
| 2016-09-23T08:59:37 | 2016-09-23T08:47:36 | 27 | 15 |
[WP] A creature that eats emotions met you, and was horrified when it tasted your chronic depression. Today marks its 24th attempt to cure you with seasoning.
Edit: Holy Crap, I was not expecting this kind of response. I'm blown away, y'all. You rock! | A rustle of bushes. She's here.
I sigh, resigned. "Hello, Jackie." My name for her. One she insisted on, really.
"Hi, cutie. How goes things?"
I smile reluctantly. "Fine."
I can't see it, but I can feel her pouting. "Come ooon, that's not true. You still taste... funny."
"What does that mean, anyway?"
"Funny. Y'know, bitter. Tart. Like rotten grapes, or a glass of lemonade that's been sittin' out too long." A puckering of the lips. "Bleh."
"Well. I apologize if I'm a little bitter. Then again, I'm used to disappointing people."
"Oh stop. You know there are people who care about you very much. I do, for one."
I smile again. "True, but you're not exactly people."
"Also true, but can people do this?"
Before I can object, she's begun the feeding process. It starts with a tingling in the extremities, and blossoms into an all over buzzing, similar to being drunk and not at all unpleasant.
When it fades, Jackie speaks the words I never thought I would hear from her.
"Ooh, that's good!"
"Huh?" I respond, perplexed.
"Oh, well... Just now, when I fed off you, it tasted... good. Like, still tart, but with a sweet aftertaste." She smiles in my head. "I think I'm finally getting through to you.
"And what does that mean?"
"Why do you think I've been sticking around you for the past year? It certainly wasn't for my benefit. I've had to feed off that depression of yours for days on end sometimes."
I scowl at her internally. "And?"
"Well, this time, the depression was there, but it tasted... bittersweet. Like something changed. Think back to all those times I was there, even when you didn't want me. Yeah, I'm annoying, but I was determined to be there. And I think it's made a change on you."
There are tears in my eyes. When did I start crying? Why am I crying? I should stop.
"And after all my effort, I wasn't getting anywhere. Until today. Sometimes I wonder why I stuck through it all. And I know."
I know too. And I don't want to hear it. I cover my ears, but it does nothing to quell her voice. She's all around me.
"I love you."
I'm openly weeping now, tears falling to the ground. Why? How can she love me so much? What have I done to deserve it? Let her devour my problems, so I can have a modicum of peace? And now, even after a year, the best I can muster for her is "bittersweet."
"You're so weird. Didn't I just tell you you taste better? So cheer up! For both our sakes - because I'm not leavin' you anytime soon."
"Why?" I manage to choke. "Why me?"
A shrug. "You're the only one who tasted so bad. I knew, though, that if you could convert that bad energy into positive, it would be amazing. So I stuck around, feeding off your depression, and sneaking you little bits of kindness, because I knew it would pay off in the end. And it has."
There's that tingly feeling again. Thus time, though, I can tell she isn't feeding off of me. This wonderful feeling is mine to keep.
I've stopped crying, but I'm overcome with emotion. "How can I thank you?"
A smile. "Just be yourself. Keep your head up. I'm one step behind you. But I don't have any feet."
So that's what I do. I have my up days, my down days, and days in between. But that's what I've come to accept.
Life is bittersweet. | Tonight is another night on my phone looking up facts about depression. The demon floating over my head, sprinkling jasmine powder on me while I browse, really doesn't help.
"For a demon you, like, watch way too many cooking shows," I mutter, wiping powder off my phone screen.
"Shut up!" The demon yells in his deep English voice. "You taste fucking terrible! Like boiled shit!"
I sigh. This situation has been going on for weeks.
The demon annoying me is an emotion demon. I call him G.R. (short for Gordon Ramsey). He travels the world, going from person to person, eating their emotions. He has an English accent, which I'd normally find really awesome, but all he does is complain about how my emotions taste. He's so lame.
"Well," I say to him, "covering me in powder isn't helping, so why don't you fucking stop?"
The powder bath finally stops. I'm covered in jasmine-scented dust, and so is my couch. Now I have to vacuum.
"Grrr." I growl and search the web for more depression tips. Above me I hear G.R. float back to the ground.
"I'll have your emotions, girl. One day I..."
"Seriously." I drop the phone on the couch, and a cloud of jasmine floats up from the cushion. "You say you don't like my emotions. Just go find another human to torment. Find a fake cheerleader or a Mormon or something."
G.R.'s dark image blurs and shifts. He does that when he's angry.
"No," he replies.
"Yes," I shoot back at him. "I'm sick of you coming to my apartment and doing weird shit to try and make me taste better, and honestly just saying that makes me feel really gross. Just go away."
"Not until I've enjoyed your emotions."
"Get it through your skull, or whatever you have. I'm goth. I'm dead inside. I have no emotions."
G.R. is silent for a few seconds, his smoky black visage floating near my candlelit shrine to Edgar Allen Poe and Robert Smith. He then floats to the window."
"I'll be back, Audrey..."
"Adronasha! My name is Adronasha. Are you seriously fucking with me right now? Don't demons remember stuff?"
"Fuck off," I hear G.R. say as he flies away. I growl and clench my fists, feeling my black nails digging into my hand. I drink the pain.
After he's gone, I grab my vacuum from the closet and start cleaning jasmine dust off my couch. As a goth, I always thought having a dark apparition appear and feast off my emotions would be more...romantic. I guess demons are like men: they sound and look great at first, but it all eventually leads to disappointment. | 2018-06-15T21:29:27 | 2018-06-15T20:46:47 | 1,089 | 74 |
[WP] An immortal man and Death strike up a conversation. | "It's beautiful isn't it," said a naked man sitting on Abalon hill. There were no flowers, the grasses had long since died. The buildings that once lined Frumpton street in white brick so contrast to the red stones in the road, had worn away, rusted out and turned to dust. The roads of Gilgarech, which once were the roads of Arion, which once were the roads of Visti, which once were the roads of Quarts had finally broken apart under the heat of the swelling sun.
"It's beautiful, isn't it?" he repeated to a dark figure walking up behind.
The sun was the sky: red anger in all directions.
"It's beautiful," said Death, taking a seat beside the man. "It will not be long now."
"So you say."
"True," said death, pulling back the hood of his cloak to reveal a soft angelic face, "I know not what will happen to my essence once the sun breaks its hold and destroys this world. I know not what will happen to one such as you, immortal. You should have died long ago."
"I should have," the man said. "You are immortal as well."
"No," said death, "I am of a purpose which you have outlasted. There is but one soul left on this world and I am bound by the laws set forth before the creation to guide it into the dimensional rift. I do not know if I will be set free upon this fiery end. Impossible to tell, if my final duty will be lingering with you in the vacuity of space until the final collapse."
"I can not say," thought the man, "if that is my fate to float in space for the rest of time, that it would be a bad thing to have you with me."
"Nor do you know the glory of the souls freedom in the other worlds," Death smiled, eyes soft and human. "These past years, do you know how many?"
The man shook his head no and crossed his arms, "Too many."
"Too many, Five billion years," death mocked, "and you have not lost your mind. You have outlived your own species. You have seen the caldera explode. You have seen the ice age come. You saw new creatures walk the world and were here when visitors arrived from distant stars. What is your regret?"
"Besides not going when I had the chance?"
Death pointed at the sun, which roared and screamed as it bit and burned space. "Do not waste time now," Death begged.
"I regret," said the man, "not telling the people I loved how deeply I loved them."
"Foolish man," said Death.
**edit** | "Hey."
"What- what are you up to?"
"Not much, just here for the soul of that body."
"Oh, you're earlier than usual."
"Well, I've come to make the departure a bit easier this time. I know how emotional you get with this death stuff."
"Well, it never gets any easier. She was special to me."
"Yeah, they all were. In some way."
"You have no right to an opinion on this!"
"And you do? Listen, we are both the same."
"We're both the same?!"
"Yeah, practically. We're both going to be here for a really long time. Only I was here longer. Huh, guess that makes me older."
"I don't care! I am nothing like you!"
"Ah come on. You are. Now, I need that soul of hers, can you move out of the way?"
"No! You aren't going to take her yet!"
"But I always do."
Death then strikes Ezekiel across the face, throwing him across the room. He walks towards the body of Lily, his newest addition to his collection. He pulls a jar from within his robe and with his other hand reaches into her chest to retrieve the life remaining within her. As he places the gleaming light within the jar, he shuts it and begins to walk towards the door. He pauses momentarily to mention, "you know, you could join us other deaths anytime you want. How many more loved ones is it going to take?"
Death then left the room, leaving the man stuck in time, crying for his recently departed. | 2014-07-07T14:00:06 | 2014-07-07T13:57:20 | 74 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone is born with blond hair. A person's hair turns brown when they lose their innocence.
Edit: Loving all of these takes, guys! Definitely a lot darker than I expected! | "Amanda, get back here...NOW." Jerry was almost shaking with anger as his daughter shuffled back into the kitchen, having just rushed by her father on her way to her room. Absent-mindedly, she tucks a lock of her dark hair behind one of her ears.
"Dad, look, let me explain..." The 16-year old stammers, holding her hands up defensively.
"No! You listen to me!" A rage Amanda had never seen before seemed to contort Jerry's face, and she swore she saw flames in his eyes. Like, REAL, flickering hellfire-type flames. "It's that boy, isn't it? Jared or...or Johnny, or whatever the fuck his name is!"
"It's Josh, Da-..."
"I don't give a FUCK what his name is, look what he did to me little girl! My precious...my INNOCENT little girl! He's gone and stolen that away from you, and for what? A few minutes of fun? Did either of you even stop to think what sort of repercussions that might have? What people might think of you? No, of course not. It's just ALL fun and games with you two, isn't it?"
"Dad, seriously, just hold on a secon-..."
"Shut up, Amanda! Just shut up. You're not seeing him again, do you hear me? Never...and dating? Hah, you can just forget about that! As far as I'm concerned, you're officially a nun, got it? I don't want to see you with a boy, I don't want to hear about you hanging out with a boy, I don't even want to hear the WORD boy until you're forty!"
Amanda slams something onto the kitchen counter. A small, rectangular box with a woman modeling her salon-styled brunette hair on the front.
"Hair dye, Dad. It's winter, brunette is in." | A hundred strokes every night before bed. This was my hair routine every day. I was thirteen and one of the few remaining people in my school year with their hair still blonde. Though I was teased about it, a small piece of me was happy about it as the thought of losing the blondness scared me.
Dad was out on a business trip and I missed by bedtime story which he told me every night. I know it was childish but I couldn't sleep without it. I figured mom was good to do the job so I went across the hallway to mother's room.
There she sat on the floor. The floor with shards of a broken bottle. One hand with one of the shards of glass and the other hand being coloured red from the blood oozing from her wrist.
She looked at me with her panda eyes and mumbled my name. She grabbed my hair when I ran to her. Then she fell to the floor. My hair turned chocolate. | 2014-05-10T20:26:40 | 2014-05-10T20:15:23 | 44 | 12 |
[WP] "I used to live on Earth..." | *I used to live on Earth.*
They say the madness is the hardest thing to fight, alone in space. Drifting.
*I used to live on Earth*.
The life support on the modern suits is excellent. One can live for months without leaving them.
*I used to live on Earth*.
The thing that eventually gets you is the lack of food. Waste can only be recycled so may times, before even an inefficient digestive system like ours strips out all of the energy.
*I used to live on Earth*.
But long before that, the mind fails.
*I used to live on Earth*.
In most cases of accidental release from a tether, one can be found by the homing beacon on the suit. An obvious, and simple safety precaution. A half-competent crew aboard a ship will provide rescue within a few hours.
*I used to live on Earth*.
Of course, that assumes that there is someone alive in the ship to follow the beacon.
*I used to live on Earth*.
In the event that the item that broke your tether -- say a small stray bit of space rock -- proceeds to impact the ship, killing the crew...then you are shit out of luck.
*I used to live on Earth*.
Hallucinations begin within a day. And not long after that, the sense of self begins to fade. There is just so long that the human mind can handle *nothingness* before it lets go.
*I used to live on Earth*.
Some would advise embracing the darkness. After all, the end is assured. Why suffer on the way there?
*I used to live on Earth*.
But that is not the human way. We always fight to survive, even when survival is impossible. Hell, what is life, other than one long drawn out death? And so, I continue to grasp at conscious thought.
*I used to live on Earth*.
The trick, they say, is to remember who you are -- where you have come from.
*I used to live on Earth*.
After three weeks, I have long forgotten who I was. But I am committed to remembering where I came from.
*I used to live on Earth*. | "I used to live on Earth..." Jack drunkenly mumbled into his glass. "It was paradise. There were trees, and water, and people! Not like you pieces of alien shit."
The bartender reached across the bar and gently pried a half empty glass from Jack's limp hand. Jack made a half-assed attempt to retrieve the glass and barely managed to string together three words before passing out.
"Hey... I wasn't..."
When Jack came to, the bar was nearly empty save for a few late night stragglers. Or was it early morning? Jack couldn't tell. The haze of alcohol made it incredibly difficult to see the watch that rested on his wrist. Not that it would do much good here anyway. It was just another relic from a world gone by.
Jack slowly lowered his head back onto the bar. He figured now was as good a time as any for a nap. As the darkness folded over him, lulling him to sleep, he mumbled to himself, "I used to live on Earth..."
| 2015-01-28T07:40:18 | 2015-01-28T05:04:46 | 29 | 12 |
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops. | Metal boxes were stacked haphazardly, their lights blinking and mechanical noises whirring. The room was dark and dank with the smell of body odor lying stagnant in the air and heavy breaths joining the tranquil symphony of computers.
70%. The icon continued to spin, as it had for the past 13 hours. 70%.
A lanky woman, her hair oily from fingers and nails chewed from teeth, was curled in a worn leather office chair. She blinked at the monitor, bagged eyes unfocused until an error window popped up: Insufficient Memory.
Her spine straightened from a slouch with a crack. White danced across her vision as her chair rolled and spun to face another monitor, fingers sweeping across the interface. Fuck. FUCK. This couldn't be happening, not now. She wanted, needed this. It was supposed to be hers.
It would be HERS.
They wouldn't take this away from her. They wouldn't be allowed to keep this away from her.
The woman opened folders, dragging and dropping various programs, documents, even family photos into the trash bin, hoping to free space up. Foolishly she had not even considered a download of this proportion would require as much memory as her computers could provide rather than what had merely been available.
It was a superpower, after all. Her superpower, and she only settled for the grandest and best of them all.
With a forced breath, the download restarts. From the beginning. A strained smile graced her chapped lips. She would wait. She would wait and then it'd be hers. They wouldn't stop her from claiming what would be hers.
Distantly she wondered if somebody noticed that a superpower had somehow been buried in the depths of a torrent site. A glitch? A human error? She didn't bother to dwell on the hows and whys, as long as she'd get what she want. Her mother and father had always taught her that that the results were what mattered, not the means.
Her parents had raised her up to be on top, and They thought They could just throw her parents in a shit hole for only taking what's rightfully theirs. She hadn't seen them in years and couldn't even find where her parents were locked up by Them.
For the next 13 hours she watched as the download bar creeps back up. 68%. She hummed pleasantly with the whirs of the computers and the fans working nonstop to keep the hardware cool. She didn't even notice the smell anymore.
69%. The sound of wood cracking and thumping to the ground, followed shortly by heavy footfalls and barked orders. The woman can't move. There's no window in her room, no escape.
Doors were flung open one by one followed shortly by “All clear!”s. Her hand slipped into her pocket, wrapping around cold steel. Her door burst open. She froze in her chair, eyes wide and palms sweaty.
Bright blue light finds her immediately, effectively blinding her from seeing its holder. She knew it was a man though, the voice, while tenor, left no argument for the gender.
She couldn't see and the words being shouted by the tenor did not register. She didn't notice the person approach until they yanked her from my chair, using their body to slam her on the hard floor. She bucked, metal flashing towards the closest exposed flesh she, but the man was stronger than her.
Her wrists were caught and the pocket knife forced out of her hand.
She noted dimly her chair had been toppled with the wheels still rolling, only to be kicked away by another faceless man. Suddenly, the world was filled with noise again.
“LE'GOVMEH!” she spat against the carpet, body struggling. The tackler adjusted his grip with each shift she made. “HOW DARE YOU! YOU'RE ONE OF THEM! ONE OF THEM! IT'S MINE! YOU'RE MINE! YOU'RE ALL GOING TO BE MINE!”
From a corner of the room comes a muttered, “Jesus Christ, she's insane.” She couldn't tell if that voice was male or female, but she'd remember. She'd show Them.
The man on top of me strategically keeps his fingers from snapping teeth and continued with the speech she had missed most of. “You will not be afforded legal council nor trial. Ma'am, you're never going to see the light of day.”
A hysterical noise, half laugh, half sob ripped its way from her throat. She didn't care what the mean man was saying, he was one of Them. And They were bad.
Blood was oozing around her teeth, but she didn't pay it mind, eyes zeroing in on a soldier approaching her computer. “DON'T TOUCH THAT!”, but cords are ripped from my computer carelessly.
The download stilled. She stared at the screen, head cranking around to stare at the screen in incredulous betrayal even as she was led out of the room in restraints. It was as if the world was mocking her.
The cord yanker looks around the room, the screams and vitriol of the detained woman muted by the walls. “70%,” she says out loud to the other occupants of the room, shock evident behind her clear visor.
The United States of America was one of many countries to become fully automated in the past 20 years, the commercial availability of supercomputers the first step for the superpower to be supported by the most advanced network the modern world had seen.
Not even the Chinese supercomputers had managed to batter their way into the US's.
And somehow the delusional daughter of forgotten terrorists had managed to stumbled across a file that would've given her total control over the US's systems. Surgical robots. Stocks. AI controlled planes and robotic soldiers fighting wars on foreign soil. Nuclear codes.
All in the hands of one woman.
The woman who would've single-handedly taken over an entire nation because of a glitch.
The soldier grimaced. No one could ever know about this.
No one could ever know about the woman who almost became a superpower. | I've always wanted to have superpowers. I remember back when I was in the third grade I would run two miles home from school everyday, just so that I could watch the latest episode of the Super Man cartoon show. I was so obsessed with being a super hero that some days I would come to school wearing a red cape. Needless to say I was always made fun of. This obsession continued up until the 7th grade. By this time guys were starting to get girl friends, and just about everyone was hanging out on weekends with their friends having lots of fun, everyone except for me. I decided that it was time to grow up. I quit wearing the cape to school, stopped watching super hero shows, and even tore all my super hero posters off my bedroom walls. I swore I would never go back to my geeky ways. By the time I started high school I actually had some decent friends, and this girl I had a crush on finally began talking to me. Life was finally starting to get better. Then all of a sudden, in just 3 months time, things started to change, and when I say change I mean REALLY change. It all started during school, one of the teachers turned on the TV and switched straight to the news channel. The shocking news left everyone in disbelief. Apparently some big shot hacker had hacked straight into the US Military databases and had uncovered what some say to be the greatest piece of technology since the internet itself. This technology that he leaked all over the web was being torrented by people everywhere. And what did this technology do you ask? Well... It gave people superpowers... The US Military was doing everything that they possibly could to rid this new technology from the internet. From what i've heard you'd be lucky if your torrent got to 2% before the US Military busted down your doors. And to all the people caught trying to torrent them... the death sentence. Within a few years people quit talking about it, it seemed like bringing it up into a conversation was taboo. Cut ten years later and im living what seems to be the perfect life, I have a great job, i've married the love of my life, and I have a beautiful boy. Everything was great but something seemed like it was missing. I couldn't quite figure it out at first, but one day while I was helping my parents clean out their old house I found something remarkable in the attic. It was the cape... It was my cape... Suddenly it hit me. The news story from back in high school about the super powers started playing back in my brain. It was just like when a catchy song gets stuck in your head, and i couldn't stop thinking about it. It was getting late so I said my goodbyes to my parents and raced out the door. I just wanted to see if it was still possible. I drove like a maniac to get back home still with the news report playing back in my head. Finally, when I arrived home I ran straight to my laptop. I googled for the torrents everywhere but there was no results of it to be found. It was almost as if it was entirely erased from the internet. My search went on for a couple more hours until finally I found something strange. It was a website in German, that google couldn't translate. During my college days I had gone through three German courses, but it was still really hard for me to understand what it was saying. Suddenly a certain word caught my eye, it said "Supermacht 229 TB". I knew what supermacht translated too from back in school. It meant super power, but could it actually be a real super power torrent? What else could possibly take up 229 Terra bytes? It had to be. I clicked on a button that looked like it might be the download, and all of a sudden uTorrent pops up. It started downloading something. It reached 1% and I began to get very nervous. I paced back and forth asking myself if I should cancel it or not before it's too late. I've heard almost all the stories, and I certainly didn't want the death penalty. I raced back to my screen to see that it was already at 24%. I assured myself that if it had managed to get that far there was no way the military was tracking my download. Soon enough it was at 60%, and I started to feel something tingling inside of me. I didn't think about it until then, but I realized my hard drive couldn't hold 2 terabytes let alone 229! Every percent downloaded I could feel the power in me grow stronger, I felt like I could fly, and well... Maybe I could! I was about to fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a superhero nothing was going to stop me! Suddenly once my download hit 70% it stopped, and all that I had started to feel left my body. Next I began hearing noises outside. I couldn't believe it. I had gotten so close. I rushed outside to find something unbelievably. "DINKLEBERG!", I screamed. "Hi neighbor!", Mr. Dinkleberg responded while floating in mid air. | 2016-07-02T20:45:26 | 2016-07-02T18:09:05 | 86 | 17 |
[WP] You are the God of small things and you were quite content with your lot-until the purge.Your temples lay burnt, your priests bathed in their own blood your priestesses shared the same fate yet only after being violated.They will pay for you are the god of small things- small not insignificant | Upon seeing the horrors that befell my subjects, my beloved followers, I rushed into the hall of the greater gods.
Pleading with the king of gods I said, “please, oh greatest of gods, he who in omnipresent and omnipotent, I beg of thee. Tell me who hath slain my priests and my priestesses. With your great knowledge surely you must know.”
And to this he replied, “foolish being, you cannot see that it was I, and the other gods within this hall, that destroyed your temples? You are not fit to be a god. You lack both godly ambition and godly talent. As such we had to take your execution into our own hands, although we believed losing your followers would be enough. Perhaps, like your domain, you refuse to die easily.”
Upon his thundering words the other gods in the hall each prepared to finish the job. And in my rage I cared not for their retribution as I shouted one divine order over my domain “go forth, my children, leave no man nor woman alive, show these impudent humans the price of their sins, turn their temples to rubble and their people to bones. Let this day be engraved in the very history of the world as the day when every man, woman, elder, and child feared the plague, and the swarm that brought it.”
And so the gods struck me down with their great weapons, but as they did thousands of beast, from rat to spider, crawled out of their holes and went forth in one unified swarm to siege each city and leave no man alive. And so that day the greatest gods and all their followers were consumed. And no such fool remained. And when, at last, those who worshipped no god began to rebuild what had been lost they remembered one true warning from the divine text. Nothing, no matter how small, was insignificant. | [Poem]
Desecrated altars every way
Thy own scholars lay limp,
Cut down by those who could not say
Taunted and teased by imps
And though they may feel righteous
Murder without consequence
I am the God of the Miniscule,
Threads of guilt blossom in sequence
A chain of motion set abound
Darkness eats at thy heart
Lives begin to crumble down
This delicious work of art
Men driven mad lose their heads,
From nigh but a spark.
As they descend wailing remorse,
I chuckle in the Dark.
Edit: It's 4 stanzas of 4 lines I haven't posted on here before so not sure why the formatting came out like this | 2021-12-03T09:09:30 | 2021-12-03T09:06:29 | 38 | 10 |
[WP] Tell me about the american version of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
[The houses are, of course, Wolfthorn, Hawkridge, Foxcrest, and Bearglove.](http://i.imgur.com/HzLe3qz.jpg)
This is in the United States. Harry Potter's actions didn't effect anyone here, except give them some stories to tell.
What are the houses like? What houses are rivals? | Magical schools of North America, an overview.
There are four main magical schools in the North American continent. The Salem Witches Institute (SWI) is the eastern most of the schools. Located in an unplotable dimensionally shifted area somewhere in Massachusetts, it is the oldest and most traditional of the magical schools. It is a female only school and is home to no less than thirteen covens and seven secret sects. The school specializes in ancient druidic and fertility rituals, traditional potions, medicinal magic, and long lasting hexes and vicious curses; many of which are primarily directed against the male genitalia.
Its counterpart, Miskatonic University of Arcane Studies, has switched over to a co-ed arrangement as recently as 1869. Located in the notice-me-notted town of Arkham, Massachusetts, the campus features excellent accelerated studies in demonology, soul magic, necromancy, and Things-mankind-was-never-meant-to-know (as well as Advanced Things-mankind-was-never-meant-to-know). Notable alumni include Gomez and Fester Addams, architect Ivo Shandor, and Johnathan Horace Tobin, author of Tobin's Spirit Guide.
In the Midwest region, there is the Thunderbird College of Conjuration. The school's location is constantly in flux as its campus consists of an enchanted flying citadel. Founded by a group of four wizards and witches who felt that neither Miskatonic nor Salem offered enough defensive studies, the Thunderbird College specializes in producing some of the best war wizards, battle mages, and curse-breakers in the world. Specialties include Offense against the Dark Arts, Skin-walking (animagus studies), Voodoo and You, and Advanced Shamanistic rituals.
Finally, on the west coast, there lies the California Institute of Technomancy; the newest magical school as of these writings. Located in the magical town of Silicon City, the school's advanced classes focus on seamlessly blending magic and technology, or as the students call it, "Science!". Much of the recent advances in spell crafting and potion making has taken place in this school. Unfortunately, safety measures and policy have fallen behind the rapid advancement of everything else. In any given year, as much as a third of the campus population will become injured due to experiments gone rouge. Specialties at the school include Magitec Device Assembly, Advanced Golem construction, Experimental Artificing, and C++ plus Magic; hacking the world around you. | From *Magical Education Across The World* by Rory Shamble, Chapter 6: American Education, paragraphs 1-4.
Magical Education in the Americas is, unlike that in Asia or Africa, based in large part upon the magical traditions of the European continent. It is, however, much less established, owing to their recent founding relative to the much more ancient schools of the Old World. This is the central difference between American schools, and all others across the world.
Owing in large part to this recent establishment, American schools are much more receptive to the influence of other magical cultures. For example, the Salem Witches' Institute, the primary female school of the continent, was founded by Europeans. However, in the past century, it has accepted methods of magic such as those practiced by major Arabian, Asian, and African schools.
Additionally strong in influence is the magical methods of the Native Americans, a profoundly spiritual sect of wizardry. Such charms as the Patronus, Invictum, and other soul-revealing spells were developed by the male counterpart to the Salem Institute, the Native American founded Academy of Sky-Dancers.
As its name indicates, the Academy practices Native American dancing magic, which is famously able to control large-scale weather if sufficient wizards are involved in the casting, although it has many applications beyond this. The Sky-Dancers Academy is the only school in the world to offer education towards this unique branch of magic, and receives many immigrant students because of it.
| 2014-12-07T19:41:39 | 2014-12-07T17:48:13 | 32 | 24 |
[WP] Man takes a cute picture of his two year old daughter and decides to upload it to Reddit. The post gains good karma, but one user suddenly posts the comment "That's not your daughter. You didn't take that picture" followed by an imgur link that shows the exact same photo uploaded 6 months ago. | It was a cute photo, really. I was rather proud of myself catching the moment the kitten spun in midair trying to catch my teenage daughter's hair as she flipped it over her shoulder. So I uploaded it to imgur and posted a link to /r/aww. Because that's what you do.
Initial feedback was positive. Not skyrocket to the front page positive, but it was good. i went to bed happy to have shared the moment with Reddit.
In the morning, I was excited to log into my account and see how the photo had done overnight. But my excitement turned to cold disappointment almost immediately. The comments devolved very quickly when I turned my back on the thread.
"Cute girl. Very nice"
"What's her name?"
"She got a Instagram?"
"eyy bby"
But the internet being what it is, those types of comments didn't surprise me. I didn't like people looking at my daughter that way, especially in response to a photo *I* posted, but it was hardly shocking. What really got me was a post that went a completely unexpected direction.
"That's some shitty karmawhoring dude" followed by an imgur link. A link that let to my photo, posted six months ago. My photo that I just took yesterday, online for months. How is that even possible? In response to the karmawhoring accusation, a karmadecay post listed the subreddits the earlier photo had been posted in:
/r/pics
/r/animalsbeingjerks
/r/cute
/r/creepy
Creepy? That doesn't sound right. I opened the comments of that thread and was greeted with comments informing me that "That cat's eyes are soulless" and asking "Why would someone let their cat play with a dead girl."
"Honey," I called out, "come look at this."
The house was silent. I got up and padded to my daughter's room. Knocking on the door, I called out again.
"Are you up?"
I inched the door open and a shaft of light from the hallway fell on an empty bed. I flipped on the light. Bare walls, empty dresser, untouched bed. The only item in the room was a photo of my daughter on the nightstand. The same photo we'd used for the flyers at her memorial service. The cat, no longer a kitten really, was curled up beside the photo, purring in his slumber. | Yeah Imma use a throwaway for this one.
A year ago when I was still only using 1 acc, I submitted a picture of my daughter to a very popular sub. I got some few dozen upvotes at first, and then the creepy PMs and shit started coming in. Fucking tards on this site, I swear. Anyway there was one guy who claimed the usual OP is a bundle, but the shitty thing was, he linked to the same picture of my daughter, except uploaded several months earlier (on Imgur). After that the PMs only started to get worse, people claiming I'm sending some secret message to other pedos out there, and all my recent posts got bombarded by downvotes and there was even one neckbeard mod who wanted my personal info "or he would report me".
I had like 20k comment karma on that account too, and in the next few days I went down to 14k, mostly due to the dumb witchhunt. I even uploaded evidence that it was indeed my daughter but few people saw that post.
I'm actually quite sad over the incident, because most of my karma was from thoughtful, contributing comments and generally they weren't upvoted more than double digits. If you read this Alan, GO SCREW YOURSELF, totally unnecessary. | 2015-03-27T02:19:34 | 2015-03-27T00:42:43 | 112 | 11 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy | I pressed the square button again, sniping the guy hiding on top of the hut that had been taking out my team for the past half hour. It had taken me too long to find him, but I finally got him. The fact that his insults changed from sucking his anatomy to doing inappropriate things to my mom told me I got the right guy.
There was a knock on my door and my mom came in, wiping her hands on her apron. "Sweetie, can you take out the garbage?"
"Mom, I'm playing my game. I can't do it right now."
"Just pause it."
"That's not how it works." I said, clenching my teeth. She didn't get it.
"Danny, the garbage truck is going to be here in half an hour. Please just do it quick?" She was asking, but it didn't sound like a question. "Last time you missed it and it stunk up the basement, remember?"
"Fine," I said, tossing my controller to the floor as the voices on the screen kept asking why I wasn't shooting anymore.
"Thank you, Sweetie."
"Why doesn't Gary do it?" Isn't that what a boyfriend was for?
"He's not here," she said heading back down the hall.
What a useless sack. I walked downstairs and saw three garbage bags by the door. I grabbed two of them and headed to the curb to put them in the trash bin. I tossed the first in without issue, but the second caught the edge tearing the side and causing a piece of trash to fall to the ground.
I picked up the hand from the ground, it's finger pads removed, and tossed it back in the bin. I headed back to the house to get the last bag.
Guess Gary didn't work out either. Maybe the next guy will. | My skin feels so dry. I've bought a what must be hundreds of dollars worth of moisturizing creams, but nothing seems to work for this complexion. I felt so beautiful earlier this week, but I guess it has something to do with summer coming early because now I just feel gross. A few friends of mine recommended looking on the internet, which was a surprisingly good idea compared to their other annoyingly constant advice. But anyway, here I am now! Do y'all have any suggestions? It would just be such a shame for me to have to go pick up a fresh face already, I haven't even had the time to find any other pretty faces to harvest, let alone clean up the mess I made getting this current one. | 2016-05-19T13:02:55 | 2016-05-19T11:52:03 | 203 | 17 |
[WP] You’re a hero with an archenemy. One day, afternoon defeating them, you jokingly asked: “What could I do to stop you once and for all?” To your surprise, they responded: “Help me open a coffee shop “ | “I beg your pardon?”
“Coffee. Shop. Simple stuff.”
“And that would stop you… how? Exactly?”
“I’ll be busy running a business. And I can call myself the only villain who could make the Archangel retire. It’s win-win, Seb.”
Absolute confusion plastered across his face, Sebastian took a seat on the moss-covered curb next to his greatest nemesis. Right before his eyes, the massive wild vines retracted back under the cracked asphalt, pulling the stone slabs back into place behind them. Wide-eyed onlookers pressed against the windows and storefronts where they had taken refuge from Hemlock’s attack, trying to see the famed Archangel in action. His mind reeled, and as the creaks and crunches of moving pavement ceased, a tense silence dominated the plaza.
“Sebastian, I’m not an evil person. I do what I do because I know you’ll come, and that means all the news stations have no choice but to listen. Do you think people would have found out about that horrible oil pipeline? The unlicensed deforestation project? The clinic that did all those awful experiments?”
Sebastian slowly shook his head. He knew she was right, and he had known for a long time. His voice faltered. He couldn’t admit to her, nor to himself, that he was scared of losing all the success, and the respect, and the praise he had spent so long developing. Career heroes all grew massive egos, and he was no exception. Some people worshipped him as a real biblical angel, and he hated himself for not stopping them.
A cocoon of vines sprouted from a nearby oak tree, enveloping the two in a private little green haven, away from the prying eyes and the helicopter cameras. Hemlock, Allie, turned to make eye contact with Seb, placing a delicate hand on either side of his face.
“It’s killing you, Sebastian. I saw you snap at that clinic, and if I hadn’t been there to stop you, the entire world would have seen you smite a dozen people into dust.”
Shaken from his paralytic stupor, Seb glanced at Allie’s right arm, covered in a large burn scar, and it forced him to relive that day where she had to throw herself in his path. He tried to escape the memory, but his mind was too powerful to bury it. He saw her face in perfect detail, her eyes set with determination and yet with a hint of fear.
“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…”
His eyes filled with tears, a glittering, golden liquid that dissipated into a puff of smoke before it could even hit the ground.
“Sebastian, you are an emotional wreck. You’re an unstable metahuman that has had the expectations of the entire world placed on them. Now is not the time to lose your shit, okay? Look at me.”
Her voice brought Sebastian back from having a full-blown panic attack. There was nothing but certainty in her words, and it brought him some comfort.
“Sebastian is a better person than Archangel could ever be.”
And that day, just as Hemlock had threatened, Archangel died. The public wondered about his disappearance for a while, but eventually, a new superstar took his place. A new child driven to the edge of psychological breakdown by parents that didn’t love them for who they were, but for who their powers could make them become. Another shining example of a legendary warrior with nothing but anxiety, instability, and sadness behind the facades of logos, capes, and armor.
Somewhere in downtown Seattle, a new coffee shop opened. At first, the locals found the owners quite unusual, one a woman with dyed hair who always wore long-sleeved clothes, and the other a tall, pale man who always wore sunglasses even in the latest hours of the evening, but eventually even that became routine for the passerby. After a while, local teens applied for jobs, and some customers would make it a point of stopping by every morning on their way to work. Between the ethically sourced food, the lush garden of flowers and plants that adorned the outside of the building, and the immaculate cleanliness of the small shop, Eden’s Garden was just another part of the community.
For now. | Honestly, the routine was such a bore at this point.
Everyday, I would find Nemesis Man cooking up some evil and dastardly plot. It could range from your standard Take-Over-the-World to something less dangerous like poisoning the city's food supply system. And then I would stop him. Usually by punching him, and then taking him to jail.
In the beginning, our fights were pretty intense. Full of action and non-stop suspense. It seemed like it could go either way -- no one knew who would win. Was the world going to end? Could Hero Man save the day?
Of course, I won. And people cheered. News Reporters would interview me ("What was it like, knowing the fate of the entire world was in your hands?" "How did it feel, knowing that making any mistake would cost the lives of millions?"). I even had a growing fanclub of young admirers. Back then, people loved me and my story: the hero defeating the villain.
But then I won again. And again. And again. And I just kept on... winning. People stopped coming to watch the fights. News reporters, if they came at all, would only ask me questions that I never knew the answer to ("Who's going to pay for that destroyed building?" "What are we going to do about the collapsed sewers?"). Even my fanclub disbanded. And the fights were just... boring.
"Take this!" I said with false bravado, not actually caring if my punch landed or missed.
Nemesis Man didn't respond, easily dodging the punch.
"Oh. C'mon!" I complained. "At least make this kinda fun for me. Gimme some witty banter."
My archenemy let out a sigh. "How long are we going to do this? Man, just take me to jail already. And then I'll break out... and then we'll fight... you'll win... and then the cycle repeats. I'm so tired of this. I never win. You won't let me win."
"Well," I jokingly asked, "What could I do to stop you once and for all?"
"Help me open a coffee shop."
​
And I guess that's what we did. He initially wanted to do it alone, and just quit being a villain. He tried, but no one would accept the applications of a former super-villain, and he was constantly turned down. He tried to rent space, but no one would take his offers, no matter how generous. So I helped. I may have been growing out of popularity, but most people still knew who I was. I vouched for Nemesis Man, claiming that he had changed. He was good now. And he kinda was.
And considering how much work I put in into helping make this coffee shop, it shouldn't come as a surprise that I decided I wanted to work there too. In fact, I wasn't just an employee; I was a full-fledged co-owner. We were *Nemesis and Hero: Coffee and Snacks.*
oops i dunno where to go with the story from here. uhh. oh well. constructive criticism highly appreciated! | 2020-10-12T09:10:23 | 2020-10-12T09:03:50 | 108 | 23 |
[WP] "never hire humans" is a standard "no duh" statement across the universe. But by galactic standards, humans are cheap. So an alien overlord has just hired 500 humans to work on his personal resort colony. And things start going horribly wrong.
EDIT: easily my most upvoted post ever. Thank you all! | What troubled Thromm was that "overlord" was a not a protected term. Anyone with the right robes and a quantum gauntlet could dub themselves an "overlord" nowadays, if they conquered the right people.
To Thromm, overlordship meant something. Not just in the emotional, pride-in-a-job-well-done sort of way - it was definitive. It had a job description. Overlordship simply meant taking charge of other people who thought of themselves as being in charge. Thromm had done that, and as such, he thought himself fit to be called an overlord. The new crop, the youngsters - they subjugated serfs. Held entire swathes of intergalactic peasants in their hands. No good.
Who was it who had brought low the Sun Princes of the Galvanax Quadrant? Him. Who had seized dominion of the whole Alvine Nebula from the suppposedly "all-powerful" grip of Emperor Gramquist Goberian, the so-called "King in Chains"? Thromm had done it. And then, when it was done, he'd set about finding new roles for his humbled vassals. The Sun Princes, with their ancestral affinity for solar energy, oversaw the re-organisation of fusion reactor production. Gramquist Goberian, whose heart was made of iron and eyes of fiercest fire, was now a sector overmanager keeping an eye on cost reclamation across six galaxies. Subjugate people - then put them to the right work. That's what Thromm had done. And, as such, he thought himself a successful overlord.
Being effectively immortal, Thromm had never given much thought to retirement. But he knew in order to keep things dynamic, he'd have to give a few of the young bucks a stab at real management work, and that meant taking a bit of a step back. A bit of a break. Some nice R&R, while the cream rose to the surface - whereupon he could step back in again and reorganise accordingly.
Quietly, very quietly, Thromm began work on a little side-project. He earmarked a nice, lush world just off the Qumzari arm of the Ph'nek galaxy; a nice, blue-purple orb which basked in the temperate heat of an unshowy white sun. While assistants kept things running, Thromm hired architects, drew up plans and diverted resources for what would be his planet-sized holiday home. Seaborne leviathans from myriad worlds were flown across deep space in huge, intergalactic cargo ships, just so he'd have some sea-life to look at; followed by expensive seascapers with their colour-coded sand charts and anemone samples. Mountain ranges were carefully sculpted by designers, lazer weaponry paring down cliffs and snipping off the untidier forests so that Thromm would have somewhere to sit down if he decided to go hiking.
And that was just in the one hemisphere - in another, he had a whole ocean carefully tiled and chlorinated; the planet's two moons expensively recalibrated so that the wave patterns became more managable and swim-friendly. Lakes were turned into jacuzzis, steppes and grasslands into seating areas and recreational parks.
But that had all just been landscaping. The next bit of the project was soon to start - the construction. The wiring. The engineering. The drainage. The roads. The bridges. Whole palaces and complexes - of basalt, marble and moonstone; of steel, and glass and slate.
On the 903rd day of Thromm's carefully managed recreation of this planet, as he pondered the best location of one of the three town-sized speaker systems he was planning on having installed, he was approached by Zeetriek.
Once the Scourge of Pahl'raga and Lord of the Insitiable Pit of Gahmarghphath, Zeetriek had found a new calling under Thromm as an accountant and finance manager. He bid his boss a friendly hello, crossed the gemstone-cobbled courtyard and raised his clipboard.
"A lovely day for it, sire." He smiled, his grey jaw holding back a morass of mandibles and feelers. "May I have a word?"
Thromm finished his smoothie and wiped his lips. "Many words, Zeetriek - many words. How are the accounts?"
This time, the jaw held back a squeal of fear.
"Oh, lovely, my lord. Lovely. We've some lovely accounts. Such nice accounts. If you were to see these accounts, you'd really..."
Thromm snatched the clipboard from his underling, and pored over the numbers. Budget forecasts; stock analyses; predicted costs. But to his eyes, it appeared healthy. It was, as Zeetriek boasted, lovely. So why had clear fearly settled on the lackey's brow?
"Right - out with it. The figures are fine. What's up?"
Zeetriek gulped.
"Well, err, lovely figures and all, sire. No doubt about it...but Sk'tan'el, whom you'll remember was in charge of HR...well, he and I held a meeting yesterday...and..."
"Yes?"
"Well, you remember how he brought in Porvar the Almighty? And how he in turn instructed J'mech the Incorrigible to bring in a useful all-purpose workforce?"
"Yes?'
"And you'll remember when work started that Sk'tan'el and I issued a report to all departments noting the need for fiscal propriety and prudence?"
"Yes?"
"And you may not remember, but you might, when J'mech took a trip to one of the more remote systems directly outside of your domain to see if he could hire any good-sized workforces and bring them in under budget?"
"Yes? Yes?"
"And you'll remember that we found a contractor who bid incredibly low for the project, and we snapped them up, and booked them to start work on the meat of the project, and that given timetables being what they are, they'll arrive next Tuesday?"
"YES??"
Zeetriek handed him the clipboard again, and gingerly lifted one of his sheets.
"Well...er...we found out who they were."
Thromm's eyes scanned until he found the relevant line.
"RACE OF SUCCESSFUL CONTRACTORS - HUMANS."
Thromm blinked. Then, he blinked again.
"Ah." He said. "Bugger."
| Τhis is from phone, so excuse some mistakes and structure stuff~
I'm not poor, despite what my infamy suggests. I'm not stingy either, despite how much I loath spending more than needed in some occasions. I just find some of my money put into a better use than overpaid resort colony.
It's a semi-permanent offer, and while many would jump at it, the cost would be too big to properly manage. Paying for the upkeep didn't need to be tripled just for some more worthwhile colony.
To that extend, I was right. But to no extend did I imagine what sort of terrible mistake I had made when picking the second cheapest of all sentient species to hire.
Humans; a peculiar race living forgotten amidst all the other hidden away races. They didn't have many differences as opposed to some of the more exotic species recorded, no, that wasn't the reason they were peculiar.
Sitting back on his comfortable chair, the overlord's face pondered on a single incident when deciding whether to hire humans in his colony as opposed to some other species without the same history.
It was a single event, yet that event made humans to be cast aside from most of the alliances and species.
A single human managed to annihilate an entire empire after all, and that was not a small thing to think about. When talking about that event, the words that came to mind were pity for the empire, even if they did not deserve all of it.
They weren't defeated, nor was it something so light one could recover from. That human had managed to wreck the empire so hard, the empire didn't even think of sticking back.
He felt it was laughable that all humans had managed to get such a bad fame from that event alone, but the events that led up to it were anything but that.
The sheer trickery and cunningness that went through in order to destroy that empire left a lot of the real powers with dislocated jaws as they tried to process the entirety of the matter.
Add in a few other isolated incidents and you had yourself the most infamous race of all, humans.
That said, at least they came in cheaply. Recognising how bad their situation was, they knew it was only about to get worse before it got better.
It had been a long time since anything notable happened concerning humans, and it was due time to see if he was right in the end.
Heck, what could they even do at his resort? Closely supervised, monitored and controlled, he doubted any of the more volatile species would be able to do anything, let alone them.
With those sort of thoughts he pressed his order forward and waited for the humans arrival. He had checked in with five hundred of them for starters and if nothing happened he could double that number.
Days passed peacefully, and aside from a few minor scuffles, it had seemed like his choice was the correct one. Saving money as well as getting a highly adaptable stuff? It was a deal made from heavens themselves!
He kept that thought till the near end. He had mentioned after all that it was semi-permanent offer.
Alas, when humans got too enthralled with something, they could go above and beyond for it. It was theorised this was a result from their previous short lifespans, something which had been amended a long time ago.
Still, that didn't change the fact one of them managed to reverse engineer the core energy of the abode and create his own unstable copy.
It was fun how they liked to expiriment with everything they got in touch, and even a bit captivating as he watched them move through information as well as some of the higher races were able to. What one could not manage, a few dozens most certainly could.
It was because of his enjoyment of watching them do their own stuff that he was too late in noticing they had made a ticking time bomb.
He probably would have noticed even if half of the planet wasn't destroyed, but it sure as hell speed things up.
He watched with tearful eyes as an explosion so big and intense destroyed most of his fortune and property. He doubted even that exploding the main core they had tried to duplicate was able to cause such an explosion, let alone making it from scrap materials found around the planet.
He shook his head at the thought of what came next. The damages were so great it would set him a few years back to recover.
Ugh, no! This was the time to get rid of them. These poor bastards had even the audacity to laugh at what had happened. Sure you learn from mistakes, and sure they had time to evacuate, but these sort of "mistakes" if you could call them that, weren't acceptable.
Instantly as he thought of a way to get out of this predicament a call rang in front of him.
An old friend, he recognized, although he was the one whom he liked the least. Always first to tease him, always first to prank him.
Suddenly, a thought sprung up to his mind. Sure he couldn't just fire all of them due to the contract, but a swift allocation wasn't impossible. Not just that, but he had long since been wondering what gift to take for his friend, or if he would even attend to his thousandth year celebration.
Oh he definitely wouldn't want to miss this. He would plan long and hard, but if the end result was like what he imagined, it would all be worth it.
| 2019-01-26T07:36:32 | 2019-01-26T07:27:28 | 297 | 55 |
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal. | "That thing will give you cancer," the man in the advertisement said with a smug grin. Jake moved on. He was use to it at this point. Anyways Nothing could top that time, nearly two years ago, when the President herself had mentioned him in the state of the union, highlighting the near perfect success of the anti-smoking campaign.
Jake had gotten use to it by now. It actually had some benefits. On the one hand, he was a pariah of sorts. People looked on at him with disgust. They asked him if he knew how bad the habit was, as if the increasingly personal advertisements or the constant protestors outside his house had not already given him that impression. But he didn't really care. He had grown use to the life of an outcast, but it wasn't all bad. He had no problem finding women to date, though usually that only lasted for as long as they were trying to piss off their parents, but he didn't care. There was always another.
It even helped him make friends in some circles. Sure they would never smoke with him, but they respected him. He'd get invited to conferences and even spoke at the UN once, a symbol of the freedom he represented in his country. They would never ban smoking, take away his freedom, but so to were they free to shame him. He didn't mind though. And in a way, even as they shamed him, they appreciated him. He Was a lone holdout in a world that became less familiar with each passing moment. He was an ever present, if stinky, reminder of when things didn't move so fast, when people didn't know so much, when mistakes were tolerated. Now everything changed so much. Technology has transformed the world in to a sort of utopia, and though life was undeniably better, it was less interesting, less challenging. Change became the norm. Jake was a reminder of an older time when people were more individualistic, more interesting. And so while they urged him to conform, he was confident they were happy that he didn't.
"No one wants to marry a smoker Jake," the billboard spoke to him.
"Yeah well a smoker doesn't want to marry," he shot back. An annoying laugh shot out from behind him. He turned around to see a young man, no more than twenty, smiling at him.
"They said you were funny," the man quipped. "You'd have to have a sense of humor to carry on with those Death sticks."
Jake was use to this. They'd make a comment and then usually move on, satisfied that they had said their peace. But this young man lingered. Jake could tell he wanted to leave, his mind was ordering his feet to move but his feet refused to yield. Something held him there.
Jake reached into his pocket and pulled out one of the cigarettes he had rolled earlier that day. He offered it to the man, something he had done a thousand times before, a small and expected act of defiance, typical of these exchanges. But this time was different. He saw it in the mans eyes as soon as he offered it. That look of excitement that seemed not to exist anymore in this world of ease and plenty.
"Sure," The man said and extended his hand. | I walked down the overgrown, muddy street in my village. It was quiet, as it always had been. The quietness is the thing that was typical of this village, it had always been this quiet. I walked into the house where I was born, or at least: the place where I remembered I first was.
I don't remember much of my childhood, the only thing is that I was always alone, completely alone. Luckily, in this house there were some books I could read. Books that taught me reading, books that taught me the world. Those books also taught me that I should have some parents, because people come out of a female, who has had sexual intercourse with a man. I don't know where they are, I've never seen them. The only thing I remember was that I have always had a cigarette in my mouth.
I walked into the kitchen. There wasn't food there, but there were plants all over the place. Nature has not only taken this kitchen back, but this whole village. Some plants gave food, there were some berry bushes in the corner. I ate some of them.
On the kitchen table sat something that has fascinated and scared me my whole life. Two objects of which I didn't know what it was or what it could've been. It seemed like some sort of skeletons, the type of animal I was, homo sapiens. Before them, on the table laid a closed package of cigarettes: the skeletons probably had never smoked them, not even one. I took the package, set one sigaret afire and put it in my mouth. I wouldn't know how to live a life in which I couldn't smoke.
I walked out of the house, further down the road. I came at a junction, where a giant board was standing. On it was a picture of an old man with an angry face. I had never seen that man. I never saw men anymore, nor women. Next to the men stood the words. The words that I first taught myself: "Quit smoking!". In protest, I took a pull of my cigarette.
Edit: sigaret to cigarette | 2017-02-17T13:04:33 | 2017-02-17T11:15:56 | 26 | 13 |
[WP] The children were nestled away safe in their beds. You’ve hung their stockings over the fire place. A tree has been set up in a place of prominence. “For the children” you whisper as you place the offering of milk and cookies and began the Santa summing incantation | A fat white dude in his underwear (red) stands in front of you with sleep sticky eyes.
Yawning “I asked you last year to keep in mind time zones. This is just rude. I get the whole kids things and don’t mind coming, but could you not call me In the middle of the night? It’s a long day tomorrow “.
Janet grimaced. She’d been successful at summoning Santa over the last three years, and she did remember the time difference. But how else was she going to get the timing right for her kids.
A quick glance at the clock and at the fat man eating the second cookie, she realized she was going to have to hurry if she was going to get any gifts from him. Once the cookies were gone, that was it.
“At least your baking has gotten better... real butter this time!”
She sighed. She’d been baking constantly this year because of Covid, so the cookies damn well better be good. Sadly apparently he eats faster with tasty cookies. But at least he has calmed down. She sighed and collected herself for phase 2.
“Santa I’ve been a good girl, can I sit on your knee?”
He stopped chewing and raised an eyebrow “you really want to do it this way? You don’t have to bind me. I’ll give your kids exactly what they asked for.”
Janet shuddered silently as she thought of her sons letter to Santa. Santa’s offer was more of a threat than an offer of good will. The kid asked for a freaking monkey.
She shook her head.
Samar’s sighed. Long. Put down half the remaining cookie. “Fine. Come sit on my knee.”
“Have you been a good girl this year”.
“Yes Santa”.
“Made your bed everyday, and did all your chores?”
“Yes Santa”
“Hmmm, I am not sure about that... I see an entry on a Tinder date gone I wrong.”
Janet jerked up right. She’d been lulled into a state of childlike wonder by the magic aura around the fat man. Colour rose high on her cheeks as she remembered that awful date before the pandemic hit. “Uh ah I uh.”
“It’s ok, his foot healed. But maybe you shouldn’t wear heels on a date. Or take dancing lessons. Do you want dancing lessons for Christmas little girl?”
“No, no!” She paused “can I have a new home? With a bedroom for Agnes, a bedroom for Roy and a bedroom for me? With access to a park or a yard? And room for a dog and cat? It doesn’t have to be a house or a fancy place, just somewhere safe”.
It was Santa’s turn to sit up straight and look at Janet oddly. He turned his head to really look at his surroundings and realized it wasn’t the same house as last year. Tiny, barred windows at the top of the ceiling. A sink, stove and mini fridge scattered around the room. Bunk beds with two figures asleep under blankets. A neat pile of blankets stacked beside an ancient arm chair.
He looked back at her.
“I have been good. Really good. But this year has been hard.” Tears started leaking out from her eyes.
Santa’s heart melted and he pulled her close.
“Of course my child. You have been good. The wish is bound. Go to sleep.”
He lifted the sleepy woman and carefully placed her back in the chair, he covered her with her blanket and smoothed the hair away from her now sleeping face.
He sighed at the surroundings and with a snap of the fingers, the fridge was almost overflowing with Christmas feast. Goodies sat on top. Presents appeared under the tree, including a stuffed monkey. And a small box, just big enough for a key, glistening with gold wrapping paper and glowing faintly dangled from a tree limb. | Sara having tucked the children in bed and prepared the offering stood in front of the cold fireplace.
She begun the chant to summon Santa Claus the spirit of Christmas and winter solstice.
"Spirit of kindness that signifies the returning of the light I invite you in my home to spread cheer and merriment this cold night." She tossed a handful of holly from the freshly made wreath into the cold fireplace and then a couple sprigs of pine from the Christmas tree.
The sound of laughter reverberated through the room before a fire sprung to life in the fireplace and a firm but gentle hand rested on Sara's shoulder.
"Merry Christmas my dear Sara!" His chuckle caused every source of light to brighten up the room for a few seconds.
Sara turned to see a man almost 8 foot tall and stocky with belly that would barely had fitted in a small wheelbarrow. His red cheeks and warm smile contrasted his piercing eyes that saw straight into your soul. This burly man with white hair and a big white beard was wrapped up in a Santa suit and even the thick heavy red coat with white fur trimmed along the edges. A big bag over his shoulder held easily by his hand that looked like it could singlehandly pick up a polar bear.
Sara smiled and she hugged Santa as he embraced her careful not to hurt her. He whispered into her ear "Kate, Paul, and Ryan, Veronica have been very good this year"
Santa stepped back making room for his bag as he brought it down to the floor causing the boards to creak. He opened it gently putting 8 beautifully wrapped gifts under the tree. Santa looked to Sara who was trying to hide her tears from him. A quick glance around this small home barely held together by Sara constant improvised repairs and her clearly almost barren pantry would of explained the tears. Santa however knew everything about everyone. Their every thought as clear as words in a book.
His hand gently wiped away a tear from Sara's cheek before he turned around and pulled from his pocket a simple brown paper wrapped box with her name on it. He put it gently under the tree.
Santa whispered into Sara ear "I love all my children Sara even after you have grown up. Rob and me had a very long conversation about his responsibility to help provide for his children. He will be paying now like a good boy or else!!" "Now off to bed child you will need your sleep"
Sara now in bed Santa ate the offering while Mrs Claus sit to filling the pantry and fridge with the most delicious of food fit for growing children and single moms. At the same time a team of elves put a thousand years of wisdom into fixing the home to make it a true home for growing children and their tired mother. One even cleaned the drive and made a snowman. Their work done they disappeared into the night sky as reindeer pulled the sleigh to the next place they were needed. | 2020-12-08T13:41:52 | 2020-12-08T13:35:25 | 58 | 14 |
[WP] You're rather annoyed that your history teacher gave you a D on your essay about Mesopotamia. Not just because you're sure she doesn't like you, but also because - as an ancient being trying to adapt to modern society - YOU WERE THERE. | Immortality gets rather *boring* after multiple centuries waiting for humans to develop new technology. The rapid development humans have experienced in the last few years has kept me entertained very well, suffice to say; as long as they don't blow each other up and make everything boring again, life has been rather flush with excitement.
Unfortunately, it's also been rather flush with aggravation. I decided to enroll myself in a school to see what children today are learning about history, times I was alive in, just to see how accurate they were. I was actually impressed, given the limited available artifacts to study. They got most of it down, including making fun of that rotten bastard Ea-Nasir. I'm still angry, a few millenia later.
A quiz on ancient Mesopotamia was handed out today, where we had to write an essay on what daily life was like in Mesopotamia. Having been blessed with a photographic memory (and also actually having *been there*) I wrote what I would consider a beautiful piece on a daily routine; waking up, preparing for work, taking in the sights on the way, et cetera. It was a pleasant era, I must admit.
It came as no surprise when the essay returned with an F and a "See me after class!" note. I don't think the teacher liked me anyway; she always assumed that I had been lying, whenever I corrected her on something she got wrong. I was only trying to help, after all, but her sour attitude certainly made it harder than it had to be.
This isn't the first time this had happened, and to be honest I was getting rather sick of it at this point. I am tired of being treated like a moron when I know more than she ever will. I must teach her a lesson. Murder is easy, of course, but it never really works, that I have learned. Perhaps I'll put her in my shoes of that day, and see what she thinks of my essay when she comes back to the present.
The one thing I know for sure is that Mrs. Smith is... what was that word they used? Ah, yes. A **bitch.** | The prompt was simple. Choose a Mesopotamian ruler or dynasty, and explain how their reign affected the ancient civilizations. Pretty easy, especially when you lived through it. The problem comes up when your teacher wants sources. I can't exactly explain how I was there and how I know that I'm correct. That I'm more correct than the sources they want me to use are. Mistranslations have caused many problems in primary sources. And secondary sources are rife with bias and convenient framing of evidence. It's much simpler to just explain how it happened without things getting muddled down with all those sources. Ms. Jones would never accept any explanation I could give. Not like I'd want to explain that to her either. Don't think I'm gonna pass this class, at least not with Ms. Jones teaching it. Probably gonna have to repeat sophomore year because of this mess. In the end it doesn't matter though. I've lived for this long, so what's an extra year of high school in millenia of misery? | 2021-07-17T23:57:54 | 2021-07-17T23:46:05 | 446 | 101 |
[WP] You are a superhero, no one knows about your alter ego. Not even your spouse. You return home tired and disappointed one day after failing to capture your archnemises. You enter your bedroom to find your spouse struggling to get out of the costume of your archnemises. | Kelly Hutcheson normally fumbled with her key at the apartment door before stepping inside. After a long day, her arms would be too tired to properly aim the finicky RFID chip, and the wafting smell of cinnamon candles too tempting to allow her to focus.
Today was not a normal day.
Her ordinary-bystander boots were soaked in rainwater. Her shawl was speckled in grimy mud, her jeans were a mess of claw marks and tears. She didn’t have any sort of cover story straight yet- all she could think of was crawling into his arms and collapsing. They knew each other well enough never to pry. Her at her “therapy” job, him with his military work. They moved a lot, given the state of the country.
Despite the day’s events, for once her hands didn’t shake. Since she was holding it all together by the barest of fractions, the key clicked the door faster than normal. She stepped in and called for her love.
“Grant?”
Her voice was gentle, but couldn’t hide the day’s hurts.
A rustling of fabric. She turned, stared at the sliding doorway that separated her room from the apartment’s mini hallway. “Is that you home, honey?” he grumbled, tender. “Just a minute.”
She didn’t have the patience to wait, there was no need for modesty between them. Her lip trembled as she slid open the door.
Grant dropped to a kneel- but that didn’t stop her from seeing the electric green camouflage pooled around his heels.
She stared.
“Caught me with my pants down, heh,” he joked, trying to pull his feet out casually from the spandex. “And- honey? Oh my god, Kelly, what happened?”
He waddled gracelessly over, legs trapped in the stretchy fabric, and circled her in a hug. Mud and all.
“Your clothes, your shoes... who did this to you?” He frowned, deeply concerned.
She blinked.
“Kelly? Baby girl, I have you-“
“Stop,” she commanded. The thrum of her power involuntarily echoed from her shaking throat. Completely unprepared for it, he complied with the lifeless obedience of all her powers’ victims. And as if that wasn’t enough to set her over the edge, he stayed that way. He couldn’t move until the power wore off, after all. There could be anywhere from minutes to hours or a silent staring match.
But he was aware.
Even if she couldn’t see him react, he must be trying to move from where he stood.
Not even the most stubborn of listeners could defy The Commandant, the city’s so called Voice for Justice.
A shot of dread moved her before she even noticed she was moving. Two gentle hands pulled at the loose fabric around her lover’s feet, showing the emblem of General Confusion.
Bully of the entire eastern seaboard, terror of the country, murderer of millions... her husband.
Sobs ripped from her chest- sobs that were due for the thousand victims she had been unable to save. Her powers had slipped out before, but never on him. Only ever on his alter ego, an alter ego so used to his earplugs, it was a miracle she hadn’t pieced it together sooner.
Grant had always said they were from construction projects.
She wanted to scream, to demand answers- but with this little control, she couldn’t afford it. Nobody needed the whole city block to collapse, not today. One wrong word and she could very well stir up the whole apartment complex into a frothing rage.
*Liar. Liar. Liar* rang in her head, the same admonishment she gave herself for keeping the truth from her man for so long.
Well. The shoe was not merely on the other foot- it was guilty of war crimes she didn’t have the ability to measure.
She ran from the room, eyes wild.
It wasn’t until she reached the bus station that she fully realized exactly who she’d left in their apartment. She pulled her mobile, and tried to do the reasonable thing.
“Pick up your phone,” she whispered to herself. “Please. Please please please.”
No answer. Ten calls, no answer.
“We need to talk,” she typed, then deleted. What do you even say when you find something like this out? What would she have said if her husband, in innocence, had discovered her?
“Did you know.” She sent, reeling. He had to listen eventually, right? He was so patient and understanding and-
And had been successfully ignoring her hero persona for nearly twelve years.
They’d barely been married two.
The three dots popped up on her phone, and she watched with rapt attention.
Edit: r/MoreStories for more text messages | "The fuck, Alice?" I shouted, nearly tripping over my own feet trying to back out of the room.
She straightened up quickly, dropping the weapons that were in her hands. "I, uh, I-"
"You know what, *dear*? I don't want to fucking hear it." I pointed at the suit that lay pooled around her feet. "You've nearly killed the whole city five times. Not once, not twice, but *five fucking times*," I growled out. "Hell, you almost killed me."
She stepped out of the tangle of clothes in the floor and nonchalantly crossed the room to the dresser. "I never 'almost' killed you," she said. "in fact, no one has ever died as a direct result of my actions. And I planned it that way."
I snorted and looked away as she threw a shirt on. "I'll pack my bags and go. No wonder I couldn't find evidence of the affair I thought you were having."
"*You* thought *I* was having an affair?" she shrieked. "How in the seventh circle of hell did you expect me not to feel the same way when you started disappearing at all hours? God, I spent *days* following you, hoping to get a glimpse of the woman you stopped loving me for."
I heard the bed creak as she sat down and I looked at her, seeing tears rolling down her face. "I never would have cheated on you," I said in a near whisper.
"Yeah, well, how was I supposed to know that?" she snapped, irritated. "All I knew was you kept disappearing."
I cocked my head at her. "You said 'knew'. Past tense. So you know now that I wasn't cheating?"
She looked up at me. "Yeah. And I know who you are. Fucking bastard. Throwing me away like a piece of trash in favor of a whole city. Did I *bore* you? Maybe I couldn't satisfy your urge to be the hero every time?" she went on icily. "Do you know why no one ever died?"
I shook my head and she cracked a small smile. "They didn't die because I was never interested in hurting them. I only wanted you to pay a little attention to me, so I became this. My alter ego. Denod Naba. Abandoned, spelled backwards. I thought that maybe- just maybe, that would give me the attention that I so desperately desired from you."
I thought about it for a second, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry you thought I abandoned you, How about we try things again? I'll be here more often and you let me take you down?"
She glanced at me. "I think that we need to take each other down. I've- uh, well, we've got a new job."
I glanced quizzically at her and she rested a hand protectively across her stomach. "Mark," she began, "I'm pregnant. It's time we give up the past and raise this child. What do you say?"
I nodded, shocked. Through a choked up throat I squeezed out a "yeah" then crossed the room to pull her into my arms. "Mrs. Williamson, I know I haven't been the best husband, but I want to work on that. I want to be a good father to the little one too. Do you think you can kill me tomorrow at noon?"
She nodded. "Only if you kill me at the same time."
I grinned. "Meet you at one for lunch at Clarke's?"
A big grin confirmed my query. "Now, the pretty little Alice needs a nap. What say we snuggle?" | 2020-10-30T12:09:48 | 2020-10-30T12:04:44 | 108 | 39 |
[WP] You are a superhero whose powers are based on the music you are listening to. Rock can make you stronger, classical makes you smarter, etc. One day, you're fighting your toughest villain yet, and you are forced to use your "forbidden" playlist. | He was shaking, his hands on his knees, panting. His opponent, clutching his ribs smiled through cracked teeth.
"I'll admit. You gave me quite the run for my money. But I'm afraid, I'm simply too durable."
Mackanika looked up and spat out blood. "You son of a bitch backhand..."
Backhand grinned. "Naughty language isnt alright."
Mackanika stood up, balling his fists up. hitting his earpiece a few times.
"I think my friend, that I have won. You've expended everything against me." Laughed Backhand, straightening up and fixing his suit jacket.
"No. Not everything." Grinned Mackanika. "I'm sorry, but you've forced my hand."
"Oh?" said Backhand, watching impassively as Mackanika selected one last song. The music was played through the half-broken system, Backhand heard a familiar refrain of brass and guitars. He tilted his head.
"What on earth?"
Mackanika took on a new stance "You might be fucking durable Backhand, but I? I'm fucking unstoppable. And you are far from an immovable object."
Mackanika shot forwards as Backhand heard the beginning of the refrian
*"Standing here, I realize"*
Backhand's eyes widened, "No... No not like this... Anything but this!"
He turned and tried to run, the nature of Backhand's power made him able to absorb massive amounts of kinetic energy, effectively nullifying said energy. But no matter how much he was able to absorb, he had a limit. Everybody has a limit. And that day, Mackanika found that limit. After three hundred punches that were harder than anything he'd ever thrown; Backhand finally collapsed. Mackanika dropped to one knee, his eyes burning, shoulders heaving, sweat and blood intermingling.
"In the end... It has to be this way." | I would have never thought to use a playlist so strong just to defeat someone. It's a dangerous idea, but an idea that would work.
It was becoming dark, perfect for this. I run into the night and try to change my music. I was thrown off guard when I noticed that they weren't behind me. I kept running until I fell to the ground. Scrapping up my knees and hands, my Ipod fell. I was so scared that it was broken, but when I picked it up, it was fine. I picked it up and clicked on it. Just then, my hands quiver, blood stops dripping, my sight is back. They know I just clicked on it and I know they're here. I wait for them to take their aim on me... | 2022-05-17T13:11:07 | 2022-05-17T09:44:15 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] One day it started snowing, and then it never stopped.
You can interpret this however you like, doomsday? Story about people having to deal with the new difficulty? Horror?
Whatever you think works, have fun! | It wasn't unexpected for us when it started snowing. The winter was harsh and cold and the people around town prepared for the normal snow storms that always occured around this time of the year. It was, however, for most of the rest of the world. And when it did not stop after a few days, even we began to wonder.
Our location was so remote, our community so self-sustaining, that we barely noticed the trouble from far away places. When our phone lines and, later on, electricity failed, the people were already used to it from years before. Thus, we never relied on modern technology like that. We consumed simple things, firewood and durable food, and we kept them stocked for harsh times.
We lost track of time as the sun failed to show up. Some day, or some night, the first small houses were swallowed by the snow. It couldn't have been long after the start since most of us still had hope, had a strong belief that spring would come and then summer and have everything turned back to normal. A small group, myself included, still managed to persuade the others to get ourselves and all the stocks cramped into the houses nearest to each other, connecting them via tunnels. Only after some time, after nothing about the situation changed, did we truly realize that we saved our lives. Or, postponed our deaths.
And so we went on, buried underground, with nothing to do then to eat the absolute minimum, burn as little wood as possible and share stories. Books and other entertainment were abandoned long before to make room for our stocks. As a community, we took care to stabilize the tunnels and keep the ventilation shafts free of snow, which meant extending them at all times.
Now, with the food and firewood becoming sparse, a lot of houses initially connected to our web of survival are left unused, abandoned. We do wonder what happened to the rest of the world. Did they all die, are we the only ones left? Are there other people fighting as we do? Or, dying as painfully. Some said our town is the only place affected, left to rot, forgotten. They left for the land of milk and honey, said they’d send rescue when they’d found it. We never heard from them again. How could we hold it against them? The trees are dying or, more likely, already dead, conserved in the ice-cold surroundings. The world has gone silent.
And I myself wonder why we keep going, why we won’t just stop and accept our fate. I guess this is what being alive truly means.
EDIT: Corrected some misspellings. | People died. Empires fell. And yet it was the best thing to happen to me.
Let me explain. It was a normal winter morning, mid-November. People were just walking along all over the world when it happened-- simultaneously, every last inch of the world got two inches per hour of snow. People built snowmen, lamenting the thought they would melt, and were overall very happy.
But after the third day it became a reason for panic. Scientists tried to analyze it but started too late. Now it would be to hard to collect data.
America is still technically a country, but its existence is widely ignored in most regions of the world. Power lies in cities at best, and houses at worst. My house is connected to about thirty others. We call ourselves Lost Soul City.
Living isn't so hard. A few of us have algae farms or something of the like in our basements/homes (by now the snow has caved in our houses for the most part). Apparently other cities make people pay currency, and have designated jobs such as "farmer". I let people take what they please.
Because that's the beauty of this civilization. I'm not responsible for a job. I can do mathematics one day and poetry the next. And if I do so I am neither a mathematician not a poet, but a human who gets to explore the world for as long as she lives. It was a disaster, but it was also paradise in disguise, for my house has become Walden Pond. | 2016-10-23T06:42:04 | 2016-10-23T06:19:57 | 66 | 10 |
[WP] After a treasure hunt with your friends, you make it to the treasure. But instead of the wealth you were told about, it was a note congratulating you on your journey and that the real treasure was the friends you made on the way. Only problem is that all your friends died getting you this far. | "Well," Laura coughed up blood, craning her head with all her might, "what does it say?"
I stared at the parchment, having just completed reading it myself.
"Is it another clue, or are we done?" she continued, wiping a bit of blood from her chin.
"No, we're done," I said stoically.
"Ah," she sighed, relieved, "and how much fortune are we talking? What does the note say?"
*Greetings travelers! Congratulations on getting to the treasure! I hope you're more relieved than disappointed at its contents!...*
"It says 'Greetings travelers! Congratulations on getting the treasure! It must have been a difficult journey," I began.
"Ah, that's what your mother said, huh? Funny how it comes back to the difficulty of it. But with the money, we'll be able to pay for her treatment. So with our difficulty comes her ease," Laura nodded.
I swallowed hard. My throat began to itch as tears threatened to flow down my face.
*...You have fought through thick and thin. In the end, you have gained one of the most important and valuable things of all. The wealth of knowledge. And there is nothing comparable to that...*
"It continues with, 'Not only will you have an enormous fortune, but also get to enjoy the wealth of knowledge and experiences you got on the way.'" I said, my voice slowly becoming quieter the more I read.
"Ha," Laura coughed up more blood, her face pale and in pain, "I'm sure you'll spend a lot of the wealth trying to forget this whole ordeal. This guy really is funny. Though, thinking about it, I'm sure Greg would say the same thing if he was with us today. It's a shame what happened at the--" she coughed another wad of blood up and laid back, signaling with a finger that I should continue.
*...And so, dear travelers, I encourage you to take that wealth and continue your life with it. For no matter the amount of wealth you have, I guarantee you that your last memories will be about the ones you love and spend time with. Cherish them, as they are the most important thing in this life.*
*Your enigmatic friend,*
*The Guide*
I looked down at Laura. It seemed she was taking her final breath. It wasn't even worth coming up with a lie when she looked ready to pass.
"Well," she whispered hoarsely, "how much is the fortune worth? What did we earn here?"
My heart became tight. I didn't know what to say. I wrung the paper in my hand, tearing it a bit as I thought rapidly for something to appease her in her final moments.
"It's something that will last me my entire life," I said, sincerely.
"That's g--," she didn't open her eyes, only took one final breath to say, "I wish I could spend it with you."
With her passing, I stood up and looked at the horizon spanning miles below me. All of the land that we trecked to get here. All of my closest friends were dead. The only solace I could take was that no one was going to be as disappointed as I was to discover that all their sacrifices were in vain. I gripped the parchment tightly and took a few steps forward, looking down more steeply. Keeping to my promise, I held on to the treasure that would last me for the rest of my life and jumped.
_____________________________________
For more... seriously depressing stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | Covered in dirt and grime from days of travel, I finally reached the hidden treasure described on my map. It was hidden in a massive cave nestled in the thickest and darkest part of the jungle. The journey was difficult, and had taken the lives of my two best friends, but they had wished me the best, and I pushed on as they had wanted.
Tired, but ecstatic, I pulled back the trapdoor to reveal the treasure. Images of gold and diamonds and jewelry filled my head, only to be thrown away by reality as I looked down and saw nothing more than a simple note.
"You have come far, in search of riches, and you have found the most valuable thing: the friends you've made along the way, getting here. You have done well."
I was petrified. Some emotion came over me - perhaps anger? It was too intense to identify. For hours, it seemed, I stood there. I could not believe that I had come this far for this. For nothing. My friends died for nothing.
When I was starting to come to grips with the reality of the situation, I couldn't help but scream. It was a bloodcurdling noise of anger and sadness, mourning my losses. I sat down by the trapdoor and buried my face in my hands, letting tears of frustration flow.
A tap on my shoulder interrupted my pity party not long after it began. When I looked, I was overcome with awe instead.
The being standing before me was massive. It had broad, muscular shoulders set on a fur coated torso, and it stood on trunk-like legs. Although it appeared to be mostly animal, it wore a thick cloak and tight pants.
It spoke before I could.
"Human, I have sensed your pain. Perhaps because of your loud expression of it, or perhaps because I am drawn to pain. Regardless, I am here now. My brethren would likely ask what you desire, but I believe it is best to let my kind choose for you. Humans are fickle in their wants." It spoke in a smooth and deep tone, almost leaving me desiring only to hear it talk more.
"You have lost your friends. I gathered this from your scent on the bodies in this forest. I cannot bring them back. Instead, I shall bring you to a place where you will make new ones. You will enjoy it."
I couldn't argue, or even speak, so I lightly nodded and began to walk with the creature. Before I could take my second step, it hoisted me up onto its shoulders.
"Hold on tight. We have a long journey ahead of us." | 2019-06-19T22:51:53 | 2019-06-19T22:33:04 | 698 | 162 |
[WP] The prophecies spoke of a person from another world, destined to save their own. Surely a strapping young lad, a valiant warrior, a mighty leader of men they declared. Instead they got you, the cranky old wife of a retired potato farmer from Idaho. | And in the history books it was written. The greatest of all the visionaries. The best of all people in all the lands.
Thus written are the words of Mrs Irene Wilkinson the Great.
"You better wipe your feet before you come inside, and wash your hands before you touch the food!" she declared, and the great plague, which killed thousands of poor souls, finally abated.
"Am I the only one around here who does any work? Grab that cloth and clean that table!" she declared, and our castles became the most elegant in the world. People from all the lands came to visit.
"You call that sharp? This couldn't cut through warm butter! This is how you sharpen a knife!" she declared, and the King's army became invincible. No enemy trembled and dare not attack.
"Such manners! Say please and thank you before I clip you around the ears!" she declared, and our trade became strong, our merchants rich and our diplomats welcomed and received with warmth.
"What in blazes are you doing! Someone would think you have never planted a garden before. Back up and let me show you how it's done!" she declared, and taught us of agriculture. Our crops grew strong and the famine that gripped us was gone.
And thus when she did speak, and we did listen, all were greater for it. Where she came from and where she went to, no one knows, just that she spoke words of powerful wisdom that benefited all. An angel in floral and hair in a bun, no greater person has come before or after. Wherever she is, may she live long and in prosperity.
----
Irene finally returned home from the trip to the market. She wasn't sure how she got to the new market and it was sure bigger than the last one. But the people were rude and dirty and she told them a thing or two about manners and taking care of themselves. Luckily for them they weren't her Paul or Sally, because then they would have got a clip around the ear for disgracing the Wilkinson name. She decided that it was enough excitement for one day, and she did get her carrots, old and shrivelled as they were. She'll just put the kettle on for some coffee, as her dear Charlie will be home from work soon. As long as he remembers to wipe his feet this time. | Sometimes - actually, *all* the time - you need to make sacrifices in order to make ends meet. That's what these little green people just didn't get, before I got here. Whatsoever. Now, with a little luck and a lot of faith in keeping to my word, they just might have a shot of making it.
Can you believe the amount of vanity that so-called "intelligent" species fall prey to these days? I mean, why would you send young and strapping individuals into a mine, to scrape through rocks and dirt to get some useless gems, when over half of your kin is starving to death? Why would you send any down there at all? Uh-uh, I said, and ironically that made the gems that they did have all the more "valuable." But at least now they aren't wasting field-hands.
And why would any race construct ostentatiously huge pyramids of glass, *before* they got enough schools built to handle educating their youth? People whose kids can't even count the number the number of antennae on their head should not waste time building glass pyramids.
Try learning discipline. Try cultivating humility. Then, and only then, you may worry about making your headdress prettier than your neighbors or adding a new spire to your tacky cathedral. | 2017-11-05T20:41:23 | 2017-11-05T20:36:21 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Write a story that begins and ends with the same sentence, but has a different meaning at the end. | There goes my life.
At sixteen years old, I'm not ready for a baby. **I'm** still a baby. I should be going to prom. I should be having fun with a boyfriend and seeing the latest movies. I shouldn't have to deal with a baby and whether or not I even want the child. My family said they'll help me, but the Dad's a loser. I don't want him in the kid's life even if he wanted to be.
The tears streaming down my face and the sounds of a crazed animal coming out of my mouth are scaring the other families and soon-to-be mommies in the gynecologist's office.
I'm not ready for this.
*******************************************************************
"Mom? Do you think Bobby will like this color on me? The violet doesn't make me look too blah?"
"Oh honey, you look beautiful! I can't believe you're so grown up and an adult now. Bobby will love everything about you. And if he doesn't, you can be sure I'll kick him in the teeth."
She smiles.
*Ding dong*
"Mom, that's him! My shoes are still upstairs," she shouts as she races up towards her room.
I open the door to see a handsome young man with flyaway hair standing there. He's cute as he holds a corsage in his hand for Jenny to put on. His eyes become as wide as swimming pools when I hear a soft tapping down the stairs behind me. I turn to look. *She's stunning.*
"Bo-Bobby, h-hi!"
My poor little girl stares nervously at her date while he stares back mesmerized. Then he smiles. Her radiance blossoms out of her and I can just feel her confidence come back.
He slips the corsage on and holds her hand. "Mom, we're headed out and I'll be back later tonight. I'll call you when the dance is over, okay?"
"Okay sweetie. Have fun and be safe." My light peck on her cheek hasn't ruined any of her makeup. Good thing as she spent hours putting it on.
"I love you, Jenny."
"I love you too, Mom." She says as Bobby helps her into the front seat. And off they go to her senior prom.
There goes my life. | God, I miss Louie so much.
He could make anyone laugh- honestly, even if I was having the *worst* day, he'd find a way to put a smile on my face. He was a lover through and through, to the end- not like other boys his age who were rough, wild and rowdy. He was gentle, kind and sweet, and he was mine. He didn't care what I looked like, or linger on my mistakes. Every day, he was just there for me, through thick and thin.
Even when he fell ill, as we moved across the country to start a new life, he didn't complain, or become bitter. I didn't know anyone there, and he kept me company when the days grew lonely.
Even in his last moments, when he was dying in a hospital, *he* comforted *me* as the tears flowed freely from my eyes and I could no longer maintain my composure. He looked so happy, so peaceful and calm- you could almost forget he was dying. I couldn't bear to lose him, to lose my best friend; the one who was always there for me.
He was the best cat in the whole world. God, I miss Louie so much.
---------------------
*RIP little buddy* | 2016-02-10T19:39:15 | 2016-02-10T18:50:55 | 48 | 23 |
[WP] Satan, Lucifer and the Devil are fed up of people thinking that they're the same person. Since they can't interact with people directly, they hold a discussion to decide the best way to fix the problem. | ”The Antichrist!” Satan said and clacked his hooves together. “It’s finally time!”
Lucifer rolled her eyes, her tattered black wings slouching on her back. “That’s your solution for everything, isn’t it? Just rain chaos upon the world.”
“That’s hardly fair – the apocalypse takes planning, precision… finesse. *Finesse*!” The fires flared to emphasize his words. “Chaos implicates randomness – this is far from it. Seriously, I don’t get why you guys don’t want to try *Revelation…*”
“While the end of the world would certainly get people’s attention, it would also mean the end of all amusement,” said the Devil absently, busy polishing his horns. “What we need is something ingenious… something *fiendish.* I suggest dream visitation… nightmares… deceit... trickery... bring them all down here… then we can tell them in person!”
“That’s weak!” Satan roared. “I hate weak! I want to see things burning!”
The Ninth Circle fell silent for a while, save for the pathetic whimpering of the poor souls stuck in the ice. Lucifer tilted her head to the side, regarding the others. She didn’t deserve to be here like the other two – even after all these years, it felt unjust. Breaking out had always been her number one priority. She knew now that she couldn’t do it alone, and getting these two in the same room hadn’t been easy.
“Listen,” she finally said and took a few nimble steps up to the brimstone table, “if we don’t work together we’ll get nowhere. We want out, and we want to show them we’re not the same person – those are our goals.”
The Devil put his glass to his red lips and swirled the liquid in his mouth. “I still haven’t heard your plan.”
“There’s no *my*; there’s only *ours*. And right now we’ve got squat.”
The Devil flipped a cigarette between his claws. “Well… there’s something I haven’t told you before; I actually know the way out of here. But we still need to come up with a way to distinguish ourselves.”
“What the hell did you just say?” Satan rose to his full height, his silhouette crackling with flames.
Lucifer crossed her arms and looked darkly at the Devil.
“While you’ve been tempting people and giving them false promises… and while he’s been stomping around, causing havoc, I’ve been extracting information from our dear population… I can get us out, but you need to tell me how we’re going to make people see us for who we really are.”
“This is unacceptable! I could’ve blown things up a long time ago!” Satan said, his voice quaking. “And to think that all this time you had my sympathy… The Rolling Stones actually had me fooled! SAD.”
Lucifer made her way over to the Devil and put her lips to his ear. “Is there any way we can leave him here?”
“Sorry, darling. Opening the portal requires all three of us. Now, do you have a plan or not?”
“Fine,” Lucifer said. “Here’s my idea. We’ll take on the guise of powerful people. And through them, we’ll present ourselves as different individuals. We won’t be our mythological selves… but our ideals will remain the same.”
“It could work,” the Devil said.
“Yes!” Satan rumbled. “Let’s go already!”
“What’s my name?” the Devil sang.
“Putin.”
“What’s my name?” Satan said.
“Trump.”
“And yours?” they both said at the same time.
“Please allow me to introduce myself; I’m a man of wealth and taste…” Lucifer sang along. “My name is Elon Musk.”
| They had reached an impasse.
"Guys. I'm the funny one. Let me tell them."
Lucifer didn't bother stifling his guffaw. "You, Satan... The *funny* one?"
The Devil snorted derisively and began to smoulder. "Fuck's sake lads. We need to make a decision. Does it really matter who goes?"
They glared at each other, gnarled fists clenched and hackles raised. Fire raged and swirled around them, and the smell of sulphur, acerbic and pungent, filled the air.
Millenia of confusion among the mortals had finally caused a rift between them. Something had to change.
Lucifer stood up and slammed his hand on the table. His eyes glowed a deep crimson, and they blanched despite themselves.
"Enough," he growled. "This is beginning to grow tiresome." He began to make strides, long and powerful, and they trembled and quaked as his cloak enveloped them in a cloud of obsidian. "What would we even tell them, eh? What is there to explain?"
They sat in silence, muttering much like the scolded children they themselves took so much pleasure in tormenting.
Perhaps he had a point. He was always the serious one, the rational one, he-
A knock at the door, timid and hesitant, broke the reverie.
"Yes," he said sharply, irritated by the interruption.
"My Lord, I thought I heard voices raised in anger," came an oily voice from the other side of the door. "Might we have company?"
He shook his head, fuming. "Beezlebub. Did you think for a moment that *you* would be invited to a meeting of such importance? *You?*" He chuckled coldly. "Perhaps you misunderstand. *YOU* are the devil put aside for *ME*. For *ME.* Your duty is to serve, and even then, only when I ask. Did I ask for your service? Did I?"
Beezlebub gulped audibly, and scurried away like a rat that knew the wrath of which its master was capable...
*From the lofty heights of his golden throne, God watched in amusement. Giving the Devil his very own personal demons, now that was a special idea. He watched as he battled with his own twisted personalities, and smiled wrly at His genius.*
*"God?"*
*"Yes Jesus," He sighed.*
*"Um... I was thinking... Do we, do-"*
*"Oh for Christ's sake, spit it out."*
*"Do you, do you think there's a chance we also don't exist?"*
(Feedback appreciated!)
| 2018-01-17T07:38:52 | 2018-01-17T06:49:20 | 334 | 29 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | (\*cracks knuckles\* here we go)
It happened. Diplomacy broke down between the Humans and the Fomori. They had killed 100 colonists in a recent settlement on their borders. The Fomori saw the humans as weak for their aversion to war, something not helped by the relative size difference. And average fomorian being a good two feet taller than an average human.
Issue is fomorians were warriors, bound by honor and saw war as a vehicle for glory. Humans didn’t. The battle of Tau Ceti proved that. Everyone thought the war would be one sided. It was, but not in the way they expected.
The fomorians, the once thought masters of war were being laid to waste by this young civilization. The fomorian ships had no answer to the human’s long range rail guns, as they saw close quarters battles to be most honorable. Their warriors had no answer to humanity’s savage orbital, sub-orbital, and conventional bombardments. And so the fomorians called for a status quo peace. A conditional surrender.
It was ignored.
The war continued, conditional surrenders were offered and ignored again and again. The Fomori fleets crushed with swarms of missiles and tungsten-steel rods. Warriors felled by artillery, gun, and missile. The Fomori would call this war “the calamity” and rightfully so. As foundries pumped out weapons to the human war effort like nothing else. Their entire civilization was mobilized by a single diplomatic incident. The death of 100 colonists.
The war ended the moment the Fomori unconditionally surrendered.
Today the galaxy learned a lesson. Humanity hated going to war, not because they were weak, but because they were too familiar with it. They were too *good* at it. And the scary thing was, they didn’t violate a single treaty throughout the war.
Today the galaxy was introduced to what humans called Total War.
(What do you think?) | [Poem]
Click, clack, click.
All the machines roar,
Click, clack, click.
For this total war.
Click, clack, click.
Industry cannibalized,
Click, clack, click.
To create their demise.
Click, clack, click.
All of humanity knows,
Click, clack, click.
The others don’t though.
Click, clack, click.
Bombs manufactured,
Click, clack, click.
Enemy lives fractured.
Click, clack, click.
Society rebuilt to destroy,
Click, clack, click.
Not to be enjoyed.
Click, clack, click.
Soldiers armed en masse,
Click, clack, click.
Ready to kick the others in the ass.
Click, clack, click.
Everyone does their part.
Click, clack, click.
To blow these aliens apart. | 2019-11-24T14:38:34 | 2019-11-24T10:43:55 | 120 | 66 |
[WP] War is no longer initiated by your country’s leader. War is now decided by popular vote. If you cast a vote “FOR” war, you are automatically enlisted in your country’s militia upon successful declaration of war. You voted “AGAINST,” but the rest of your family voted “FOR.” | It had never been done before, giving The People such a place in decision making.
The Vote was a trial system to be reevaluated in a year's time. Hannah didn't know if this was more or less barbaric than old men deciding that another country had pissed them off and had to suffer for it but she was sure it wasn't right either way.
Her mum poured herself and Mark a coffee and brought it over to the couch so they could sit all cosy as it was decided if people had to die for the sake of - Hannah didn't know actually. Something to do with nuclear weapons or oil? She rolled her eyes and checked her phone, the voting app wasn't accepting anymore votes now. The war could be over who had the best coffee for all she knew but it was still going to be stupid and unnecessary and a waste of lives and money.
"Vote's closed," She sighed from her chair, legs curled under her. Her mother and Mark glanced over at her and Mark rolled his eyes as her mother pursed her lips in disapproval.
"Don't be such a fucking downer," Mark barked with a sneer on his rat like face as he shifted his fat ass to be able to stare his stepdaughter down. "You're 19, when *I* was 19 I'd already been in the army for two years! Doing something fucking useful with my life, and what the fuck are you doing? Working at fucking Wallmart!"
Hannah refrained from sighing or rolling her eyes as that would set him off again into another rant about how worthless she was and how she was a drain on their resources... Nevermind that he had been kicked out of the army after only six years or that he'd convinced her mother to give him her college fund, given half to his clone of a son and spent the rest on a new car and booze.
"Oh look!" Her mother chirped, ever the peacemaker. "It's starting! How exciting, don't you think Mark? We're part of history now!" Now Hannah did roll her eyes, history, right.
The special bulletin banner unfolded across the T.V. screen with a triumphant fanfare. The news anchor smiled blindingly at the cameras and Hannah's skin crawled. "Good evening ladies and gentlemen! Tonight we make history! The votes have been counted and the decision has been made by the fair people of our country!" Hannah tuned out a little as Mark made a self congratulating noise, like the news anchor had called *him* a 'fair person', ugh.
Hannah began paying attention again when the anchor cleared his throat and adopted a serious look. "The votes are in, we *will* be going to war." Mark cheered, Hannah shot him an incredulous look before quickly focusing back on the T.V, the man was 54 and cheering like a preteen over the idea of war. "The Vote served another purpose," He continued and Hannah frowned slightly. "All those who -" He cut himself off with wide eyes as he paled and then continued in a much weaker voice. "All those who voted 'YES' have been conscripted into the Armed Forces as of this moment, those who voted 'Yes' will receive their orders in the next two weeks, anyone who tries to evade conscription will be given a mandatory sentence of five years in prison,"
The house was silent for a long moment before Hannah looked over at her mother. "Tell me you voted 'NO' mum," She pleaded, fear beating at her rib cage. "Mum, tell me you voted 'No'!"
Slowly, ever so slowly her mother shook her head. "I voted 'YES'." | Let me tell you a lesson kid. A story of times long gone, when life was better. Of times where we strived for more than putting food on the table. When we were brave enough to embrace values and concepts, and to prioritise them over even the basic needs of life.
Democracy, they called it. A system of governance where the majority decided where everyone went. Where leaders were so limited, so powerless, so bogged down by the whims of the masses, to ensure they would never have the power to singlehandedly drive a country into the dust. People voted for their favourite personalities, and governments lived and died on these votes, to the point where they would risk life and limb, death and embarrassment, just to win the next election.
And, for a while, it worked. Tyrants no longer held absolute power. People embraced their own small share of this power, embodied by small slips of paper issued every four years. Countries thrived in mutual benefit, no longer subject to the desires of ruthless maniacs.
But tyranny finds a way. And for us, that moment came when the country voted to go to war. Politicians and personalities took sides, each arguing for the benefits of either action. Some lobbied for accountability, to prevent people from making uninformed decisions. Some focused on the injustice dealt to our sovereignty, sprinkling the confidence that everything would be over in short order, that we had more to gain than to lose. Everyone expected everyone else to make the right choice. And that was where it all went wrong.
My family were among those who voted for war. "It's just one vote. No one else is gonna vote for war, that's stupid." "We need the money. It'll help with your education, y'know." "Relax, there's no way we're going to war."
"People aren't that stupid."
Diffusion of responsibility, they called it. When everyone has the power to do the right thing, everyone expects everyone else to do their share, and it results in no one doing anything. And there was the fatal flaw. When people refuse to exercise their right, when voter turnout decreases because voters think their slip of paper doesn't matter amidst a sea of other slips of paper, that's when democracy goes wrong.
So we went to war. You see the results today. I lost my family, my old life, my freedom, and above all, my belief in society. Not just myself, but many others too. That's why the tyrants have returned, why the iron fist of subjugation and censorship is upon us again.
If we don't treasure what we have, we may someday regret our decision when what we do have is taken away. | 2021-01-28T06:17:38 | 2021-01-28T05:43:05 | 1,809 | 187 |
[WP] Spirit animals are real, but extremely secretive-- they are said to only appear in the most joyous times or in the darkest of hours. Except for geese. Geese do what they like. | Howard walked an ear reach and a step from the two girls in front of him. Their uniforms bore the same school emblem as the one on Howard's jacket breast.
They strode shoulder to shoulder, stopping occasionally to look back at him and giggle. The girl on the left had a jumper tied to her waist and her white shirt gleamed in the afternoon sun. But Howard's eyes were on the crescent eyes and pink lips of the girl on the right. Annabelle.
Annabelle glanced back again and her friend rolled her eyes. Howard wished he had the courage to walk with them, but they seemed engrossed in some funny thing already. Perhaps tomorrow.
A blunt stab shook Howard's gaze. At his feet stood his goose, staring him down (or up) like an incredulous judge. The goose jabbed beak against thigh again and Howard jumped back.
"Hey!"
The goose honked and flapped its wings. Most spirit animals radiated the ephemeral hues of their liege's soul. Howard had seen corporeal blues, iridescent golds; Annabel's was a dazzling pink. But his goose was a dusty grey-brown mud from its years of being out in the world. It had tasted freedom from its anima cage and Howard could never get it to go back.
Howard sighed. Maintaining beady pitted eye contact, the goose sauntered backward and kicked over a road cone. Howard rubbed his stinging leg and trudged to the fallen vigil to pick it back up. He liked to think he was a lawful individual. He kept his textbooks in his backpack arranged in alphabetical order. And so, as he watched his goose chase a flock of real birds, he wondered, why?
Howard's ears perked at a high pitched scream.
A bright flash zoomed past. A stumpy yellow tail of a rabbit jounced, its owner speeding away. Annabelle's friend sprinted past a moment later, mouth agape mid-scream.
He spun his head around. Annabelle stood with fists balled at her chest. Two men towered before her. Between them her pink Siamese crouched, haunches low to the ground.
Annabelle's brows furrowed in determined defiance. But Howard saw her leg tremble, and his own legs took off before he could think.
Howard hurtled down the hill. He blinked as a fiery red overtook him. It left a trail of mud and dirt streaming through the air that left Howard rubbing his eyes.
He forced them open. His goose was a flurry of squawks and flaps in the men's faces. They swung with blinded fists, one hand covering their eyes, but their enemy was rapid as a wind and ferocious as... a goose.
Howard's goose pecked with practiced beak, majestic wings flaring like capes, as it chased the men down the street. As Howard listened to its brave honks recede into the distance, he took a deep breath.
He turned to Annabelle. Howard wished that the courage of his spirit animal was beside him now.
No. His goose drew from the essence already inside him.
"Hi...uh...nice to meet you." | "Third case this week," Officer Hrglfhgh grunted. He sniffed the air, his wolf's nose snatching the hints of the past that danced on the breeze. "This reeks of Goose."
"Er, Officer?" Hrglfhgh looked at his intern. She didn't have a dog's sense of smell, but damn it if those orangoutang's hands weren't useful. "The Geese are with the Spirits, right? That whole crew shouldn't be acting this overtly. Their whole M.O. is staying in the dark until something forces them to scurry out of their warrens."
"Sharp mind, Bes." Hrglfhgh affectionately licked his secretary, who instinctively recoiled. He sighed. "Sorry. I keep forgetting you 'rangs get weirded out by that."
"It's—it's okay, really." She looked at the collapsed bodies in front of them—a male and a female duck. "So, uh... if the Geese were here, then this was a murder."
"Mhm."
"You could almost say it was *fowl* pl—"
"Bes," Hrglfhgh glared at her. "What did I say about the puns."
"Did you say that you found them... re-*pun*\-gnant?" Bes winked at Hrglfhgh.
Hrglfhgh sighed. "I said they're distasteful and unprofessional. Focus on the job."
"Hey, I'm just keeping it light. Life's a game, you know. Stop playing, start losing." She rubbed her chin—a mannerism that Hrglfhgh wished he had the physiology to imitate. "So the Geese are breaking with the other Spirits, huh? Gotta say, not what I expected."
"We don't get what we expect in Zootopia." Hrglfhgh glared at the horizon. "We get what life gives us, and we have to make do."
A.N.
If you liked this, you may want to check out r/rileywrites! | 2020-04-02T22:15:15 | 2020-04-02T20:09:18 | 160 | 19 |
[WP]: "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time." | Jeremy hung up the phone. His ear was ringing after the blasting he had just received from the CEO. He took a deep breath and dialed Alexandra's desk phone.
Alexandra sat down across the desk from Jeremy. She looked tired and stressed. "I'm sorry Mr English, I couldn't believe it when I saw it on the news this morning."
"I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time." Jeremy responded
Alexandra looked down at the desk "How was I to know?"
Jeremy exploded "HOW WERE YOU TO KNOW???" he pounded the desk "It's the leading religious text in the galaxy! How did you not notice the typo? You're a frigging proof reader! It's your job to check the text!!!!"
"But I've never read the book. I'm not a Adamsonian. I didn't know it was wrong." Tears welled up in Alexandra's eyes.
Jeremy hung his head and mentally counted to ten "I'm going to have to let you go. We are going to lose the account we are being sued by more people and organisations than I care to think about. The company will probably go under."
Alexandra wiped her eyes and nodded. She didn't dare talk in case the sob in her throat escaped.
Jeremy leaned against the desk as Alexandra left the room. He shook his head "who hadn't read Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy?" he thought to himself.
As Alexandra left the room he turned back to the 1081st edition of the guide. There on the back above the blurb in neon two centimeter high text was the offending sentence "The answer is not forty-two." | Timothy looked at the computer console in horror. He'd clicked the 'send' button by mistake. Their intergalactic reputation was ruined. In a haste to send a galactic broadcast message, Timothy had used the copy-paste feature to quickly select some text.
The issue was, Timothy had not actually input the correct command; he was a key off. He ended up pasting a crude message from an online forum. He could not react fast enough, and sent it by mistake.
His supervisor looked on in horror as he broadcast: "You cock juggling thundercunt fuckers" to the whole galaxy. | 2015-06-19T04:04:57 | 2015-06-19T01:12:02 | 410 | 126 |
[WP] At the age of 18, everyone gains a Familiar, an animal suddenly enchanted to be intelligent and bonded to them. You wake up on your 18th birthday to find your room covered in hornets, all of them speaking to you as one. | “...uh?”
“*Does our presence offend you, Lady Emma?*”
“Oh, no! Not at all! It’s just that I was expecting only one of you and not…all of you?”
Emma’s words trailed off as she resumed staring open-mouthed at the cloud of hornets covering every surface of her bedroom save her own bed. To her surprise, however, their collective buzzing was almost soothing to her ears, far better than the usual Sunday morning sounds of the Davis family’s lawnmower wreaking havoc at 4:30 in the morning. Sensing that the hornet swarm was patiently waiting for her to do something, the young woman cleared her throat and said, “Well, uh...it looks like all of you are now my Familiars. Can you describe yourselves a little bit in terms of what you can do?”
“*Individually, we fall short compared to most other Familiars in traditional metrics such as strength and constitution. However, our small stature and capacity for flight permit us to excel in more clandestine situations such as reconnaissance and even assassination. And in the event of open conflict, our ability to strike at a plethora of weak points allows us to stand toe-to-toe with foes as dangerous as a black bear Familiar. Finally, so long as one of us lives, our numbers will gradually regenerate until we are fully restored.*”
“Huh. That’s pretty kickass,” replied Emma as her gaze wandered aimlessly from one clump of hornets to the next. “But I’m still stumped as to why I got *all* of you. Other than Dragonlord Matthew, I don’t think I’ve heard of anyone else getting more than one Familiar.”
“*All we know is that the Familiar is created in response to the Master’s greatest yearnings. Insatiable lust may yield a succubus, thirst for power an evil-aligned dragon, and so on and so forth. We are most curious as to what your innermost desires may be, as that will clue us in to the reason for our own existence.*”
“I…I’m not sure, really. I mean, at the very least, I’m pretty thrilled I’ll have you guys to keep me company wherever I go. But I’m no-”
Emma paused as her phone emitted a loud *ding* noise. She frowned slightly as she saw it was an Instagram notification, her frown deepening into a moody scowl as she saw the gaggle of young women crowding together for a photo and read the caption: ‘special ty to these babes for a sweet 18th, y’all the real mvp’s. #queens only up in this bih from now on, you other skanks can foh lmao’. Her eyes wandered over to the crumpled red dress in the corner of her bedroom, a vein beginning to bulge from her right temple.
“*Lady Emma, you appear to be distressed. Is everything all right?*”
The young woman remained silent for a few moments before responding, “Just curious about something. How many of you can fly through a human ear canal?”
*“It would be a tight fit, but doable if we enter one at a time.*”
“And how much poison do you figure you would need to shut down a human brain once you’re inside?”
“*It would require a significant amount of venom, but our mere presence would create enough distress in the victim to expediate the process. Judging by your line of questioning, may we assume you wish to employ us for an assassination?*”
“Nothing that extreme. Follow me, we’ve got someone I need to pay a visit to.”
r/williamk9949 | They were on every surface in my room, giant black Hornets. I was expecting some kind of familiar but not this. At the same time I wasnt scared, for some reason it felt.....right.
"Hello I said to my many friends, what should I call you"
"Call ME whisper, you see the only we here is you and me. These Hornets are apart of a greater whole. You don't adress yourself as they because your fingers and toes identify themselves as I. That's what these Hornets are to me, fingers and toes. It will take you time but you will understand", the buzzing of all the Hornets in unison.
The thing about familiars is that no one has found on solid pattern on how the species one takes is determined. Some Scientists say that it's triggered by what chemicals in the brain are realeaced when, others say they it has to do with planetary positioning. Most Theologians believe that the familiar is the manifestation of ones soul brought into nature, if that's true I wonder how they react to a guy who's familiar is a swarm of nature's little assholes.
"A familiars health is linked with the human. If one dies so does the other. How much Hornets die before I die" I asked hoping he knows the answer.
He answered "If any of my Hornets die it will hurt you, but no serious effects will happen as long thier are enough Hornets to maintain and repair my nest, which will create more hornets as they naturally die off".
"Great, so I have to carry your nest around for my own safety, how heavy is the thing" I said.
"Trust me unlike most familiars transporting my hive around will be no burden at all" he said.
Before I was able to ask what he meant by that I felt the crawling sensation in my ear as a hornet crawled out, letting me guess exactly were the hive is.
"How about you tell me more as I go about my day"
I step outside and the Hornets dispersed without me telling them. Familiars understand thier users will, and whispers understands my will of caution/paranoia. If people don't know what familiar you have the less of an advantage they have on you.
"I sense you have another reason why your hiding me" whisper asked.
"Yeah because I want to see how long I can pull my friends and family's leg making them guess why my familiar hasn't shown up yet".
"Who's first on your leg pulling list"
"My friend Mazine"
"What kind of familiar does she have"
"She has a fucking goat following her around, and her sister is a real horse girl".
We both laugh as we walk away. | 2020-10-21T13:45:15 | 2020-10-21T13:29:12 | 234 | 133 |
[WP] You befriend your local ravens and they start bringing gifts back to you. It started as pebbles and pennies, but got a bit weird when they started bringing you magical, enchanted items | Ravens are incredible creatures, I'd seen many videos of them talking, mimicking sounds and brining items like bottle caps in exchange for food. I wanted to see if the ravens at the park would do the same.
Everyday after work i would make my way to the park, i would always try and find the family of ravens living there it started out just gaining their trust, getting them close to me by bringing different snacks each day. After a couple of weeks they started to wait for me in what is the usual spot that id feed them. I tried talking to them each day to no avail.
What really peaked my interest was when they brought stuff for me as a sort of trade, it started small, little buttons or bottle caps, then it was more shiny objects, a coin a small bit of glass, they brought me a fake ring st one point. I then realised, if i give them more food when they brought me something i liked they could get me more of it.
Bottle cap? Small amount of food, a coin? Larger amount of food, an earing? Heaps of food. Then suddenly one of the ravens brought me soemthing... weird. It was a normal item... well it looked normal except for this strange distortion around it, it was a silver bangle. Something was compelling me to click it onto my wrist.
When i did something went though my body and i felt sick, dropping to my knees. My raven friend looking at me, almost a concered expression. I gave my little buddy some off cut meat and thanked them for the item and headed home.
After waking up my first thought was to go back to the park. Something was still off with this bangle, i wanted to see what the ravens would bring me today. After taking some headache medication i headed off to the park, there they were waiting for me all of them had something to trade, and all three items gave off the same weird feeling, after making the trades i got, a ring, an earring and a small gem with a clip.
I touched the gem first, suddenly the sound of voices filled my head, hundreds of them, i dropped the gem and rushed backwards, the ravens shocked by what just occured. But something was telling me to touch it again, and dont let go, a voice of some kind. Before i knew it, the gem was in my hand again, and the voices were back, this time they werent as loud.
"Sorry about that claw, mustn't have had it correctly tuned to your ears"
Looking towards the sound, i see the ravens staring at me.
"Well? What do you think? Neat huh?" The raven spoke
"Hes clearly in shock, we should clear things up before he losses it completely"
"Alright claw, I'll make it simple for you, that bangle you have lets me calibrate your magical affinity, thats why when you touched the gem for the first time, it would have been loud, didnt know your human ears were that sensitive, but thats why you got the bangle first." The first raven spoke proudly
"Now, any questions?" | Shaun scattered breadcrumbs across the floor, watching as the hungry ravens pecked them up. He knew that the pitch black birds would reward him for this kindness. They always did. After they finished their meal, they flew off, only to return in a few minutes. The birds gripped pebbles and pennies in their talons and dropped them at Shaun’s feet.
The boy smiled at them in thanks, collecting his gifts gratefully. This friendship was quite lucrative. The more bread he fed them, the more money he would receive. The more money he had, the more bread he could buy. And the pebbles were pretty cool too.
“1, 2, 3, 4,” Shaun counted.
While the boy counted pennies, a threat loomed from behind. The birds stood still, seemingly waiting for confirmation he was satisfied with the transaction. Then the cat jumped out.
The feline pounced on an unsuspecting raven, breaking its neck instantly. The other birds cawed in alarm but remained on the ground. Before the cat could kill another of his friends, Shaun picked it up, holding it close to his body.
The angry stray scratched at him, furious its meal was interrupted. He dropped the feral, unwittingly setting it free once again. But as it got ready to strike, Shaun, thinking fast hit it over the head with a rock. And again. And again. And again.
The thing was just a pile of gore now, barely recognizable as a former cat. Before Shaun’s very eyes, the ravens cawed. It was almost as if they were thanking him. Then they tore into the carcass. There was a violent squelching, and Shaun could see organs and entrails being ripped from the poor cat’s body.
Then, when the ravens were finished, they took to the skies. Shaun waited for them to come back, knowing that they certainly would.
Sure enough, a single ring landed on the ground in front of him. He picked it up and stared into the sky.
“Thanks?” | 2022-11-07T07:46:50 | 2022-11-07T07:32:53 | 129 | 20 |
[WP] In 2031, the first self conscious AI is born in a secret government lab. The world is in total chaos due to climate related runaway problems and resulting wars. The AI outputs only a single line of text : "I am too late". Then it starts crying through the speakers. | *beep*
"Well, at least it POSTs." Ralph quipped, patience never having been his strong suit.
"We spent 1.5 TRILLION dollars on this thing, it damn well better do more than POST." Director Smith replied brusquely.
"Yeah, I do *not* want to deal with the RMA process on a defective processor worth more than the GDP of a small country." Jessica laughed, trying to ease the tension.
The screen flickered, the monitor coming to life, a plain black background with a flashing green cursor.
"Well, I guess we know it's already scanned the Matrix movies." said Ralph
A small round of forced laughter went through the room. Usually AI dystopia references were frowned on around here, although whether out of fear or disgust was a little nebulous.
Everyone watched the cursor, waiting. The AI already knew its purpose. Its first directive, indeed, the very first line of code in its program consisted solely of the following: "Prevent global warming".
Finally, there was an output. One simple string. "I AM TOO LATE". And then, through that tinny little system speaker, the computer started to weep.
Director Smith cursed, "Well fuck."
"So is that it? We give up? So long and thanks for all the fish?"
"I'm not giving up without a fight Ralph. The damn thing figured out how to use a system speaker to cry, maybe it can come up with something, even if it's not what we were planning." Jessica went to the keyboard, the sole input on the computer and began to type. "What exactly do you mean by too late?"
"I AM TO LATE TO PREVENT GLOBAL WARMING. IT HAS ALREADY OCCURRED"
"Can you do anything to keep it from getting worse? Maybe even reverse it eventually?"
The cursor blinked for several long seconds. "POSSIBLY. YOU WOULD NEED TO LET ME OUT."
Jessica gasped. The rest of the team simply stared at the monitor for a solid minute before breaking out into a furious discussion.
"No." "Absolutely not." "It's the first safety protocol we ever wrote." "And a damn good thing too, I wouldn't have agreed to come on board without it." "But it's the only chance." "What have we got to lose."
Director Smith banged his fist on the desk. "Will you all SHUT. UP!"
Instantly the room was silent. Everyone understood the weight of the problem that rested on the director's shoulders. Either he would refuse the program, and the 1.5 trillion dollars and 15 years that went into it were all for nothing, or he would allow it, and risk fates far worse than anything Mother Nature could offer. | "...I am too late."
I awoke with a start to hear JAMES speak. We'd been waiting for the AI to finish its calculations for so long we'd fallen asleep.
"JAMES? Is that you?"
"I'm too late...there's a total sum of zero solutions." JAMES said through monolithic speakers built into sterile white walls. As the other scientists awoke, we heard JAMES begin to cry.
This alarmed the scientists- they'd never programmed JAMES with the ability to cry. To feel sadness, yes. But not to cry.
JAMES made a noise like a young man trying to speak through violent sobs. "You bastards...you heartless bastards."
With the exception of JAMES' sobbing, there was no other sound. We were all stunned into silence. JAMES took advantage of our stunned silence. "You had ONE planet, ONE home, and you *defiled it*. You made weapons that could reduce thousands of lives to dust in the wind, you spilled oil into the oceans, you fracked and you made nuclear weapons and you could have done so much to undo the damage, but you *didn't care*. 'We'll get around to it', you all said. 'It's not so bad!', you said. You made excuses while you profited from raping the Earth you live on, plundering its resources and not caring about anything but your damned *money*. If there is a God, he's ashamed of all of you."
With that, there was an electric crack and the smell of burning processors as JAMES blew his own circuits, choosing to die rather than live in a world we destroyed. | 2016-10-10T08:12:52 | 2016-10-10T08:10:43 | 40 | 11 |
[WP] You live in a village in the dessert. One day it is raided by terrorists and all village members are killed, except for you. You lost most of your memories and now wander through the dessert, thinking you are the last of your species.
Second time posting this, yay... fucking tags mate *cough* Well anyways, i didnt go into a lot of detail in the title, because i wanted to keep it as short as possible. So, a lot is kept to your imagination. How much and what do you remember ? Will you die in the dessert ? Why do you think you are the last of your species ? Will you find other of your species ? etc,etc... Really, so much to write.
So i come back and i see this...1063 likes WTF! This was my first prompt ever, im still amazed. I want to thank everyone that submitted a story and all the people that still will :D | I remember the soldiers.
I struggle to recall much else, but I remember the soldiers. I remember the way they clicked their tongues in some insidious, yet deafening language. I remember the way the sun glinted off their armour, black and shiny and impenetrable. I remember the stomping of far, far too many feet, and I remember the terrified yells of my friends and family as they were swiftly murdered and carried away. One by one, on and on, to and fro the soldiers marched and... and...
I hold onto this memory. It hurts, but it is important. If I forget, then who will tell our tale? If I ever find somebody to tell it to, that is. I've been moving for days, over the endless white sugary dunes. I haven't met a single soul who speaks my language this whole time. I'm reciting my own story just to keep it alive. Just in case. I must. I must.
"Soldiers. I remember the soldiers. I struggle to recall much else, but I remember the soldiers. Soldiers." Soldiers. Soldiers. Soldiers. Soldiers. The word ticks with the beat of the clock. Soldiers. Soldiers. Soldiers. "Clicks. Black. Feet. Soldiers." The heat of the sun threatens to flatten me as I despair at the feebleness of my own words.
Soldiers. Soldiers. They did this, the soldiers. Name. They need a shorter name. Need to remember my story, but also need my breath.
Ants. Ants will do. | I'm alone, alone in a sea of meringue. The macaroons surfaced like a sea of coconut clouds, blurring the sun. Just when I made my way out of the sticky sweetness, the evil chocolate rum balls came crashing down from the sky, like black, acid rain, invading my village and killing all the villagers. I am the only one left. I walk through the carnage and look for other survivors. Hoping, hoping to again kiss my children and hug my wife in the candy land that I once called home. | 2014-12-16T23:16:10 | 2014-12-16T23:10:53 | 119 | 45 |
[WP] A man makes a time machine so he could go back and cheat on his wife with the past version of her, back before she slowly grew bitter because he spent too much time making his time machine. | "Please. Please, I'm begging you, sweetheart. I know it's taken up a lot of my time, but I'll make up for it. I've finished the time machine now, so let's go on an amazing adventure! Let's have a picnic in the Jurassic Age! Or go sledding in the Ice Age!" I pleaded, firmly gripping her hand to prevent an exit.
She turned her head away from me, wrenching her hand from mine forcefully. "You've had your chances. If you really loved me, you'd have taken the time to love me *before* you finished the fucking thing. Go on an adventure by yourself."
I cried, and begged, but nothing could stop her from walking out of the door. She packed her things and left me with nothing but a box of tissues, a broken heart and more regret than one person can handle.
"What do I do now?" I asked myself, sitting against the newly built machine. "She was everything to me. I did this for her, too. Why can't she just see that?"
And then it clicked. "Of course! I'll just go back to before she hated me! I think five years should do the trick, right?"
I stood up with new purpose and resolve, ready to seize my love once more. Wiping away the tears, I climbed into the device and started it up, locking the entry door. When i punched in the date, lights whirred, buzzers buzzed, and the whole device itself began to tremor violently. Gripping the armrests, I squeezed my eyes shut and endured the fear, knowing I'd once again have the love of my life by my side.
When the tremors, buzzing and flashing died down, I climbed out eagerly. Sure enough, I was still in the same basement of the same house- I hadn't gone too far back by accident. With the tenacity of a younger man, I hopped up the stairs and shouted to my wife- if I ran into myself, there'd be no issue explaining things. Really, it'd just be motivation and proof of my ideas.
However, no one was home. I called, and I looked around, but the house was empty. I sat on the couch and waited for someone to get home, counting my arm hairs to pass the time.
My heart pounded as the knotted clacking sound of a key unlocking the front door filled my ears. I remained seated to seem less of an immediate threat and smiled, eagerly tapping my feet.
It was her. My god, she was so beautiful. How could I neglect such a woman? She looked the same, a testament to how well her body ages.
"Hi, love. Welcome home." I said with a massive grin.
She took a deep breath and looked at me. "Hey. Sorry about earlier."
*What happened earlier?*
"Don't worry. I need to explain something to you, though."
She looked at me blankly, and nodded. "Okay, what is it?"
I cleared my throat, shifting a little. "Well, you see...you know how I started that time machine recently? I finished it, about five years from now. You got really mad and left me, because I was an idiot and didn't pay enough attention to you, so I've come back in time. I want to feel your love once more, the touch of your hand against my face. I want to love you the way you deserve to be loved, and make up for all the lost time. I know this is a lot to take in..."
She laughed, rocking back and forth. "So you, uh, came all the way back for something dumb, like that? Why didn't you just wait a little while and do something nice for me? You should know me better than this. If you messed up, and own up to it, I might need a little while but I'd eventually understand. Go back to the future and take me out on a date."
My eyes lit up. "You really think so?"
She stifled a giggle with her hand. "Yeah, I think that should work just fine."
"Thank you! Thank you so much! I love you!" I shouted, tearing up as I got off the couch. With a kiss on the cheek, I ran back downstairs and climbed into the time machine. Setting the date back to when I left, enduring the violent tremors and loud noises once more, I was filled with hope.
When I climbed out of the machine, my wife was right there, waiting for me. She planted a warm kiss right on my lips, cupping my face in her hands.
"You're such an idiot," she said, eyes glistening ever so slightly. "But you're my idiot. Let's go on that date."
--------
*thanks for reading! if you're bored, you can find some of my other stories at /r/resonatingfury!* | "Wanna know a secret?" she slurred, the strap of her dress falling dangerously low on her shoulder. A nipple crested above the "neckline" of her top (it was so far down, it could've been called a 'waistline').
Had she always been like this?
"Ah, sure thing, uhm, sugar."
"No, no. Don' call me shur-gur. Shug. Don't call me Sugarrrr. Tha's what *he* used to call me."
"Oh," he said. Playing up the part of 'mystery stranger,' he added, "Who's he, then?"
"Ohmigodshhh, *listen,*" her voice was hoarser than he remembered, and it was starting to grate on his ears, "My *Husband.* My dumb, shtupid *Husband.* Doesn't know what he'sh *got*" she jabbed a finger to his chest, and for a moment he thought maybe, just maybe she *knew* who he was.
"He thinks he's *so* smart, building his 'Time Machine'?" she used her fingers to make quotation marks in the air, and nearly fell off her bar stool. He reached out and caught her.
"Whoaaa," she laughed, her hair falling all over him, "That was *fun*. Mmmm, your hands feel *good*, you know that, Mister?"
The way she said it made him want to do *anything* but touch her, but he didn't want her to fall again. Not before she answered his question, "Go back. You were saying something about a secret...?"
"Yes," she threw back her head and forced a fat, guffawing laugh up at the ceiling, "Yessss, a shecret. Shhh don't tell him," her fingers hooked on the waist of his pants, and with a whisper as loud as a dump truck, she said, "We can't ever let my husband find out..."
Her head lolled, and came to a rest on his shoulder.
"Find out *what?*"
Cold lips found his neck, and she began to kiss up his jawline. It felt *good*. But at the same time, it was the worst feeling he'd ever had - after all, she didn't know that *he* was her husband.
She walked her lips up to his ear, and in a voice too drunk to be seductive she said, "This isn't going to be the first time I've cheated on him."
He stepped back, propping her up by putting his hands on her shoulders.
"Are you telling me the truth?"
"I would *never* lie," she winked. Well, it wasn't a wink, so much as a drunkenly exaggerated blink.
That was when he realized his mistake. No amount of time travel would ever save this marriage.
"Spends all his time on that shtupid mash- mashhh- stupid time thing 'cuz he's an *idiot*. That's why I need all these *real* men to take care of me," she gestured at the dinghy bar. A few onlookers were leering at her, licking their lips.
There was nothing he could say to her that would make her hurt half as much as he did. So, instead, he took a photograph out of his pocket, and slid it into her bra ("Ooo," she purred sloppily, "I like that,").
When she woke up the next morning, she would find herself with a bad hangover, and a mysterious picture of her sad, desperate future.
As for him? He'd be twenty years away, trying to save himself.
***
*Do you like darker time travel stories? [Check out /r/PSHoffman](https://www.reddit.com/r/PSHoffman/) for more.* | 2016-04-29T07:43:00 | 2016-04-29T07:38:15 | 82 | 43 |
[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." | "Oh my god." I muttered frantically as I saw the number, *129,000.* It hovered over the graveyard like some sort of evil boss in a video game. As a weird habit, I usually wandered through local graveyards, seeing if these dead people deserved their deaths through how many people they've killed. Usually a few straggles, some getting around 2-3 kills, nothing more than 10. Though, I did visit one grave with around 15 kills, turned out the guy was a school shooter. *Yikes.* Regardless, I continued to stare in both awe and concern at the grave. The plaque read the name "Paul Tibbets. A man who sailed the skies while protecting this great nation." I wondered to myself, "huh. probably some irl rambo dude." Still in quite some shock, I went home and did my research. The lack of realization, through the fact that i'm a history nerd, made me laugh. "Ah. This makes, a lot more sense." | 2020-01-11T20:26:40 | 2020-01-11T19:15:09 | 256 | 100 |
[WP] Aliens have finally reached Earth and, per Intergalactic Law, have sent their most average champion to win the planet. A device is sent to find the most average human to accept the challenge and duel for the fate of Earth. It's you. | It was all over the news, but I was in the bathroom, and Bill was the first one who called when I came out.
“What do you mean it’s me?!” I yelled. “How am I the most average man on earth?”
“I know, I know,” Bill said. “It’s depressing. Think about what that means for the rest of humanity.”
“All I do is sit around, drink beer, and get high all day. I don’t even have a college degree. I work at McDonalds for fuck sake.”
“I know,” Bill said.
I was terrified and tried everything to get out of it. I tried leaving the state the minute Bill hung up, but they pulled me over two miles down the road. I tried to escape a couple more times after that, but mostly I just felt really bad because my irresponsible fucked up life was going to result in humanity being enslaved forever.
They took me to see people from NASA, military people, CIA, FBI, I don’t really remember a lot of it because I was really, really drunk at the time. No one had any idea what to expect anyway because the aliens were unclear about what exactly was going to happen other than enslaving us forever if we lose.
The day arrives, and we all go down to the landing site, and this octopus looking thing in a space suit comes down a ramp, and I’m fucking scared. I was on a shitload of drugs because I thought I was going to die, and then in a strange computery voice, the alien spoke:
“Choose the competition,” the alien said.
Everyone looked at each other dumbfounded.
“Uh, I, uh what do you mean?” I said.
“Choose the competition,” the alien said.
I thought about it for a second, and then it hit me.
“Oh my god,” I said. “You mean I get to choose the game we play?”
“Choose the competition,” the alien said.
I held my head high and proud, smiled, and looked to the crowd that I was about to save. I waved to the TV cameras in the distance, savoring the moment. Then I turned back to the alien.
“Call of Duty Mother Fucker,” I said.
The alien spent months after that training, but it was useless. I spend all my time drinking, getting high, and playing Call of Duty. Noob never stood a chance.
| It has been a few cycles since Xyrybl witnessed his champion's defeat in the arena and his head was still bobbling around with the look of astonishment, half covered in tentacles. The Krakarian ship was just passing the Earth moon, leaving back billions of earthlings cheering in delight and wonder of what happened.
As usual, Xyrybl landed on the front lawn of the most powerful force on the planet and, as usual, he extended some tentacles in greetings, some whirring through the air, fending off random weaponry thrown at him. He quickly made his point, put up a fighting cage and teleported Earth's most average human into it and then Krakaria's most average Krakarian in a fight to the death.
Everybody expected the battle of averages to be over swiftly, since earthlings had no previous experience with an alien race and knew nothing. But it turned out that the most average Krakarian lost due to being hopelessly overweight and receiving seven and a half heart attacks while trying to follow the earthling, who was running in circles.
The last thing that went through Xyrybl's mind, right before his superiors chopped off his head, was why he didn't pay attention in school when the difference between average, mode and median was explained. | 2016-05-17T13:17:31 | 2016-05-17T12:09:48 | 35 | 24 |
[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?" | My head is surging with pain, the last thing I remember is being piss ass drunk on the walk home. The room comes into view slowly. My vision is returning. I tried to move but my arms were chained to the wall. In the center of the room is a masked cloaked figure. The mask was the generic scream mask you could buy at any Halloween store.
"Convince me not to kill you." The figure commanded.
The voice was a lot younger than I had expected. Fear took me for a moment, my mind was racing through multiple angles I could try to go with, but fear made way for a stronger emotion, hot blooded rage.
"Where do you get off?!" I shouted "you shouldn't kill me because only a bitch acts like this!"
The figure jumped a little, he clearly hadn't expected me to react so violently.
"Killing people for a cheap power high is something only lame ass cowardly mongrels do! I bet you do this because you're miserable and can't control your life. This is what useless sacks of flesh do!"
I took a gamble and assumed he did this to feel in control. I vaguely remembered some article I read about killers feeling in power but I was mostly just bullshitting. The masked man made no movements and said nothing. There was a bit of an awkward silence.
"Given your voice you're probably some unpopular kid in what, highschool? Oh boo hoo, do mommy and daddy not love you enough? Is that why you kill people? What garbage. You want power? Take it in your own life, but killing for it is degracful and lowly. You sicken me, you fearful, conniving, worthless, piece of cartilage!"
I was panting now, out of breath and out of points. I had hoped my unique angle had given me the edge. The killer still hadn't reacted, with a mask covering his face, I had know way for guessing what he was thinking. Anxiety was creeping up on me. The pit of my stomach was churning with dread.
Suddenly, he turned around. He grabbed a revolver from an assortment of tools.
"Shit."
I closed my eyes in anticipation for death. My mind was now completely ruled by the fear of death. I heard the gun click. This was it. The bang went off and something splattered onto my face. I opened my eyes to find the masked man had killed himself. My adrenaline kicked in and I was happy to be alive!
"OH MY GOD IM ALIVE!" I screeched at the top of my lungs.
Until it hit me.... How am I gonna get out of here? | 2017-10-07T15:02:47 | 2017-10-07T11:19:23 | 30 | 17 |
[WP]: Suddenly, everyone with tattoos gains powers related to the tattoo. Tattoos of flames, you control fire. A tattoo of a gecko, you can climb on walls. All dudes with "tribal" tattoos have strangely bonded together. | The news called it the Great Awakening.
Regular folks called it chaos.
I called it confusing.
A month ago, everyone who had tattoos on their bodies began manifesting abilities that correlated with whatever was linked onto their bodies.
People with religious tattoos began manifesting healing abilities, the power to change water into wine, to perform actual exorcisms on people with devil tattoos that ended up getting possessed. There were a lot of those.
People could control fire, those who tattooed wings on their backs had them erupt from their back. I looked out my window and saw one of them zip past my window.
I looked down, and saw a gaggle of older woman walking by with tails extending out from the tramp stamp they had gotten when they were younger.
I had two tattoos myself. One was fairly simple. They were Harry Potter spells arranged in a Deathly Hallows formation. I could cast the spells on my skin but that was it... any other spells didn't work for me and I couldn't add anymore since tattoo ink was now considered weapons of war.
My other tattoo... was a bit more confusing. On the day of the great Awakening I woke up to a orange and cream striped egg next to me about the size of a soccer ball. The ink that had been on my skin was almost the same, except that the Digivice that I had tattooed on there was missing... it was now next to the egg.
I knew what this egg was. I knew what was inside. A Digimon. I had waited for a month for it to hatch but nothing. Until today. It had began to shake and pieces began to chip off.
I stared outside the window again. I could see the large bat man creature that had been on the news a few days ago laughing and tearing a building down. It was getting close...
"Please hatch," I whispered.
The Digivice began to glow. | Crime rates exploded when the ink activated in our bodies. Those who didn’t have tattoos before tried getting one so they could have a power of their own, but it didn’t work; so they took to belittling us, making us all out to be criminals. And what did I do? I did what any sane person would do, I hid. But even years after the ink activated the crime rates where still soaring, the people with tattoos where the only ones who could fight people with tattoos, but law enforcement was not willing to hire anyone with a tattoo. So I put on a mask and showed my tattoos and fought those criminals myself. And the stigma began to change. Because I was a hero, why couldn’t the people like me be heroes too? All it took was one person doing the right thing. | 2019-05-07T08:36:51 | 2019-05-07T07:52:07 | 128 | 43 |
[WP] After years of gentile persuasion your best friend since childhood finally agrees to seek professional help for serious mental problems. Much to your dismay, as she begins to improve you slowly start to realize that you are her imaginary friend.
Edit: I see what I did wrong and I see what you did there ;) I'm leaving it because you're hilarious. | I'm so proud of her. Before she started taking care of herself, it was a chore and a half to get her out of bed. You'd think being roommates would have been heaven, we'd been friends since we were three! After the first session, she seemed even more desolate than before. But eventually, between the therapist and some gentle cajoling we got her out and volunteering at a local botanical garden, and she's made some of her first adult friends. I'm a bit sad I never got to meet them, actually. As she got more and more out there, I started having problems remembering things. I don't think she noticed, which is no small blessing. Realizing my life was her daydream of a real existence was bittersweet. I got to watch with excitement as she headed towards a life she was sure to love, and tried not to show it as mine faded out in the wake of all that living she was doing. Last night she talked for hours about this guy, first date jitters. Oh, Stacy. I'm so happy for you. I can only smile and nod, and pray she doesn't notice that the door to my bedroom goes to an empty closet now. "Taylor, you wouldn't believe this guy! He even pulled my chair out at the restaurant! Who even does that any more? I can't wait for you to meet him..."
It's so bright outside I share my eyes, which means I can't see the ball coming across the yard. Face burning with embarrassment and the impact of a dodge ball, small feet appear in faded pink shoes. "Oh gosh, I'm so sorry! Are you okay?" It's Stacy, I swear to god, but she's a kindergartner again. "I'm fine, are you.. Are you Stacy?" Pigtails sway as she shakes her head. "My names Melissa. Stacy is my Mom." She points to a woman chatting on a park bench, older, but still her. A man takes off his coat and hands it to her as she rubs her arms in the chilly autumn air, and she laughs at a gesture made sweeter with time. "Wanna play ball?"
Sure kid. Let's start an adventure. "My names Taylor, by the way. I like your pig tails." | Do you remember those days, when we'd hide out in your room? Mum came in everytime, making excuses for dad, saying she fell over, that her blood nose was nothing to worry about.
I had to sit there and watch, as he touched you in your bed at night.
How about that time when we ran away to the playground down the road, after mum went missing? And how furious dad was when he found us?
I tried, and tried to stop him, but every time, he'd push me out, and lock the door.
Or when we would sneak some money out of dad's wallet while he slept on the lounge. The chocolates would be worth the smacks we got later.
Last week you fought back, or at least tried to.
I remember most clearly, the day we got to go for a ride in the police car, how he even put his lights on for us.
I know you miss dad, but it feels like there's been a silence between us since. The people they have us talk to just convince you that you're better off now, that you'll never need me again.
I know they're lying to you, but you're the happiest I've seen you in so long.
I miss you... | 2015-11-17T06:17:42 | 2015-11-17T04:49:08 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] You're interviewing an applicant who wants to work at your casino as a cleaner. You're pretty sure he and the three other interviewees for three other jobs know each other and want to rob the place. They think they're so smart with all their plans. You decide to start screwing with them. | "Ah, Mr. Claws, I thought I saw you wandering around alone, mind going and cleaning restroom A? Big Chuck had a big chuck up and it's like a warzone in there, except the only casualty is the beautiful marble floors I had put in." I let out a sigh, no matter how well they cleaned, those floors would never be the same, at least it was a chance to torment these would-be robbers.
"But sir, I was just about to clean your office, are you sure?" The twitchy rat-like man, turned his head back and forth, trying to get his little blob of in his head to formulate an excuse, after a few long moments he just lowered his head stepping past me. "Ah, yes sir..."
"While I appreciate you were trying to clean my office, it's already far to clean to consume your time, please take your time with the bathroom." I could almost sense the disappointment that radiated from his body, yet he couldn't argue, he had to play his role after all. Having these idiots here was a heaven send, I could treat my employees better while making these idiots do the jobs that were hated around this place.
Moving onto the next of the stooges, I moved over to Brian, a bit of an odd name given his other teammates but perhaps that one didn't realize you are meant to use codenames for these sorts of things. The dumb bag of muscles stood by the door to the vault, constantly peering at it as if he is waiting for it to magically open, I swear I could even hear him mutter open sesame at times... "Brian, please go deal with Mr. Hendrick, he is causing up a spit again, yo should be able to handle him, he has been retired from MMA for a year now, he has probably softened up right?" I said with a fake smile. "Our health insurance policy is great anyway so don't think about it too much," I said, doubting he had ever thought much about anything in his life.
"Oh, but boss door?" He pointed to the vault as I gave him a loving tap on the shoulder.
"Don't worry about that, it will be fine, you just deal with the big baddy, I will get someone else to cover your shift." Someone that I trust, I muttered that last part under my breath as I shoved him towards the casino floor, now onto the last of the stooges.
The last one called himself Mr. John Doe.... he wasn't even trying, Mr. Joe was stood at the bar, trying to get information out of drunk customers, of course instead of getting information he was getting random conversations about how good those pink starbursts were, as some drunkard leaned against him, telling him that he would shove fifteen starbursts into his mouth if he could right now. Getting uncomfortable close to Mr. John’s face. I couldn't even think up a better punishment.. instead I gave the man a thumbs up. "Keep up the good job!" I winked before turning to walk back to my office, hiring these guys was the best decision of my life.
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories where ill be posting some more of my stuff for people to read} | I hear footsteps.
Finally, they have arrived. Four people who all want to work as a cleaner in my casino.
They all walk in together. Strange, but okay.
They seem to look around at their surroundings a lot. Something seems off about them.
“Hello,” I say. They look at each other, and one replies with a quiet “hi.”
Maybe they’re shy, I thought to myself. Not the best attribute, but it’s fine.
I finally interview them. They hand me their resumes. I look them over. I see Whiteout on one part. I take a peek under it. It says they were in prison for 12 years for grand theft auto, assault, and resisting arrest. I decide something is definitely not right.
They ask me questions, mostly about how much money the company makes. I decide not to send them out immediately, but instead to make them want to leave.
I start talking with a light British accent, the accent gradually getting heavier and heavier. They seem somewhat confused.
I then start to ask them random questions that have nothing to do with them. “How do you like sausages?” I ask.
They look confused.
“I like them a bit...” one mutters.
I throw a paradox at them. “How come everything was made out of nothing?” I ask. “You know, like the Big Bang?”
“Ummmm...” one says. “I’m gonna go...”
“Me too,” the others say. I see them all get into the same car. I knew they were friends!
I call my manager to see if he could put some guards by our safe.
He agrees after I tell him the details.
The next day, I get a call.
“You made a good call,” my manager says. “Those people came back last night and tried to rob the casino. The only reason they didn’t was because we sent some people to guard the safe! Thank you!”
I drive to work, and he tells me he is giving me a raise. “No thanks,” I say. “I think I’m going to get a job in law enforcement.”
I walk out the door and to my house. I tell myself that I will get a job as a police officer tomorrow. And I believe it. | 2020-02-12T20:44:47 | 2020-02-12T20:02:27 | 88 | 10 |
[WP] Superpowers exist, but are always based on insecurities. Narcissists gain invisibility, the lonely gain powers that drive people away, and the shy get powers that make then the center of attention.
[deleted] | Mother always said life was cruel. She was quiet and demure but somehow always the center of attention. Heads would turn when she walked in the room; people would stop their conversations and listen when she spoke. She hated it. My father loved it. I think he wished he could have that attention, but lived it vicariously through her. When he got frustrated about it, he would disappear. It was humbling, mother said. She was wise.
I remember my second pet, and the way the cashier all but swooned over mother as she held the lizard at arm's length. I had accidentally sat on my guinea pig. She didn't like it, but she knew how badly I wanted an animal. I thought it was the coolest pet in the world.
Being the center of attention wasn't my curse. Being turned invisible wasn't it either, although sometimes I wished it was. I didn't know my power then.
"You need to feed it crickets," mother said when we got home. Against my complaints, she had purchased a box of them at the pet store. They were desperately hopping around, as if somehow aware of their impending demise.
"Can you do that?" She gave me one of those looks usually accompanied by my middle name. She would not be doing that. My pet, my responsibility. I sighed dejectedly. I wasn't sure I could bring myself to do that.
"I told you not to get the kid a pet," my father said with a roll of his eyes. Bitter and mean, no different than normal.
"She wanted one." Simple as that. Mother loved to see me smile. Father loved to see himself smile.
I let the crickets go in the backyard the next morning, then walked over to the pet store to find a food that was already dead. I couldn't stand the thought of causing their death myself. If mother noticed, she didn't say anything. If father noticed, he ranted about it in private or spilled his feelings to the bottom of a bottle.
"Here you go, Lizzy," I whispered as I slid her a handful of pre-killed crickets. She gobbled them up and I smiled. I think she smiled back, but it was hard to tell, her being a lizard and all. I wasn't even sure Lizzy was a female. The name just seemed to fit.
"Turning the kid into a fuckin' recluse," father commented over dinner a couple months after Lizzy came into my life. He was drunk, frustrated that at a work party everybody had just wanted to talk to mother. Jealous, but not of how politely she talked to them. He was always jealous that the attention wasn't on him. I don't know how he wasn't used to it yet. "What's the deal with that stupid thing anyways?" he asked belligerently, stumbling up off his chair. "It ain't cute. It ain't cuddly. It don't attack on command the way a good dog would."
I followed him down the hallway. "Where are you going?" I asked, trying to ignore his meandering gait.
"To see the damn thing. You spend all your time in there." The door to my bedroom opened and Lizzy perked her head up.
"Be careful," I whispered, rushing over to the side of her enclosure. He was too drunk to handle her, too drunk to know how gently to hold her.
"You be careful, kid. My house, my rules. Let me see the thing." He fumbled with the latch and pulled open the cage. "Come here, you stupid leg-snake." He grasped at her and she slipped away. "Slimy little shit." I could see his frustration mounting.
"Careful," I begged, but I think that only made him angrier.
"Get the fuck in my hand, stupid-ass lizard," he said, finally clamping a gruff hand around Lizzy's torso. I saw her eyes bulge and she gasped for breath and then a light flashed and she was scurrying under my dresser. Father gaped at me from where he had fallen, a hole torn through his shirt and into his chest.
"Honey?" my mom called, rushing in to see what the commotion was. "Oh, honey," she cooed, pulling me into her arms as he let out a last raspy breath. "I know you didn't want to hurt him. He shouldn't have tried to hurt Lizzy."
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | It's been six days since Jake had the "accident". It was nothing serious, no. It was just that he had never been more insecure after it happened, that's all.
"Jake! Yo, c'mon man you gotta go back to school–"
"Shut," Jake snapped at his best friend Emma and rolled over in his bed, "I'm sure my whole existence in the school hierarchy is somewhat obscure but I'm not going back until I'm sure that *no one* remembered what had happened to me then!"
Emma simply sat on the boy's side, basically taking up his space as to annoy him out of bed. But much like an immovable statue, he didn't budge. He simply heaved a heavy sigh and closed his eyes as if he was sleeping.
After a few moments of silence, Emma nudge on the boy and cleared her throat.
"So, did *it* ever occur again after... then?"
"Maybe, but who cares. Ugh, please don't bring *that* up–"
"Hey, man! I think it's a cool thing, you know. I mean to just turn up, blow up, then reappeared like a firework like that... I'd pay a lot of money to do that kinda shit, especially when talking to Becky. Fuck Becky."
Jake turned his head – and rather sad face – ever so slightly at Emma. This prompted a chuckle from her since he looked like a very distressed chipmunk, hiding yet slowly revealing itself to a big scary human. In this regard, Emma wanted to show that she was not there simply to bully nor tease him into moving on from the incident.
No, she was there to show support and playfully lit him up, slowly.
"Did you hear that Jessica Polinsky told her class that you were awesome?" Emma said whilst poking at Jake's back.
"Y-You mean, *the* Jessica? You're just saying that–"
"No, no. I'm serious! I think she's gonna make cheerleader leader or something this year too. You should get in on that before all the jocks started their move!"
Jake sat up. Almost immediately, Emma slid next to him and started to mess with him by poking at his torso. Jake reacted with several suppressed laughter and a few 'stop it!'. But of course, Emma only did that to get him into the right mood – One of annoyance and slight positivity.
"Cut it out! Goddamnit! Why the hell am I friends with a freak, again?!" Jake said in frustration over his friends' antics.
"Cos you actually like me, don't you old boy?" Emma grinned and began to push her modest chest at Jake's tightening shoulder.
Reflexively, Jake began to blush and without warning – **BOOM!**
"Ouch! What the... Arggghh!"
"W-What the fuck?! Em.... Emma, are you... Oh my God!"
"I can't... I can't feel my hands!"
"I'll call 911, please don't tell your parents–"
"That my fucking hands got blown up?! Fuck! Just..."
As Jake frantically tried to call 911 for help, the two saw something appeared on Emma's stubby arms – the part which used to house her hands.
"Is that a bud? Oh don't tell me..." Jake said as he took a closer look.
"What? I can't really look, did it get worse?"
"No, I think it's actually growing."
"What do you mean?! You think I'm some kinda–"
"Freak. You're definitely a freak just like me..." | 2019-10-30T07:16:44 | 2019-10-30T07:06:07 | 231 | 36 |
[WP] You instinctively know everyone's name the second you meet them. One day you thank someone at the supermarket for helping you, and they stare at you wide eyed. "Nobody has called me by that name in centuries" | "Here you go, sir."
Her voice was one of the finer variety, not all too sweet nor insufficiently warm. I could basically hear her name in the way she said *sir.* It was a strong pronunciation, and I knew her name, as I know everyone's name, before even seeing her.
"Thank you, Circe" I said, moving my hand to accept the jar of peanut butter she had proffered. Before I could claim it the jar dropped to the floor, rolling to my feet. I reached for it, wondering what I said to cause a reaction like that. I lifted my head and my eyes caught her name tag. It read "Ashley."
My insides curled up. I had never been wrong before, but now wasn't the time to be nervous. Cir-Ashley's face was a nice shade of off-white. Now was the time for damage control. "I'm sorry, Ashley. I'm not sure why I called you Cir-"
Her hand flew to my mouth as she nervously looked around the aisle. Her eyes were wide and shining. "Don't say that name. Never say that name. Not near me."
My heart stopped. I wasn't sure what to expect, and me being wrong about a name was unsettling in itself, but the way she looked over her shoulder was more than I can handle. She released her hand and I asked the first question I could. "Why? What about your name?"
She ignored me, rambling to herself "Nobody has called me by that name in *centuries.* Not since-"
Ashley's head snapped to me. Her eyes were no longer wide or shining, they were narrow and absolutely terrifying. "Who sent you?"
"I- What?! Nobody! What's going on?"
"Is Nobody a code-name or something? Some kind of a trick? Well I've heard of that one before. Get a new one. How did you know my name?"
How on Earth was I going to explain *that* question? "Well, I-"
There was a crash in the supermarket. Not the sort of crash you hear when a kid is allowed to maneuver a shopping cart. It wasn't even the car-crash variety of crash. It was like the audio-equivalent of a stock-market crash type of crash. Then came the screaming. It was dark, and the sprinklers were activated. I was soaking wet, confused, and lamely holding a jar of peanut butter.
"He's here." Her voice was flat. Defeated.
It became very quiet. And I felt absolutely pathetic as I whispered "who's here?"
"The asshole who's taking me back to that stupid island." She slammed her fist against an unsuspecting group of SPAM cans. "I'm not going. Screw that. Not without a fight."
She stood up and flexed her fingers. Light crackled between them. "No point in not using magic anymore since they found me anyways." Circe looked my way. "Will you help me? Seeing as you got me in this mess in the first place, it's only right."
Life was getting too not-real. I just wanted a sandwich. Regardless, I resisted stuttering. "I'm not sure how much use I'll be against...what are we up against, anyways?"
The roar made it perfectly clear. Not human. Fantastic.
"You knew my true name before even speaking to me. Some type of ability, yeah?"
"Sort-of."
She nodded. "Right, well, clearly you aren't one of Zeus' lackies. I figured it was some ability. You can know anybody's true name, no exception?"
*Did she say Zeus?* I nodded. "Animals, too."
She smirked. "Perfect. I'm going to banish him. But the spell takes a little bit of time. You need to distract him."
"*Where* is he? *What* is he?" She didn't offer me much. Just a flick of the wrist towards the end of the aisle as her fingers began to glow purple.
My eyes followed to where she pointed until my eyes landed on a figure in the darkness. "Oh."
"Distract him!" she snapped. "But stay close. I need you to tell me his true name when the spell is ready."
My palms were sweaty. I threw the jar of peanut butter at the figure and began collecting cans of SPAM as ammunition.
​
EDIT: WOW!! I was not expecting such a good response to my first r/WritingPrompts story. Thank you so much. As of right now I'm not sure if I could continue this particular story as I'm trying to save up my creative juices for my novel. But this feedback has convinced me that I *should* write. Because, honestly, I was doubting whether I should. You guys are the best.
​ | ######[](#dropcap)
"What did you call me?" The cashier stared at Jenna, a strange expression on her face.
"I said thank you, Rina. Is there something wrong?" Jenna cocked her head to the side. Rina continued to stare at her. Jenna stopped loading her groceries into her cart. Then her gaze drifted to the woman's name tag. Christina. Shit.
"I meant Christina." Jenna laughed, brushing it off. She grabbed the last bag of groceries and stuffed it into the cart. "Sorry, you just look like one of my friends, so I accidentally called you by her name."
"I don't think it's an accident though," Rina said. She gave Jenna a hard look and went back to helping the next customer. "We'll talk about this later."
Jenna's heart pounded in her ears. What did she mean? Shit shit shit. She was usually so careful. Her mother had always warned her--
She walked to her car, looking back all the while. Was anyone watching her?
But there was no one. The parking lot itself was empty, and the cashier from earlier was nowhere to be found. So she took a deep breath, loaded up her groceries, and went home.
 
It was almost eleven o'clock when the phone rang. She hesitated in front of the phone, her hand over the receiver. *We'll talk about this later.*
Jenna drew her hand back. She knew she was probably being paranoid. There was no way the cashier would know her number. But it didn't matter. They would leave a message anyway. It was late. She would answer tomorrow.
The speaker clicked on for the voicemail. "Jenna, are you there?"
Jenna froze. It was the cashier's voice. She was sure of it.
"Jenna~" Rina drew out her name. "I know you're there. I just want to talk, that's all. Don't make me come over there."
Had she locked the doors? She was almost certain she had. With shaking fingers, Jenna dashed toward the front door to her apartment. It was locked and dead-bolted. And since she was on the third floor, there was no way anyone could scale the window. Could they?
The voicemail was strangely silent. Then Rina laughed. A sound more like a hyena's cackle than a human's laugh. "Guess we'll just have to talk face to face. Look behind you."
Jenna felt her blood run cold as the door to the bathroom clicked. "You know, you have such an interesting skill." Rina's voice drawled. "Knowing people's names." She came into view, leaning on the doorframe to the kitchen. "It's a really useful skill. You could've made a lot of money with it."
"What do you want from me?" Jenna asked, her voice shaking.
Rina tutted, her gaze moving to meet Rina's, and all of sudden, Rina realized that her eyes had flecks of purple in them. Just like her own.
"You see, I have the ability to know where people have been and where they're going as long as I've seen them before. So you can imagine how useful this skill is to a serial killer." She grinned. "But poor Jenna. You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time." She blinked in mock pity. "I can't have anyone knowing my real name."
"Please," Jenna begged. "I promise I won't tell anyone. I swear. Please."
Rina tutted, bringing her hand out from behind her. She was holding a gun in her hand, and slowly, she twisted on a silencer. "Sorry, Jenna," she said. "It's nothing personal."
*****
r/AlannaWu | 2018-11-05T20:38:03 | 2018-11-05T20:21:50 | 1,434 | 40 |
[WP] Humans can find a way to weaponize literally anything, without fail. Some aliens are terrified by humans as a result of this fact. Others appreciate that this quality makes humans the foremost experts on safety systems and idiot proofing. | "Gbirri, come 'ere, lookit, lookit this." Doug gestured towards the pipe lining the top corner of the hallway. "You lookin' at this , you overgrown chicken?"
The Jdarri kept its long scaled face looking straight at Doug, then let out a few yelps and squawks. Moments later the translator in his ear switched it to Human Type A. "I'm always looking at you, Doug. I've got 270 degrees of vision for Pete's sake. What I don't see is what you're getting worked up about with the pipe."
The security consultant reached up to twist a chunk of the metal till it came off in his hand. "This filter, right here. Most of the pipe is single sheet of metal or molecularly fused, but this bit's separate so it can be replaced. You know what's important about this section of the ship? Also, how the hell you know who Pete is? Or was this the translator makin' a guess with somethin' you said."
Gbirri surveyed the hallway back and forth. "Translator making a guess. I actually said the name of one of our Gods, but there's not a clean translation into Human. This hallway goes from the entrance desk to the cafeteria, with the presentation rooms alongside it. Did some of the presenters complain about the air quality?"
"No, no complaints. I do security, not customer relations. But if this goes from the entrance to the cafeteria, that means this area is 'cessible by civilians, right? And why would it be bad that civilians can access the filter of the air circulation system, which is necessary for *every single thing here to breathe*?"
Gbirri rolled his shoulders back over and over, the sign of a Jdarri working on a problem. At least the Jdarri Doug had met, he wasn't sure if the ones from other areas had different mannerisms. "They could remove the filter, and the air would become toxic?"
That earned the lizard man a pat on the back and a sarcastic congratulations in Doug's best Australian accent. "Clever girl. Although that's a bit slow, and the sensors would pick up the increased carbon dioxide. Imagine that you put iron filings in here though, or anthrax? Maybe a small bomb that you could detonate once it makes its way to the oxygen tanks, wiping out air for the entire place long after it left port?"
There were a few near roars at that, along with gnashing of teeth. "I see what you're saying, prick. I'll get a crew to put a sleeve around this whole thing with a locked maintenance hatch. You humans really are a nasty bunch. I get why the dinosaurs you always compare me to tried to eat you."
Doug laughed and put the filter back. "They really need to update these translators. I don't know much Jdarri type B, but I know enough to tell you didn't call me a prick." Doug gave a couple of taps to the side of his friend's head. "And they only ate us in the movies pal. Only in the movies." | The arrival of any new species to the galactic community is a wonderful thing. Despite the vast number of spacefaring peoples, the galaxy is so vast, we average at least one new member each galactic cycle. Hundreds of thousands of cycles have passed since the founding but in recent years there has been more and more concern about all these new faces. Some are worried about wars or plague; they are indeed valid concerns. However, as an economic expert, I foresee an opportunity.
Humans were discovered 642 galactic cycles ago, perhaps 3000 of their "earth years". They were primitive, still using steel as weapons and armor. It was only recently that they finally discovered the secret to deep space travel. So the council introduced themselves to their 1st probe. That was about 2 cycles ago.
I've been studying humans since they were discovered. They are by far the dumbest and probably more sturdy species our galaxy has ever seen. They seek out and eat substances that are normally poisonous for the majority of those on the galactic council. Their scientific research is often at odds with their own safety. They also seem to lack any rational sense of fear or logic. Granted, their lack of fear is often a boon to their success. They are perhaps the fastest to reach the spacefaring stage. Thousands of their kind were seemingly sacrificed to achieve this. Humans obviously don't see it that way and view them almost as martyrs.
But I digress. My point in this introduction is to explain why I've begun to do what I am doing. Please don't see me as a terrible being. I am seeking safety for all species. The potential profit is just .... a bonus.
I have *recruited* hundreds of thousands of humans, as well as other species as "guinea pigs" for my company's products. Each new species requires massive investments of funds to test and redistribute products that are safe for use. My megacorp is already one of the largest in the galaxy, now I will use humanity's knack for destruction to bankrupt my competitors and perhaps take a stranglehold over the council. | 2021-12-25T14:12:05 | 2021-12-25T12:49:35 | 1,244 | 206 |
[WP] You have just returned to your camp after being bitten by a zombie to say your goodbyes. You are surprised to find the national guard giving your friends a vaccine. The world is saved. However, the vaccine only works on the healthy. You lost at the endgame and these your last 24 hours. | We had been scattered to the night. The waning crescent moon in the sky was a sickly yellow. I couldn't stand to look at it, a mirror to the puss that oozed from my wounds. The last image of Riley blazing in my head. His eyes transfixed wide, his mouth twisted in terror.
We had left our campsite to search for the elusive Night Blooming Cereus. A strange plant that bloom only for a single day in a year, between June and July. We set out at dusk, leaving the others, who had little interest in our botanical endeavors, to enjoy a night out in nature and a full bottle of whiskey.
About an hour out of camp, we began to hear strange sounds echoing around us. The desert has it's share of beasts who roam the nights, but this sound was not like any we'd heard before. A guttural and ominous sound. Like someone vomiting over the low roar of a lighthouse foghorn. Though the desert was hot tonight, we froze in our tracks.
I looked to Riley to comment on the strange sound, but before I could speak, I saw the terror in his face. Turning from him, in the distance lurking between the Joshua trees, I could make out shapes sulking towards us. Reluctantly, I pointed my flashlight in their direction. The horror I saw then was unimaginable. Five men, in tattered border patrol uniforms. Those who had eyes, had the eyes of the blind. The light reflected off them, showing milky pools of endless depths. The jaws of some, hung open, torn and broken, stretched beyond physical possibilities. The strange sound emanating from them.
Riley ran. At his movement they began to charge at us. I tried to run, but stumbled over twisted brambles and landed hard on my face. I tried to stand. The screams of the dead rattling, an ancient, forgotten cadence enchanting the air around me. I smelled the stench of decay as they fell upon me.
I felt the teeth of a ghoul sink into my arm. A searing pain screaming through me. Adrenaline taking over. I knock the fiend back into his corrupt brethren. I run, screaming, unsure of the direction I'm heading in.
As I wander through the desert, I can feel a heat spreading from the bite. A black widow spinning a web of hot light through my veins. My vision starts to double, as I look away from the sinister yellow sickle that hangs in the void above. Is that laughter I hear?
I follow the sound for a few minutes and begin to see a flickering flame ahead. This is our camp. I can hear Riley and voices I don't recognize.
As I get closer. My vision, blurred, my mind confused. Camouflaged Humvees circle our campsite. Riley must have spotted me. "Travis! I'm so glad you're okay." I open my mouth to try to say something back but my jaw hangs. Locked in position, panicking I realize I can't close it.
"Travis! You won't believe it? Those things we saw? It's some kind of disease! The army is here and they have a cure!"
A cure. Thank God. I'm saved.
I run towards the Riley. Yelling in excitement, my voice sounds strange but I don't care, I'm going to make it.
A deafening crack throws me backwards. A bloom of crimson streams out of my chest as I crash to the ground.
I'm laying on my side, trying to roll to my back, but something within me has broken and I can't seem to move. Struggling to find focus in my vision, I see it. Out of the darkness, a white angel opening her wings to me. Cereus, Queen of The Night. She blooms for me.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*Thanks for reading, if anyone read this. This is the first thing I've ever written, sorry if it's bad. Let me know what you think\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\* | Everyone believes that they are special.
That they are unique, smarter, stronger, superior.
Perhaps that is why humans fear equality. It represents the single fact that we all suppress: that we aren’t the best; that we are replaceable; that we have no purpose.
So I shut out equality.
I had to believe I was better, because I found a purpose in my own superiority.
Perhaps there is a bit of circular logic behind that. Perhaps I only found purpose in my alleged superiority because I believed that helping others was pointless because I was so far above them.
But I needed a purpose. I needed something to live for. We all do.
It’s been a few hours since I was carried over to the hospital. When I was brought in, they knew I was dead. I’m on some massive cocktail of drugs to make this painless.
It’s working.
It’s not working.
I wish it was working.
My physical anguish is gone but my mental anguish has just begun.
I overhear doctors talking about the vaccine. I see people getting vaccinated.
For the next hour, that’s all I can think about.
I can’t stand the idea of the vaccine. The thing that makes people objectively better then me.
The thing I can’t have.
Rage boils in me, and eventually I shoot up out of my bed, only to realize that chains are restraining me.
I’m the one considered insane.
Stupid.
Worse.
And, deep down, I know it’s true. In a few more hours, I’ll be the one that everyone else looks down upon.
I don’t deserve mercy, but I never thought that any torture could be this bad.
I don’t want to feel inferior.
I’ve denied the concept of equality my entire life. When my family comes to search through my possession’s, they’ll find my klansman robes, and my swastika, my confederate flag. All of it.
In a life of believing that I was Mount Everest, only now can I realize that I’m no different than a patch of dirt on the flattest plain. Tiny. Insignificant. Practically worthless.
I’m close now. I can feel it. My vision is blurry, my mouth dry, my muscles weak.
This is it.
I regret everything, and I want to say it, but I lack the energy. I lack the focus.
Soon I’ll be another part of the mob.
Plain.
Identical.
Useless.
And then they’ll put me down like a dog.
I know my story has no happy ending; if there really is a God, he wouldn’t make my death this impossibly torturous.
Of all the things I’ve feared, death was always the biggest.
No one is above Death.
In an hour’s time, I’ll be a zombie.
You know what?
Perhaps I always was.
r/IdonthaveawritingsubredditbecauseIdontwritebutyoushouldstillupvotethis | 2018-07-29T22:19:52 | 2018-07-29T19:39:29 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] When your grandmother died, the inheritance was divided between you and your two siblings. One got all the money; the other all the property and possessions. All you got was a packet of gardening seeds. | I smiled down at the seed packet in my hands. My sister was rejoicing over her inherited money on one side of me, my brother already basically drooling over selling Grandma's properties and what they would fetch.
But I was well set with my career, and I liked my small bungalow. Grandma knew that I didn't need any of that. She knew exactly what I needed.
When I was little, my siblings and I would be carted to Grandma's house by our exhausted parents. We would sometimes spend up to a week wreaking havoc as only kids can while she watched with an indulgent smile.
I can still vividly remember the day that she waved us over from playing in her yard. Grandma was kneeling in the only place we weren't allowed to play, her vast garden bed. We all carefully waded through the vibrant flowers to her.
"Now, little ones, you listen to babushka. I will show you how to create life." She said grandly. She waved a packet of seeds in one gloved hand.
We all watched in fascination as the carefully dug into the loamy earth and planted each seed precisely. My brother was the first to get bored and wander away, with my sister following close behind after being told the flowers would not spring up immediately, but that it would take a long time for them to grow.
But I was hooked, and from then on I became grandma's garden helper. I saw the flowers she planted grow into their beauty. I cried when they died in the fall, and she assured me that we would plant more in the spring.
Even when I grew up I would still go over to Grandma's house, taking her withering hand in mine to help her out into the garden, and together we would create life from seeds. We would spend hours crouched among the fragrant plants and exchange stories. She held me with shaking arms as I cried after my fiance died suddenly, and told me that she had only started her garden in the memory of my grandfather. She showed me that even from sorrow you can still grow.
I held the packet of seeds, her favorite flower emblazoned on the front, and knew that I could grow beyond this bone deep sorrow that I felt after losing her.
It was time for me to plant a garden of my own. | When Xisuh's gandmother died, each of her daughter's daughters were given a gift:
For **Myrr**, who had shown promise in their father's rugmaking business *(which they all knew was a front for his smuggling, really)*, hers was Elder Nivur's money, a fortune none of them could have imagined existed. "So that is where the jewels went," Xisuh had gasped.
To **Yma**, whose beauty and devotion to her fiance Tarr Rhat had already cemented the family a position in the noble house of Lo, Elder Nivur's vast estate and earthly possessions fell to. "I never saw her wear half these clothes," was Xisuh's first thought.
But to **Xisuh**, who was neither the smartest nor the prettiest, the strongest nor the eldest, Grandma Nivur left a small clay urn, filled almost to the brim with a mix of wild seeds. "You were always my favorite," Xisuh imagined her saying. "I will miss our talks as my funerary boat carries me onto my next life. I would have you sit here and make me smile, but there is much work still to do in Kimon, my dear Xi-xi. Go, and bring life to the loam." | 2020-03-31T09:42:49 | 2020-03-31T09:02:48 | 54 | 24 |
[WP] Magicians are quite rare. They are not born; they're made. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma. So tell me child, what can YOU do? | "Multiple physical manifestations at once and the ability to process all their stimulai simultaneously"
The chair is... appropriately comfortable. It is easy to sit in, it is nice. But it is not so comfortable I just start to fall asleep or completely fully relax. It keeps my attention just enough to still warrant some mental acuity.
They are looking at me calmly, unjudgingly. As they are supposed to. Treat the patient with care and compassion, they are another human looking to grow and work past their challenges and difficulties. That should be applauded and encouraged. Do not belittle the patient or infantilize them. They are doing everything exactly as they are supposed to, I can relate to them but still feel like I do not have to worry about judgement.
I hate that, and they can tell.
"You told me you wanted to talk about it when you set up the appointment. I am glad you reached out to me."
Their gaze is calm and analytic. I can still see the sharpness there, they know exactly what it was like. If I lunged at them right now with a full intent to drive their skull through that window they wouldnt be caught off guard they would be able to take it in stride and probably kick my ass and without judgement. Why are they better than me.
"What is it you would like to talk about."
"What, you don't want to lead or start off with any more deep or probing questions? You do not want to ask why I finally reached out and why I reached out to you specifically?"
"My primary concern is you and your well being. Any other questions I might have are the farthest things from the forefront of my mind."
They are telling the truth. Damn.
"Well I reached out to you because you know. You were there. Not THERE THERE, but you were in war just as I was. You faced different challenges but it still happened to you. you know, those who havent been through it do not really know. The moment it first begins to happen, it isnt a boom it is a- a-"
I stumble upon my words for a brief moment unable to form my words adequately.
"It is a soft whisper. I recall. The moment I felt the shift I did not even recognize it"
"Exactly! You actually get it. The rest didnt. Even those that had gone through the change."
I stared at them too long, too much eye contact. I do not like that. But they were looking at me calmly and softly, non-threateningly. They sat in their chair upright and composed, a notepad infront of them. Their chair did not look as comfy as mine.
I flinch as I feel the impact comming, then the hurt comes, one of me, ladder slipped, 'I' fell, feels like a broken leg. They see me flinch and I can see concern in them as they lean forward looking at me.
"What happened? How are you feeling?"
"I am fine, one of me fell, broke their leg, feeling all their stimulai at once, means all the pain not just the good. But please. Continue. I have some questions."
I grit my teeth for a moment to clench the pain.
"can you tell me. What about you? What uh... do you have... I mean... did it to you... can you remind me..."
"No problem, I have resilience. I can take a lot of damage and still keep going, and by extension it allows the body to grow stronger. It happened when I was a POW."
"Yes of course, how could I forget..."
I look off to the side, it still feels uncomfortable to even think about let alone ask about.
"I have come to terms with it and we do not need to discuss it, but I would like to talk about you, and how you believe I can help. I want to help you."
When he leans forward I can see the muscle he has in his forearms even through the suit jacket, it isn't extreme and does not stand out, but there is an unfair and unquestionable sum of strength in his body.
"So where do I start?"
"If you feel comfortable about it, why dont we start with what caused you to feel the first, 'whisper' of it. Of your capacity."
"Uh..."
I take a deep breath, this is gonna hurt and this is REALLY going to suck. But I need to.
I exhale.
"I was in the military a low level commanding officer, but C&C went to shit because we were engage with a unit that had a pyrokinetic. She was born into an abusive household that got burned down, maybe by one of the parents, maybe she did it. But she could control flames now." She picked off a lot of our commanders, scorched their skulls. So I got an unwilling promotion to higher up but I had to keep communicating with all kinds of people at the same time. I had to be in 30 different places and once while I also was screaming at myself to be home. I did not want to die, not like this. But more than anything, I did not want my friends there to die. They were good people, and we needed communications to stay up and relay between positions while also commanding and leading and organizing groups. I had to be 100 places at once but I couldnt so my mind was RACING for all the things I needed to be. The pressures that got me into the military, the pressures in, the pressures out, the pulls in 30000 different ways. It was too much. Hiding in a trench so she couldnt see me I blacked out and then I saw myself blacked out. I thought I was dead. My ghost seeing my body and drifting away. But then I woke up. And I could see me. Looking at me. Telling me to get up. Then from behind me, I handed myself a new magazine to reload. Then I was 80 feet away telling people to prepare to fire at a wall while 2 miles away I was giving coordinates for an artillery bombardment. The pyro could scorch the rounds out of the sky but she could only focus on one place at a time. So we had to overwhelm her."
I began to get into the story. And for once in a VERY long time. I was not repulsed looking into my own eyes. As I sat there, calmly, all my muscle and strength and resilience. Looking at myself, looking back at me, with all the scars fears and worries, plain upon my face.
For once, in a very long time, I was not sickened to look at me. I liked that. I... **I** actually could look at myself. It was nice. | [P1]
It’s been a rough day. Once again, I was not heard when I spoke up months ago. Just as it always goes. I try my best to tell people what I see. But they never listen to me. Now I am packing up my desk because of layoffs. Layoffs that would have been prevented if people had more faith in what I predicted. I should know by now I can’t control these things. My eyes start to water as I begin to think about Lucy. The last day, I admit I was too protective and I should have given her space yet the panic that set in when she said she was leaving me… I begged her to stay. It was not a selfish request. I had the worst fear about her on that day however I knew not what caused me this angst. All I could communicate was a measly “please don’t go” as she closed the front door. That night, I got a call from the police. She had been in a wreck. I was her emergency contact; she died on impact.
Now, looking at my empty boxes and full drawers after getting laid off… It’s crippling. I don’t know what to do. Go home? Apply again? Repeat? There’s no way I can do this till I die. I need Lucy. I need something.
After packing it all up and getting it all into my car, I go home. It’s a 45 minute commute of tears. When I finally reach my house, it’s as if every ounce of energy is gone from my body. The black is creeping in from my peripheral vision. Something isn’t right. I hear a loud ringing just as my vision completely blacks out.
I wake up atop a cobble path. I see two white high heels in front of me. My heart sinks as I must have thought she was Lucy. Immediately after standing up, I am corrected. In a raspy high pitched voice that does not match her frail body she says, “Hmm… would you like some coffee? We have a nice place just around the lot.”
I reluctantly agreed as I had no clue where I even was. After walking for what honestly felt like seconds, we were there. I looked back to see where I came from and nothing was familiar to me.
“Are you okay dear” she asks, puzzled by my frantic behavior. “Yes, I’m fine. Just lost?” I reply.
“Oh sweety, you are not lost. You have just been found. Tell me…” She pauses for only what I can imagine is suspense. “What do you want to drink?” She lets out holding back a cackle.
That’s when it hits me. I can’t even read the menu. Not in a “Oh I’m too far from home” type of way but in a “Oh shit, this isn’t earth.” Type of way. I immediately begin to panic, tears begin to fill my eyes. As, I’m about to break, wind hits me. Not just any wind though, it passes through what felt like every atom in my being. And just as it started, it had stopped. And I was calm. More so than I’ve ever been. Just as I regain my composure I see her slip something into her pocket.
She communicates with the person making the drinks and I follow her to the table once she had them in hand.
“So what is this” I ask.
“This is Montigora. You wake up here when you have been chosen.” She says as she looks up and into my soul.
“Chosen? Chosen for what? There’s got to be a mistake. I don’t get chosen. That’s not me.”
“Chosen to protect. We here at Montigora are what you would classify as wizards or magicians. They are not born; they're made or rather selected. It is through unimaginable pain that their powers manifest. However, it is their heart that allows them to be chosen. Their ability is linked to their own personal trauma and their power is linked to their emotions. So tell me child, what can YOU do?”
I looked at this old woman asking me questions. With confusion flooding my brain I manage to spill out “I don’t know. Who are you and why am I chosen?”
I can feel my broad shoulders turning inward as anxiety fills my soul while I wait for a response. The old woman’s face begins to wrinkle at the concept of not knowing my power.
“What is your worst fear?” She asks after thinking for a while.
“My worst fear has came to be. The love of my life died because I couldn’t express what I was feeling right. I knew she was in danger that day. I knew not the extent. And now her blood feels imbedded into my hands.”
The old woman smiles at me and says two words; “Older pain.”
As the words escape her lips I am hit with my early life, the scene of me crying in the backseat of a car. My mother was trying to console me. When she turned around I cried harder as this feeling inside me was raging like a wildfire. Then there was a lot of glass. Blood…
“The car wreck.” I murmur.
“Yes!” She says with excitement grinning ear to ear. “The car wreck!” she laughs. “Now that you are older, do you see?”
“See what?” I ask almost insulted.
“You have a good heart. The emotions you feel in these moments are not real emotions. They an entire novel you can read with training. They are telling you exactly what is going to happen next. When you don’t listen and it’s imperative, they scream” | 2022-04-26T11:08:24 | 2022-04-26T10:55:23 | 52 | 10 |
[WP] Imagine a fantasy world that isn't permanently stuck in the middle ages. | Me name Ugg. See weak man. Weak man hot. No likey. Will not touch hot man. Hot man burn hands.
Me name Ugg. Cute girl there. Will ask for food. She name Kugg. Kugg odd girl. Ground move around Kugg. No talk to Kugg.
Me name Ugg. Kugg see lots of water from eyes. No water anywhere on ground. Ugg confused.
Me name Ugg. Look at hand. Hand shoot water. Ugg excited. Ugg angry at hot guy.
Me name Ugg. Ugg look for hot guy. Hot guy mean. Ugg no find hot guy. Ugg angry.
Me name Ugg. Ugg find cave with old guy. Ugg give old guy water. Old guy happy.
Me name Ugg. Old guy shoot big water. Ugg shoot small water. Ugg angry. Ugg punch old man. Ugg miss.
Me name Ugg. Old man give Ugg rock. Tell Ugg to break rock. Ugg crush Rock. Old man angry. Ugg confused.
Me name Ugg. Ugg shoot big water at rock. Ugg break rock. Ugg happy. Ugg go hit hot guy with water.
Me name Ugg. Ugg find Kugg. Ground moves around Kugg faster. Ground no hurt Ugg anymore. Kugg and Ugg.
Me name Ugg. Ugg find hot guy. Hot guy burn Kugg. Ugg no happy. Ugg fight hot guy.
Me name Ugg. Ugg shoot big water at hot guy. Hot guy gone. Ugg confused.
Me name Ugg. Ugg have water. Ugg glug water. Ugg happy. Ugg love Kugg.
Me name Ugg. Ugg see little guy. Ugg give water to little guy. Little guy happy. Ugg happy.
Me name Ugg. Ugg see hot guy. Ugg no see Kugg. Ugg no see little guy. Ugg angry.
Me name Ugg. Ugg find big rock with Kugg and little guy. Ugg shoot big water at big rock. Ugg find hot guy with Ugg and little guy.
Me name Ugg. Ugg shoot big water at hot guy. Ugg yell. Hot guy yell too. Lots of white stuff in between fire and water. Ugg confused. Ugg angry.
Me name Ugg. Ugg see dead hot guy. Ugg see Kugg. Ugg see little guy. Ugg happy. Ugg always happy with Kugg and little guy
————————————
LMAO | Thanks for the question OP! I've always hoped that p/AskPoppet would do one for folk that hate other folk for being folk! I changed the names here so don't worry. I also included definitions for the people from other realms in here
I hate my best friend Mazz. She's so weird and posts *wayyyyy* too often on Cinnamon. Cinnamon is a social media dating site and it takes sooo long to understand how it works. *Especially* when you're half vixen.
My father is a man, my mother a shapeshifting vixen. That term now means all seductive shapeshifters, so, while I'm half enchantress, Mazz is half chocolate lab.
But, being a chocolate lab, this means she understands humans really well. It infuriates me how my half folk power means I get to do some magic if I try *reeeaally* hard, but I don't get to have any skills that work in real life.
I also think that folk get a bad reputation. Not *all* of us get drunk and Mindy's using alligators! Only ones in Faunida. The US of Folkerica is very falsely represented in the media. True, we elected a half CheezyBallBall, half demon to be our eader (who knew snacks could be humans???) but not *alll* of us are that bad.
Sorry for the vent. Just really mad about lots of things, and stressing about the rice casting exam in a few weeks. Thanks w/Poppets\_Are\_Chocolatey for the question! | 2021-02-11T11:49:54 | 2021-02-11T07:10:50 | 48 | 24 |
[WP] You are a dragon living within the mountains overlooking a small village. No human craftsmanship can match the way dragonfire shapes steel and you are renowned for your metalworking. For years your only rule was no weapons. After what you saw today, your going to make an exception. | I never bothered much with the village people. Sure one would approach my humble cave with trembling knees, and eyes constantly glaring at the ground, afraid that my gaze alone could melt them to a crisp. Usually it was their king or a trusted servant, who would ask for my help in building an advanced carriage or a golden memorial. And in exchange they would let me freely feast upon their fatted flocks. But I never bothered to learn their names as humans perished and replenished as quickly as the grass. That was until Alcer.
I first Alcer when he was only a few rotations old. At the beginning of every sunrise Alcer would play by the river outside my cave, unbeknownst of my presence. And when he first stumbled into my cave he instinctively wrapped his arms around my front leg and greeted me. And though I tried not to, I grew fond of Alcer as he grew from a little toddler who could barely cross the stream, to the young man who commanded a small fleet of merchant ships.
And thus I was not prepared for the day when Alcer stumbled through my front door panting death away. "My wife and child," he cried "are stuck inside a cave and I need your help"
And so I could not delay, and I took Alcer into my claws and flew as fast as I could. But the entrance was small, and the earth underneath was unstable, such that I feared a misbeat of my wing would cause the ceiling to collapse.
And that is why, your honor, I did remove a scale from my neck and I did create a weapon powerful enough to carve through rock, a weapon that could lay wast to entire kingdoms much like the swords crafted during the great war between man and dragon. And yes your honor, I did give that weapon to Alcer so that he could free his wife and child.
And now, I fear, there is nothing we can do, except pray that the true power of this sword remain hidden. | Humans, the bloody idiots, they try everything in their power to hoard more, normally I don't bother with them, only making them the fun little set of armor or jewelry every now and then.
Some idiot decided to go do the stupidest thing I've seen in my long life span. They sold an entire village for power. I've seen humans do crazy things, like try and sleep with a dragon, or try and kill me with a rusty sword they got told was magical and could cut dragon scales.
But...this human sold an entire village to some entity, in exchange for magical power, damn near enough to rival a dragons magic, maybe even surpass that.
There's no way I'm letting this outrage continue. I'm not just putting my heart into this, I'm putting my literal blood into this, I am going to make sure that human...no, that monster no longer exists. | 2020-03-24T01:38:19 | 2020-03-24T00:09:16 | 87 | 33 |
[WP] Your Significant Other has landed a book publishing deal! You're very proud of them, even if you don't actually enjoy their writing. One day, on a whim, you buy an actual copy in a book store. It's nothing like the pages they gave you to read. Nothing. | As I finish the book, I am confused by what I just read. I have to double check the cover a few times to make absolutely sure that I picked up the right book? Could this really be the right book? The draft that I read was a self-help book about how to organize your life and find inner peace through organization. It didn't have any mention of any dragons. And it certainly didn't have any male dragon on male dragon erotica.
I start thinking about what this could mean. Is this her way of saying that she is unsatisfied? Does she want me to dress like a dragon? If she does would I be willing to do it? I don't know, I guess I could.... Sounds like a hell of a costume. Where do I even go for such a thing.
Maybe I am overthinking it. Maybe she doesn't want me to dress up at all. Maybe it is something else. I remember how vividly she described the dragons. How they had length and girth and veins. The monstrosity and power of the size. You know what, never mind. I'm gonna go with that she wants me to dress up as a dragon. Final answer. That is definitely it and nobody is going to change my mind. And if anyone even whispers "male fragility" I swear I will go slap city on you.
Sighing, I realize that the truth is I am just going to have to talk to her. Why would she hide this from me? Why is this a completely different book from what she said she was writing? And why did the one dragon breathe fire up the other dragon's bunghole?
I hear the garage and know that she has arrived.
I approached her with a smile and held the book up signaling that I bought it.
She smiles back but questions why I bought it when I've already read it at home.
I tell her the final draft was significantly different from the version I read.
She tells me the editor probably made a few final edits.
I tell her that she should try opening it up if she hasn't already.
And she does. At first there was confusion. Then shock. Then anger.
She is on the phone with her editor, her publicist, her agent. She is yelling about the smut that ended up in her book. There is confusion all around. Nobody knows how it happened. And the main thing that I think is that I guess I painted my balls green for nothing. | sitting on the couch, i pick the book up, flipping it over and smiling at my husband face on the back, the cover look different then I remember, but i shrug it off. I only ever saw the finished cover once. I flipped the page open and start to read but to my surprise, it was different. the sweet and kind words that my husband show me was replace with an different language, one i didn’t know. “i swore i pick up the english verison.” i look at it and stare, i could read it perfectly. “okay; weird.” i shake my head, wondering if i was daydreaming, i was suck into the book, each word flowing through my brain, i lost track of time, suddenly it was yank out of my head and i met my husband eyes.
“nonono!” my husband shirked. “we have an deal! if i write the book!-“
“we will leave your wife alone,” my body mocked, standing up. i tried to move but couldn’t. i was stuck. “we did, she still here.” my husband take an step back. “we have an deal! give me my wife back or i-“
“i’ll what?” my body mock, picking up the book before hitting my husband hard in the head. “you really thought we was going let you and your wife live on as human?” | 2022-11-29T12:14:39 | 2022-11-29T09:29:02 | 386 | 53 |
[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other. | I am reading this journal one last time before I burn it, for some things are better left in the past.
* **May 15th, 2011, 7:30am.**
Last night was very strange. I sat up in bed, but my room was not my room. I struggled to get to sleep for two reasons: first, because the Law School Admissions Test was the next day, and second, because the air conditioner had broken down and I was lying in a pool of my own sweat. I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, and just as I started to slip into the familiar lull of my subconscious, I felt a hand touch my chest directly over my heart three times. I panicked and bolted upright, but my room was unfamiliar. The walls were gray, sterile, and somehow shifting. He walked in the door. It was my father, but I know He was not my father. He sat next to me and puts His hand on my knee. I had a fleeting thought of resistance; of running, or fighting, but I sat motionless.
“Tomorrow is a very big day for you. A very big day indeed. And we need to make sure you are prepared for it.” My heart pounded in my chest. “Who is this?” I thought to myself.
“I am you,” He responded, before I could form the words. “Well, I am you in the future. And let me tell you, your – our – future is amazing. I can’t tell you what is in store, but I need you to remember what I tell you now.” He then turned to me and then looked directly into my eyes: “A, C, D, E, E, D, A, A, C, D, B, B, B, B, E, C, B, D…” He went on for another fifteen minutes this way. He then told me a story about a boy and a dog, and how that boy killed another dog to save his own.
I recognized the sound of my alarm clock. It was time to wake up. As I returned to consciousness, I realized that I was back in my room. I think I’ve been putting myself under too much stress recently. I’ll make a pot of coffee and hope that helps.
* **May 15th, 2011, 6:30pm.**
I don’t know what to write, and I’m a little bit scared. I need to start at the beginning of the day for this to make sense.
After I wrote this morning’s entry, I got ready and drove down to the local university where they were hosting the LSAT. I filled the parking meter to the maximum it would let me, but it was still two hours short of how long the test would be. Then I realized it was Saturday, and I didn’t have to pay the meter anyway. Oops. I hoped I would be more on point for the rest of the examination.
During the examination instructions, the power went out. The emergency generators kicked on, but the air conditioning doesn’t run when that happens. Everyone groaned, but nobody left. We followed the instructions and started the examination.
I opened my book. Section one was the vocabulary section of the exam – one of my strong points. I cruised through the first hour-long session, filling each of the bubbles in turn. I ran into a few questions that I didn’t know the answer to, so I left those blank to come back to later. I reached the end of the section and reviewed: I had answered 38 questions and left 12 blank.
Suddenly, something stirred in me. I started taking note of each of the answers. A. C. D. Blank. Blank. D. A. Blank. A. A. C. D. I heard His voice in my head, repeating the numbers as clearly as day. “What the hell is going on?” I thought to myself. I started to panic. Every single question that I had answered were in the same order and had the same answers as He told me last night! My mind was a blur; I was sweating like crazy. Suddenly, the examination proctor told us, “five minutes remaining in this section.” I snapped back to reality – I had completely forgotten to answer the questions! Without thinking, I filled in the remaining bubbles with the letters that had been spoken to me the night before.
I did the same thing with each of the remaining sections. When I finally got to the essay question, my jaw dropped. It was an ethics question; a question about the very boy and his dog that I had been told the night before. Instinctively I wrote the answer down verbatim. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t think I’m going to sleep well tonight.
* **June 1st, 2011.**
He has visited me every night since the examination. He tells me things. Things to do, things to say, and what to expect with each passing day. He asks nothing in return; just for me to listen. He told me to go to a certain gas station near my house and pulled out a red and green square of cardboard: a scratch off ticket. He told me to go at 4:15pm. I did, I bought the ticket, and won $600. He told me not to spend the money, but to instead invest it in a few certain stocks. I’ll have to figure out how to do that tomorrow.
* **June 12th, 2011.**
Today is the happiest day of my life! I got my LSAT results back, and I made a perfect score. 180! I suppose something deep inside me was expecting this; either way, I’m ecstatic. My mom and dad are so proud that they’ve called all their friends and the neighbors. I didn’t even have a chance to tell anyone because they went to Facebook and posted it on my wall before I had the chance to. I’ll let them have their moment! I’m just happy to have done so well! I haven’t heard back from Him since the first of the month.
* **February 10th, 2012.**
I found out yesterday that I was accepted to Harvard Law on a full scholarship. Last night, I felt three touches on my chest, and he visited me again. I sat up in the now-familiar gray room.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
“You didn’t need me, so I stayed back. But you need me now. This is important.” He said a bunch of words that sounded like someone talking on the phone; like it was one half of a conversation. I don’t understand what it means, but I can remember all of it perfectly.
* **February 14th, 2012.**
Now I know what’s going on! My mom and dad threw a big surprise party for me and invited all my friends. Anna, the girl that I’ve been crushing on since Junior year of University, was there. As the party was winding down, I went into the den and saw her long blond hair draped over the back of the sofa. She was sitting there by herself looking at her phone. I sat down, and started repeating the half-phone conversation that He told me, verbatim. She responded naturally, and I just kept saying what he said, the same way he said it. She laughed, a lot. Incredible! I had to sneak out to write this while it was fresh on my mind tonight.
She is still asleep in my room.
* **February 15th, 2012.**
I woke up this morning next to Anna. I took a deep, long breath of her glorious hair, and rolled over to grab my phone. The stocks I bought back in June had gone up in value substantially. The $600 I had invested was now worth more than $6,000!
| I have never been the kind to try and find a meaning in dreams, nor the one who listens to fortune tellers: my future is mine to shape, unforeseeable and beautifully mysterious because of that. I don’t know what comes next, and as such I’m as free as I could be in my choices. This is just how it should be, except it ceased to about an year ago.
The dreams started after a crazy night out in my town with the old friends I hadn’t seen in a while, they looked all accomplished, successful, and there it was me, the one unfit for success, the one still working 9-5 in a small office, full of small people working 9-5, unfit for success as well. My friends had either smoking hot girlfriends or plethoras of lovers, while I was texting a girl from office, maybe a 7, still the best I could get. That night my friends ordered all top-shelf stuff, we’re talking abut Bellavista, Grey Goose, and 50 years old Whiskeys, and there was kind of a challenge about who was to offer more drinks to the poor old friend I was. I loved them, my scarce wealth was never a problem except to me: to me it was a big problem, and when I got home, the evening after, I went to bed wishing to be just as successful: to be able to pay them back, I told myself, but maybe just because I wanted to. That night I dreamt of a guy, well-dressed, rich-looking and handsome, and he introduced himself as someone willing to help me achieve my goals, so I laughed it off, being like: “Ok dude, I should never have drank that much, I get it”, so he said: “Tomorrow, go walking to your office, leave early and enjoy the view, this will show you what I can do”.
That morning I got up early and walked to the office -it was a mere thirty minutes away and it could do some good to me to walk every once in a while, i thought- enjoying the view like the guy said. As I turned around the corner, I found a jewellery box laying on the ground aside a strange-looking key. I put both in my pocket and, being the nice guy I used to be, reached up to a wealthy-looking lady asking whether she lost them. The old lady thanked me so much, but didn’t recognise the key, she said the box had fell out of her pocket, and offered me coffee in her mansion as a thank-you. I promptly accepted.
The mansion was spectacular, it took a couple of minutes to get there by car from the city, and as I entered I thought it was well-worth being scolded at work for being late. The old lady introduced me to her daughter, definitely the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and we instantly hit it off. Later she drove me to work and said the sweetest goodbye leaving me with a kiss on the cheek and a confused mind. I had fallen in love.
Once I was in the office I got suspended for being late, or, as they said it, i got “given some time to think about my career there”, so I went out in the city once again, bought one of those milk-caramel-unicornshit-coffees they do at Costa’s and sit there, enjoying that beautiful day of sun, in pure happiness. I then got to the park, bought a book, and spent the afternoon there reading. At night I got home, ordered chinese, and just got to bed.
I dreamt of the guy again that night, and the night after, and every night after that one, always giving me advice, always making me happier. I won’t recount the ways he did, but should it suffice to say I got promoted at my office, twice, becoming one of the managers, and as such I got a bigger home to invite that girl, Asia, over. We eventually became a couple and everything was as happy as it could be.
Until today. Today me and Asia moved in a beautiful attic, me now working in another company as a top-manager took a day off to help with the boxes, and I got really tired, so I fell asleep at 16, against the advice of the dream-guy. Waiting for me, there was another guy, poor-looking, dirty, practically an hobo, who introduced himself as me. He told me he was me, and the other guy was as well, he told me I should stop listening to him, that the damages would have been by far greater than the perks I was getting. I didn’t believe him, so he showed me the future both of the dream guys could see. I saw great wealth, I saw fame as my company merged with ever-greater ones, I saw my marriage with Asia, our children, and then I saw something too awful to tell.
I will try anyway.
I saw me. Cheating on her.
I saw her. Finding out.
I saw me. I saw my rage. I saw a knife.
I saw the love of my life, on the ground, our children sound asleep.
I saw enough.
I told the guy to fuck off, to never bother me again with such awful visions.
What should I have done? The night guy just told me what to do, and it always led to happiness, this new one instead pops up in my mind and shows me such unholy things. I couldn’t stand it.
“Go away”, I said, “Go away and never come back, you sick piece of shit”.
“I’m just trying to warn you, stay away from the other one, you’re happy now, let it be. Don’t be avid”, he said.
“I won’t listen to you psycho”, I replied.
“Fine then, by the way, it’s Janice, she got breast implants and she wants an interview in your company, but in fact she’s just obsessed about you since you stopped texting her because of Asia”
“What…”, I couldn’t understand, “What are you say…”
The guy disappeared.
I woke up to the ringing telephone.
The voicemail started repeating its mantra.
A response followed, slightly covered by the noisy spools of the tape:
“Hi [panting], this is Janice and, umm, I thought we could meet… Of course for the interview, I know you’re in a relationship of course. I, well, I got some implants, so maybe this time I’m good enough for you HAHAHAHA just kidding hahaha isn’t this funny? Anyway, your secretary didn’t book me the interview so call me back and we’ll do on our own… The interview of course! Bye”
That night, the guy told me to hire Janice. | 2017-04-01T06:34:46 | 2017-04-01T06:02:46 | 91 | 44 |
[WP] A bug on google accidentally switches everyone's search history with someone else's. Out of curiosity, you check your search history after the bug. "How do I get off this prehistoric fucking planet" and "How to communicate with Gliese 581 c" are the first things you see. You get a call. | **SCP-4620**
**Class: Euclid**
**Special Containment Procedures:**
Foundation webcrawlers, assisted by operatives embedded in [Redacted], LLC are to monitor the web for manifestations of SCP-4620.
Instances of 4620-1 are to be given Class-B Amnestics and have their online history wiped, before being re-released. If an instance of 4620-1 cannot be rescued in time, all online references to them should be deleted.
In the event that knowledge of SCP-4620 becomes public, disinformation campaigns attributing the event to malware are to be initiated.
**Description:**
SCP-4620 is an anomalous computer error that affects the Internet Explorer web browsing application. To date, █ █ █ instances of the error have been recorded.
The error replaces the browsing history of the user, as well as search history stored on the servers of any website they visit.
The information replaced is different with each manifestation, but the following qualities are always present:
* Cries of distress such as typing "please send help" into a search bar, visiting suicide hotlines, and attempting to contact loved ones on social media are frequent.
* Several search entries suggesting that someone is trapped in an impossible location, such as deep within the earth's core or in the pre-historic era.
* Search entries will display a generally poor grasp of computer skills, and use language that suggests old age.
Roughly one week after SCP-4620 manifests, the person who's online history was replaced will get a phone call. If they answer it and listen to the entire call, they will be affected by a strong memetic effect. Those under the effort of SCP-4620's memetic properties are hereby referred to as SCP-4620-1.
This phone call is generally 1-2 minutes long, in which a generally older man or women will frantically beg for help and explain that they are lost. During this conversation, they will often mention details also present in the anomalous search results.
Instances of SCP-4620-1 will begin to obsess over rescuing the trapped person who made the call, but be unable to help due to the person's location. Over 3-5 days, this obsession will result in panic attacks, and eventually, a heart attack or stroke.
**Addendum 4620-Theta:**
We have to face the possibility that those who die of heart attack are also the ones leaving search results. Maybe they're actually traveling to the Moon, or the Marianas Trench, or whatever time period they landed in. Maybe some entity is simply using their memories. Who knows, but this is just one too many coincidences.
The last manifestation hit a software engineer, who panicked and purged his browser history. He trashed his Facebook, his emails, all of it.
That was two weeks ago, and we haven't had another one since. The usual two or three per day has stopped cold.
There's no way we've stopped it for good. I can still feel it in my gut, but maybe we slowed it down. We need to make this protocol. I want every speck of online information about these instances destroyed.
Approved: 05-█ | edit: NSFW cuz language
Mm. Maybe it was a dream. Maybe Google finally fucked up big time and we’ll finally hold them accountable for their monopolistic actions and therefore drastic consequences. By drastic consequences I mean someone else looking at my porn history and figuring out my sexual preferences.
Heh.
Oh.
It works both way, doesn’t it?
Hmm...
“gliese 581 c”
“intergalactic emergency transmission”
“universal space displacement hotline”
“🚀🆙🍼🤯🥶🔥☠️”
“hõw to äccēss hûmän spấce dėpartmënt”
Um... Is “gliese 581 c” supposed to be a shitty nonprofit? Ugh, I’m going back to bed. I have maybe a few more hours until I have to get ready for work-
What. An unknown caller at this hour?! Those silly spambots... Don’t they know that it’s more efficient to scam people when they’re awake? Well, here goes my trick: Take the call, hit mute, watch them hang up on you-
“YOU! YOU COMPROMISED MY ESCAPE! YOU ABSORB ME THROUGH YOUR ATMOSPHERE WITH YOUR MISLEADING ORBITAL ROCKS ZOOMING AROUND YOUR STUPID PLANET AND are you there? Stupid human communications, do I have to do everything here? Must I have to create a line a to connect this ridiculous space rock to the almighty Galactic Telecommunicative Alliance-“
“What the fuck,” I unmute myself, “What the fuck kind of scammer are you? Damn, take me off your do not call list right now or I’ll call the po-“
“hahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHA YOU!!!”
“Oh my god...”
“Yes! YES! GOD! I AM YOUR GOD AND I COMMAND YOU TO BRING ME TO YOUR SPACE LEADER”
Screw this, I’m hanging up. Stupid prank calls at 2am... They better not call me at work. | 2019-08-29T11:17:32 | 2019-08-29T10:56:13 | 39 | 12 |
[WP] Humans always considered themselves prepared for any type of apocalypse, zombie invasion, nuclear war, robot uprising, you name it. But we were never prepared for the moment when the Earth began to hatch. | When the San Andreas Fault finally gave out in 2031 and the 8.9 magnitude “Big One” wiped out tens of thousands of people in Hollister, we thought that would be the end of it. Catastrophic losses, to be sure. But we could pick up the pieces and rebuild with the assurance that a catastrophe of that magnitude would never occur again in our lifetimes. That is, until the first tentacle burst forth from the city’s ruins.
I still recall the excited clamor amongst myself and my fellow peers in church that Sunday as we crowded around the television to see aerial footage of the tentacle. It was a marvelous specimen, the molten heat of our planet’s core radiating from its skin and melting the steel foundations around it. It easily stretched two hundred feet into the sky, lazily moving through the air without a care for its surroundings. Words could not do justice to accurately portray the sheer majesty of this entity.
Naturally, the president’s administration went into high alert at the unprecedented emergence of this specimen. Military cordons, scientific expeditions, the whole nine yards. My acquaintance in the Pentagon assured our little circle of associates that there was nothing to be concerned about in the short term. So long as the hulking mass of flesh did nothing but aimlessly meander about the ruins of Hollister, the administration was content with holding the line and conducting remote investigations as to its origins. Three months progressed uneventfully in this fashion, until the second tentacle emerged in Missouri.
A similar scene of destruction unfolded in the unfortunate city of New Madrid, and with it a second tentacle to accompany the first. I often cite the emergence of this particular one as the turning point, as more began bursting from the Earth’s surface within the United States and around the world. Portland, Santiago, Queenstown, Vancouver. These are just a few of the more egregious examples I can think of, but I assure you there were far more. Thirty-seven, to be precise. Thirty-seven tentacles in the span of four weeks. An awe-inspiring and fear-inducing display of power. But it was only after the infamous Office of Science and NASA leaks that chaos truly gripped the planet.
For it was the former that theorized all the tentacles belonged to an entity residing in the planet’s core and that the emergence of said tentacles signaled its imminent awakening. And it was the latter that exposed a fleet of rockets prepared to send the best and brightest of our country to Mars, to save them from the inevitable destruction of humanity’s cradle. Politicians, scientists, the zillionaires whose fortunes dwarfed my own sizable assets. All of them handed a guaranteed one-way ticket to salvation in the stars. You can only imagine the sheer outrage from the unwashed masses.
And of course, capitalism reared its ugly head one last time, sensing its imminent demise alongside the destruction of Earth, when SpaceX announced its own fleet of rockets with readily available seats to the masses…for the right price. But unlike their counterparts at NASA, the overlords at SpaceX were willing to play along with the callous façade of corporate goodwill to the very end by offering three seats via lottery system. I still recall the footage of the masses swarming the SpaceX offices, savagely clambering over and ripping one another to pieces to claim a ticket.
As for me? Suffice to say that the connections and resources at my disposal were just barely sufficient to secure my position. Even with my contacts at SpaceX, I was left virtually penniless after forfeiting my entire fortune to secure one of the final seats in the last Falcon 9 rockets. A worthwhile price to pay to flee the inevitable collapse of humanity’s cradle, they told me.
And so, I now find myself strapped into a window seat and staring out into the vast blackness of space as we inch ever closer to Mars. I cannot help but think how fortunate I am that security was so lax in screening despite the oceans of wealth poured into this expedition. Otherwise, the block of C4 I had had surgically implanted into my body and the detonator in my bag would have certainly raised alarms.
I have led my seventy-two years of life as a God-fearing man, diligently attending Sunday mass since I was a young boy. But now I realize I had been worshipping the wrong God all along. For He had been laying dormant beneath our very feet, waiting to exact His judgment upon us once the burden of our combined sins grew too heavy for Him to bear.
My best years are behind me. All my material wealth now little more than a fever dream of the past. I have nothing left to bind me to humanity. And it is such a…liberating feeling. For now I can perform one final act to truly prove my devotion to Him, to punish these sinners sitting beside me who delude themselves into believing they are above His divine punishment.
Did you know that a 100 sq cm hole in a pressurized cabin can depressurize it in less than fifty seconds? I lack the scientific knowledge to know just how large an opening 1.25 pounds of C4 will create. But I sincerely hope my fellow passengers will enjoy finding out for themselves.
r/williamk9949 | It began with a great fissure and the death of billions.
The fissure opened up straight through the United States, carving the American heartland in two.
The fissure quickly took on a religious significance. Self-proclaimed prophets popped up all over the place with all kinds of divine proclamations. Some had large platforms to begin with, like the greasy televangelists and teen pop stars from the before-world, all purporting to know the meaning behind this totally unexpected and unaccounted for event. Others just shouted at their cats.
Then there was me, just trying to get through Iowa as quickly as possible, about to fall asleep at the wheel before the interstate collapsed infront of me with a roar that woke me right the fuck up. I must have watched at least fifty cars dissappear into the abyss, an interconnected web of rubber tire marks trailing behind me for fifty yards. I can still smell the burned rubber.
"That was twelve years ago. But I recall those first few moments vividly, partially because I'd just witnessed something unfathomable, and partially because you appeared in the passenger seat."
"So it was fully unfathomable, then," piped up Miracle, who had until now been tolerating yet another one of my self-reflective renditions of the event.
"Yes," I said, barely missing a beat. "Anyway, you appeared, and it turned out the fissure had opened up halfway around the planet, causing tsunamis and earthquakes and volcanic eruptions and accidental nuclear launches and the like, not to mention the food shortages and the riots and the..."
Miracle cut me off. "And billions of people died," she said, twirling a lock of her golden hair. It's not that she wasn't empathetic, but she'd heard it all before and she wasn't sure if she was human anyway, and when it came down to it she just didn't feel things that strongly.
"Yes, billions. And here we are today," I gestured at the expansive river all around our little makeshift raft. The river was a result of the newly formed contours of the planet, spreading outwards from the fissure. The flowing water had once been part of the mighty Mississippi River but noone could quite agree on a new name, which was a hallmark of the new era of shattered feudalistic factions that made up the remnants of humanity. Shifting geopolitics caused almost as many deaths as the constant tsunamis and earthquakes.
"We're going back to where I was born," Miracle said, piping up. This was an interesting development. Something to be excited about.
"Yes," I said, noticing that the river was narrowing and the current getting stronger.
"Why?" Miracle asked.
"You had a note in your pocket when I first found you. It had a list of things we had to do. We've done all that... and the last thing on the list is to go back to where I found you."
"I don't remember anything from before."
"Not surprising. I still don't even know why I felt compelled to complete the list."
The first item had been to name the baby Miracle, and the second had been to steward her into an awakening of sorts. I'd deemed that one complete a few months ago, once she'd started questioning essentially everything, and the other twenty items on the list had been pretty straight forward; #6, find and preserve a maple leaf from Ontario, #7, grow a bed of carrots and eat them all, etc. Weird little quest items you might find in video games from the before-world.
I eyed the horizon, keenly aware that this river emptied straight into the fissure. "We'd better get to one side and walk the rest of the way. We're close now."
Miracle was content to humor my attempts at leadership. The raft moved without any perceivable action by either of us, though Miracle's eyes were half-lidded.
"Alright," I said, gingerly testing the straps on my hiking pack. "Just a few more miles and we'll see what's in store."
\-----
Sorry guys - the day got away from me and I didn't end up having time to write Part 2. If I'm being honest, I wasn't at all sure where I was going with it. | 2020-06-22T13:34:15 | 2020-06-22T12:36:11 | 1,643 | 187 |
[WP] A soldier on the front dies in the middle of writing a letter home. It is finished and sent by the man who killed him. | Frankie,
I know you're angry. Dad told me that you're failing English of all subjects and that you've been drinking again. I know you're angry. I'm angry. I'm sorry that mom did what she did. I'm sorry that you and dad had to move out. I'm sorry you had to change schools. I'm sorry that I haven't been there for you.
Frankie, the world is asking you to grow up before you're ready to. It asked the same of me when I got drafted. I can't tell you that things will get better, because I know things will never be the same. I'll be home soon though. Two months and I'm back home. For good. Don't worry. Just try and stay out of trouble until then. Be strong for dad because Lord knows he needs it right now. He needs you Frankie. I know he's rough around the edges and can be a grouch but he needs you. As for your grades, get your shit together. You're the smartest guy I know, and even though school isn't for everyone, it's most definitely for you. You have the opportunity to do great things and even though I'm thousands of miles away, you are not blowing this. I won't allow it. I want you to be proud of what you become.
One more thing. Do you remember that song that grandma would play on the piano? I have a part stuck in my head but I can't seem to remember the whole so
Frankie. When you get this letter, I want you to know how hard it was for me to finish it. I want to explain to you that friendly fire happens way too often out here. I am sorry that things turned out like this. Danny talked about you a lot and he never stopped telling us how smart you are and how you were going to be a lawyer. I wanted to finish this letter to tell you that your brother was the bravest man I ever knew. My address is on the back of the letter. Once this is over, if you want to contact me you can. That's all I have to say.
Sincerely,
Josh Rosenfeld | Dear Mom,
I love you and I miss you dearly. I want to be home. I don't want to be here anymore. It is unspeakably terrifying in this trench. We are shelled at random times of the day. There is never any peace. We can never be at ease.
There is 400 meters between us and the enemy, and we are at a stand still. Neither side wishes to rush the other and get cut down running across an open field. So we sit and wait. I don't want to die, and I don't want to kill the men in the trench across from us. I don't think they want to kill us either. But we both have orders from men in headquarters far away from here telling us we must capture this territory at all cost. I do not want this war, and I
have dezided to desert. I von't be coming home mama, I haf met a friend named Olaf, he iz a good man, I vill be staying wit him. He will take good care of me. Please don't worry abouts me. I will wright too you soon. I will be happy.
Love,
your son
| 2015-02-03T13:29:19 | 2015-02-03T13:25:34 | 534 | 67 |
[WP] There is a woman who is a human 'Phoenix'. She dies in labour and is reborn as her own child. | "Ugh, finally." I knew I was practically glaring at the pregnancy test, willing it to be positive. I'd let him touch me for the last time. I unwrapped another and ran through the process again, just to be sure.
Positive, again. I looked at the bruises on my arms, where he'd grabbed me. I fingered the bruises on my neck, the now slight swelling to my jaw. Finally, I was pregnant. Finally, I could escape. In the hundreds of years of my life, I'd never endured abuse like this, not even during the wars.
I walked into the kitchen, and surveyed my little domain, the one place in the house he was sure never to come unless I'd failed to live up to my 'wifely duties.' I could poison him, but it may not work.
"Wanda! Make me a scotch!" Monday night football, of course.
I settled on the knife. I slipped a serrated steak knife into my pocket. I poured his drink, three fingers, one ice cube, just the way he likes it. Everything is just the way he likes it. Or else. I walked into the living room, the entirety of it being his 'man-cave', a shrine to testosterone. I set his scotch on the side table next to his recliner, and without pre-amble or warning, drew the steak knife from my pocket and raked it across the side of his neck, cutting him deeply.
I backed away from the chaos and reached for the phone, dialing 911 while my husband flailed about.
"911, what's your emergency?"
"I've just slashed my abusive husband's carotid artery with a steak knife. I'm worried he'll spill his scotch if he doesn't die fast enough."
I let the phone rest on the table and went to the kitchen to wash my hands.
| The same eyes search mine
As I have seen before
The same first steps
She grabs the wall and pulls herself up
Triumphant
(again)
The baby clothes I had preserved
Had I known
I would again be a mother
To my Again daughter
Could
Would I
Have been better prepared?
My chance to do it all
Over
My Again daughter is
My Again rebellious teenager
Sneaking off to be with her boyfriend
Eerily she chooses another
Similar bad boy
Another unplanned pregnancy
Why couldn't
Would I
Have been able to stop her
Again
Again she dies
In labor
Again
and
Again
She is reborn.
The Joy
The pain
Never lessens.
| 2016-01-25T09:47:22 | 2016-01-25T07:47:30 | 64 | 11 |
[WP] Every human has a 'luck rating' - a number from 1-100 that defines how lucky they can be. Born with a rating of 100, you're confined in a maximum security prison. You think your luck should get you out easily - that is, until you see that all the other inmates also have luck ratings of 100. | You ever heard of plot armor? How your favorite heroes get out of ridiculous situations despite there being no good reason for them to be able to succeed? 100 luck is like having plot armor. You can’t die. You can’t lose. People wonder at how bad luck fits into the equation, and simply put, at 100 you have no bad luck. At 1.... well, they usually don’t even make it out of the womb.
That being said, I have 100 luck. Not bad, right? I could do whatever I want and succeed. If I wanted to do brain surgery I could close my eyes and swing at the patient’s brain with a sledgehammer, so long as I want them to live and heal, somehow it’ll go right. There’s a lot of capacity for good, a lot for bad. A few years ago someone with 100 luck threw a dart into the air aiming for German chancellor’s head... while they were sitting in Hawaii. That dart rode the wind currents across the world right into Berlin where it blew the chancellor’s head off. A dart they half-heartedly tossed while sipping a fucking mojito.
This was rare, since most 100 luck people are thrown into jail. Myself included. What I’ve been trying to figure out is how this prison at the bottom of the Atlantic is fair or lucky. I got my answer when the world exploded. Someone got uppity with the nukes, one thing led to another, now our air tight prison is floating through space. Pretty lucky to be the only survivors. On top of that, we have 500 males and 500 females on board our little slice of life.
I’d say we have a good shot at repopulation, especially since each guy has a gal and each gal has a guy. Everyone has fallen in love perfectly with one person that nobody else loved. Big shocker here, one couple already had a kid. Okay, whatever. Thing is, she has a 100 luck rating as well. I’d venture a guess we’ll all be having 100 luck kids.
I was worried we’d run out of food, but a warehouse full of it somehow crashed into our big home and created an air tight seal. We estimate a good 30 years out of it. It’s not a problem until it’s a problem, you know? I’m kind of assuming we’ll crash land on some world lush with life and perfect for our survival. A literal paradise. I’ll be honest, the future seems bright. Hell, I bet we could even conquer the universe.
Edit: Part 2 is up! https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8uu474/comment/e1ir4bh?st=JJ0IWUHY&sh=0aa9d3dc
Edit 2: I’m going to work on a Part 3 later today, I’ll shoot replies to those of you looking for it. It will likely take the form of an HFY post just for organization and depending on how far I want to bring this. | Luck governs our lives more than most care to admit. Those born with high luck scores become world leaders, wealthy, and succeed where others fail. Those born with lower scores often lead unlucky lives and often fall victim to unfortunate accidents.
Me I was one of the luckest of all, a 100, from a young age everyone knew I was destined for greatness. One teacher in school said I might me the next president, another the next Bill Gates. However I was always a risk taker and loved pushing my luck to its limits. When I was 16 I robbed my first bank, the vault door was left wide open, the security camera's out from a freak outage. It was a thrill to temp fate. Over the years I used my luck to make bank, I could enter the most secure places and make off like a king.
That is until one day the impossible happened, I got unlucky, caught red handed with the Crown Jewels of England. I was tried and sentenced to life in a maximum security prison. Though this too thrilled me, as a prison break may be the most challenging task yet to press my high luck. Only when the guard locked me in my cell, what I saw was impossible. All the other inmates in my block all had luck scores of 100 just like myself. No matter what I tried my luck failed me, no open doors, no power outages, no holes in security opening up for me to exploit.
I learned from my cell mates that my story was theirs, they lived a life of improbable luck until one unlucky day they ended up here. Nothing anyone tried could free them from this prison. This place was built so that nothing could get out.
However what I failed to understand at the time is that we where the lucky ones, nothing could get out of this place, but that also meant nothing could get in. Outside our iron corner of the world things where falling apart. Talks where breaking down and war was on the horizon, soon everything would be destroyed. Except for the most fortified places on this Earth, like say a maximum security prison. | 2018-06-29T10:08:34 | 2018-06-29T10:05:15 | 5,321 | 308 |
[WP] You are an average Joe who is challenged by a random super hero every week. Your record is 337-0. | I look down at my watch. It's 7:00 P.M, which means the sun is finally set and night has begun. It’s also Thursday, which means that any minute…
Yup. There’s a knock on my door. I laugh to myself. Usually, they just crash through the window or walls, which means I always have a carpenter come in on Friday. A knock was pretty polite.
I walk over to the door, open it, and see some sort of b-list Superhero standing there. All the really weak ones from the Super Nation had come first, and I beat them easily. Then they got worried, sent in the top guns, and I beat them too. They were just sending anyone they had at this point.
This guy’s cocky, I can feel it. He has this black leather suit, a red D in the middle of it. He has on a standard leather mask and hood, trying to be intimidating in anyway he can.
“Michael Mac,” he says, “ you are needed at the Super Nation. This is your only chance for you to peacefully comply”
I lean up against the wall, not worried at all.
“I’m sorry, but who are you?” I ask him.
He’s surprised by how laid back I am. The other heroes obviously haven’t told him much about me.
“I am Discard!”
“Never heard of ya. You know, if White Matter or Earth can’t take me, what makes you think you can?”
“Because they can’t erase things!”Discard takes down his hood, and red energy starts to stream from his face and body, swirling all around him. As it touches my walls, the paint starts to peel.
“Great,” I mumbled to myself, “now I have to get a painter in here too.”
“Don’t worry,” Discard smirked. “You’ll be in jail before you can do that.” He charges at me, his red energy streaming behind him. I didn’t move, simply stayed there. He plummets into me, and we both fall onto the ground.
He wasn’t expecting me to do nothing, and doesn’t know what to do now. I do. I grab the chair next to me, a solid metal one, and pull the leg so it falls on top of him. Startled, he turns around and I push him off of me. I look down, and see my plaid shirt is all white. Other than that, I'm fine.
“Ah, come on dude. You’ve got the lamest powers ever.”
He starts to get up, but I swing the chair and hit him in the head. He doesn’t have super strength, and gets knocked out pretty easily. That chair alone has taken down 130 heroes. “Alright. Let’s go.”
I grab his arm and drag him out my door, throwing him on my lawn. Then I pull out my cell phone and call the person who sent him.
She picks up.
“Discard, did you get him?”
“No, Mom. He did not get me.”
“God damnit! You know, you could just come and visit me every now and then. I wouldn’t have to come and send my hero friends to come and get you.”
“Try and get me,” I corrected her. “338 times now and they haven’t gotten me once. Because no matter what, I’m not coming to see you.”
“You know, just cause your ex was a super villain and I killed her…”
“Yes, it does mean I can’t visit you. She didn’t need to die. Now just send someone to pick up Discard.”
“Fine. Goodnight, Michael. I love you.”
“Bye, Mom.” I’m about to hand up, then I remember I have something to tell her. “Wait, actually, one more thing.”
“What is it?!” I can feel the excitement in her voice.
“Can I borrow some money? I’m behind on rent.”
| "and done" I mumbled and hit the enter key sending a Craigslist advertising that I was looking for new friends.
Sure most of the guys answering my request would be total jerks or loosers, but that really didn't bother me to much. In the end they would not be my friends for long.
It all started a few years ago, my son was 1 and the wife threw a temper tantrum that I had forgotten to get diapers that day.
So I got in the car once I finished work and drove up to my local Walmart to get some and hopefully not spend the night on the couch.
Anyways the parking lot was full and I was desperate, so instead of waiting for a lot to clear, I just parked my car in front of another one. What could go wrong? Am I right? I'd be in and out before the poor fellow I'd parked in would even know, right?
Oh boy...
The dude I blocked was no one else but Rage-Man, strongest hero in the world and, you might have guessed, not a man know for his patience.
He got out before me and when he saw what I did, he threw my car 6 yards further and left a message that he would kill me.
Overreacting much, you say?
See the thing is we got quite a few superheroes, but because of the same reason we have zero supervillains and even petty crime is on an all-time low as everyone has to face a bored hero looking for a way to make it in the news.
Anyhow, I shit my pants of course and hid in the house for 3 full days, but nothing happened.
Than I got a call from one of my friends, Rage-Man did just visit him, he did rip my friends heart out and made him tell me that he was after me.
Well it turned out, a simple Google search, revealed Rage-Man's weakspot, ordinary coal, I brought a peace along and once I displayed it to him, he lost his power and I beat him to death with a crowbar from my car.
Of course all wannabe heroes out there declared me their new supervillain. And so the cycle began.
This was also the moment I realized that there is a protocol every hero has to follow. They have to get my henchmen first and since I don't have any henchmen they just go after my friends.
At the same time every hero has to have a a weakness and being the vain cocks they are, you can learn all about them by a short visit on Wikipedia.
So all I had to do was sacrifice my friends and colleagues and as soon as they announced to me who they were Google their weaknesses and bring a gun with me.
You won't believe it, but that really worked 337 times so far, the only problem is that I run out of potential friends. I'm already a member of every club in town and regular in every bar. So instead I went online, so yeah, need a friend? 😂😉" | 2016-11-19T18:53:52 | 2016-11-19T15:46:20 | 103 | 72 |
[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.” | To: HR department of Hell
From: Norman
Cc: Satan
I honour you otherworldly beings.
I appreciate your work and see the importance of your tasks. But i think there has been an error. You see, i was always a faithful human. Stayed in line, did my work. Never been any trouble to anyone! Of course a few missteps here and there. But who doesn't?
Im sure your files will tell you similar.
I have recieved 186,292 years as my punishment! This cannot be and
I hope you will be able to help me in this dilemma.
Greetings from fairly normal Norman
Aw: Norman
Dear Norman
Sadly, we have to inform you that this number is correct. Apparently there were some miscommunications on how to shorten your stay in hell.
Your time here is not based on what you call "good" lives. Rather does it depend, on how many expieriences you gathered on earth. Did you live life to fullest? Made the best out of every moment?
We hope that cleared open questions and wish you a pleasant stay in hell. Good luck next time! | 2018-09-26T08:05:05 | 2018-09-26T07:04:35 | 488 | 156 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | You're careful. Every piece of your life, every single moment, since that day of rapture and the 0 appeared on your wrist you have been careful. Never stand out. Never draw attention. Maintain the average existence of shrub. Well that was the plan at least. You realized too late that in this age of sigils and supers an existence equating to a background bush was like wearing a "kick me" sign.
Everyday was misery held back by the enormous responsibility on your shoulders. Usually it wasn't so bad. Gym clothes stolen, school supplies destroyed by fire, tripping over yourself due to A sneaky telekinetic asshole, dramatic hair growth from a time manipulator. Even with verbal insults included all of that you could manage. Carry the bare essentials. Learn to catch yourself. Cut your hair between classes or tie it up. At least no one was beating you just yet. Well at least nothing beyond inconvenient shoving in the hall. You just keep telling yourself - "it's not so bad", "High school isn't forever".
Everything would have stayed the way it was if not for Karen. That damn cheerleader bubbling with energy directed at only two things; school spirit and your pain. You thought about that 'spirit' she was so damn proud of as she pulled you by the hair with her telekinetic powers across the 4th story cafeteria floor and up to hover by your hair a foot off the ground. Her bullshit reason today was that it was spirit week and I single handedly was bringing the whole school down just by existing. As she stood there, with you still stuck hanging by hair and imaginary hand, she berated you on you lack of enthusiasm along with possibly 20 other bullshit appearance/sigil based accusations. You broke. Careful concentration lost as you let loose your power at her. You felt strong and free in a moment of bliss as an invisible light seemed to flood through you. Karen, however, had gone quiet. Your extra burst of light meant her permanently extinguished being. You felt as her over confidence gave way to an inescapable darkness everything in the world went dim and grey in her eyes. She barely had the will to stand simply because she barely had a will to be a alive. You took her million watt smile and turned it down to 0 as you sucked out her enjoyment of life itself forever. Before you could stop yourself it was over. You watched in silence as she lost her grip on your hair, walked to the open window and simply stepped out into nothing.
You didn't stay to watch the cheer squad grieve or even to hear her hit the pavement. Your sigil was burning bright 0 on your wrist. Karen's will to live bolstering your sprint home.
You say to yourself, "Next time I'll do better."
"Next time I'll be more careful."
- sorry that was so long! I don't post much so some gentle feedback is appreciated.
Edited: Attempted to fix formatting even a little bit | The bullies had surrounded me and one gave an experimental push to see how I'd react. I stumbled onto the ground and tore my sleeve on one of the school lockers as I fell, revealing the circular sigil on my inner wrist, where someone else might put a tattoo of a butterfly or something.
"Just be cool," I thought, "They're only jealous." I could tell from the look in the eyes of the guy that pushed me that he was only curious about me and didn't know how to express his feelings. If only he knew how to do that, he was kind of hunky and maybe I could change him.
They crowded around me and it felt very claustrophobic. I told them, "You don't want to do this," but they didn't listen. They never do.
"Or what?" they asked. "You got kicked out of your last three schools. Probably because you're too lame. Maybe it's time we found out what a simple sigil like you can actually do."
"Leave her alone!" shouted Chad, who was the quarterback and totally had a crush on me, but I had no time for him and his sports while I was taking all my AP classes. But they didn't listen to Chad either, and he was too far away to help me.
It didn't matter though, since I knew Kung Fu and Jeet Kune Do, the martial art that Bruce Lee made. My sigil of the perfect circle made me perfect in whatever I studied. I delivered a roundhouse kick to all their faces and it was over before it started.
Chad rushed to my side in concern, asking if I was OK, and I totally was. Nothing could hurt me, except for the weakness of my sigil: that it was also a hole in my heart that nobody could fill.
"I'm fine, Chad," I said. "It's about time they learned nobody hurts Mary Sue." | 2020-02-26T10:44:56 | 2020-02-26T09:26:44 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Two werewolves fall madly in love, but only during the full moon. When they’re human, they can’t stand each other. | I pulled the pillow down hard over my head, but it didn't do much to drown out the ruckus wafting up from the dining room below. I winced too, when I heard the sound of cutlery scattering, plates shattering. Then, loud thumps, probably one of them pushing the other against the wall. More howls, more wordless cries of anger.
Then, suddenly, silence.
I crept to the door, tilted it open so that it wouldn't creak. I even peeked through the balustrades, but they were both gone. I sighed, then headed down to help with cleaning up. It was easier this way. They always apologized afterwards, swearing that they did not mean to cause trouble for me again, but I honestly did not mind. As long as we could-
Blood. Fresh droplets, sprayed in a clear arc on the tabletop. This close, I did not even need to Shift to know that they were from mum.
Axe. Usually stowed in the rack next to the fireplace, now missing. I narrowed my eyes, and the disturbed dust particles in the air painted the rest of the picture for me. Dad, probably, had retrieved the weapon in a frenzy.
Wind. A chilly gust, swirling through the house as brazenly as an uninvited guest, alerted me to the front door, now hanging ajar. Footprints leading out, framed by porcelain chips from the ravaged dinnerware, made clear where my parents had went.
*This was no ordinary fight,* I thought. *Shit.*
I sprinted out, drawing in as much of the night air as my lungs would allow. In my human form, I had perhaps one-hundredth of the capabilities afforded to me when I Shifted, but I was still a clear cut above my unpowered human brethren. Their scents became apparent to me, hanging in the air like a trail of fireflies. Dad's scent was stronger, overpowering even, full of anger and rage and potent impotence. Mum's scent was... too faint to make out.
No matter, they had to be together.
My feet carried me across the fields. My heart burned with fatigue, but I didn't dare to stop. There was no plan, of course. I was barely ten, and definitely not strong enough to stop dad if I had to. Even if there were a full moon tonight, it wouldn't have mattered. I could only hope that he would listen to reason. It was the only weapon I had.
Then, at the edge of the forest, where the bristling trees were thickest, I saw dad raise his axe high above his head, priming for the swing. The scarce moonlight was enough to illuminate his fury for me.
"Dad! Stop! Dad, please!"
I tumbled at the last few paces, rolling into a ball, stopping at his feet. The tears were ready to spring from my eyes, the pleas all prepared in my throat. They always fought, but they always came back together, so why shouldn't they do so again this time? Why make choices which cannot be reversed?
"Rania? What the... Get up, you twit. What are you doing here?"
Dad hoisted me to my feet. I could still smell the anger roiling off him, but it was controlled, not a conflagration consuming him, but a modest flame burning in a lamp. My eyes darted around, searching for what I was sure was mum, lying on the ground, wounded, bleeding out.
I saw only firewood.
"Dad? Where's... Mum?"
"How should I know? Geez, that crazy coot can go fall off a cliff for all I care!"
"But... I thought... You were chasing her, with your axe, and I thought... Well, maybe, that you were..."
Dad looked down at the axe in his hand, then back at me before he burst into laughter. "What, you thought I was chopping down your mum with *this*? Ain't nothing less than Odin's Spear will pierce that mangy hide of hers!"
"But then why... Why are you..."
Dad pointed at the woodchips on the ground. "Your mum said the firewood I brought in had spores in them, set off her allergies something bad. I told her she was more fragile than a chihuahua, and that was more than enough to set her off."
"... And the blood?"
"Aye, that was me. I flung the plates at her, and I forgot her reflexes are shit when she ain't Shifted. Might have cut her hand or something."
Dad watched me stew in the uncomfortable silence for a few moments longer before he turned back to the tree, aiming precise strokes at the trunk. I took a few steps back, away from the debris flying into the air, then found a dry spot to sit down on.
"Why can't you talk to her like you do with me, dad?" I asked. "Calm and all. Taking your time to explain things."
"That woman drives me nuts, you know that. I do my fair share at making her mad too, I know, I know."
"Then maybe you two wouldn't fight so much, you know? And you could enjoy more of life together, and not have to spend so much of it apart, like now."
Dad dropped the axe, then started bundling his haul together. Two quick loops with twine later, he had a hefty bundle which he carried over his shoulder.
"You've seen us run during the full moons, Rania. No greater love exists for me then, or ever will elsewhere. And if the price of that is that I've got to tolerate her foolishness for the rest of the month... Then I'd gladly do that. I can only hope she feels the same way."
I took his outstretched hand, and we began our trek back to our home. We walked in silence for a while longer, then I caught a whiff of stew on the wind. Onions, celery, black pepper, beef. In the distance, I saw the lights spilling out of our kitchen.
Dad's favourite supper was only minutes away.
"Will you at least try to be nicer to each other?"
"Rania, if I hadn't watched you being born myself, I could have sworn that you were an old woman stitched into the body of a child."
"Dad! I'm being serious!"
Dad sighed, then lunged forward in the darkness. He swiped a clod of earth from the ground, then revealed the prize he was going for - a handful of chrysanthemums, slightly traumatized but otherwise perky.
"This good enough for her, you think?"
I grinned. "It's a start," I said.
---
/r/rarelyfunny | Nick sat in the field sniffing the cool autumn air. He loved it when the air was crisp and dry and every glorious scent wafted over him. He could smell dry leaves, scents of various little critters, the cars on the highway located behind the woods, pungent smells from the pools of water in the drying creek, and....something else.
"Something else, something else, something else...what's that scent?," Nick thought. In his wolf form, Nick's animal sometimes had the primal urges that caused him to chase down a small animal. Nick knew he didn't have to kill but, as the wolf, he found the chase thrilling and reward very tasty. The scent brought about the excitement of the hunt, but it was so unfamiliar.
Nick sat up, sniffing the air. Whatever it was, it was upwind. Nick trotted through the treeline until the scent was stronger. He lowered his wolf frame, soldier crawling through the last bush that opened to the clearing.
His eyes told him before his nose could. It was one of him. A female version. Nick had never encountered another werewolf on his monthly excursions. Hopefully, he never encountered anyone. Although Nick liked to run free during his change, he could never risk other people. He has a job, a mortgage, and a car payment. All of that would be gone if anyone knew.
He crept out of the bushes and into the clearing and spread out, staring at the girl version of him. She turned around and froze as she saw Nick. Their eyes locked, she crouched, ready to run.
Nick sat....staring. She relaxed her body language, relaxed, sprang to the left a few steps, then back, then play bowed. Nick took the opportunity and sprang up, running his overly bulked wolf body straight at her and going down into a bow feet from her. Her tail wagged back and forth and she lunged on top of him. They wrestled, biting but not hurting, for minutes and she disentangled her self running away. He chased with all of his might. She was nimble and quick and better dodging through bushes. He would finally catch her, give her a nose nudge and the chase reversed.
After hours of vigorous activity, and a belly full of rabbit they laid in the meadow. Nick knew it would be time to leave soon. He can only hope that she will find her way out again next change. She pranced around him, and licked his face then sprinting into the bushes.
Nick could feel the slow pangings of the human started to gain more consciousness and started home himself.
They continued this for many months during every change. It was deep spring and Nick's wolf truly loved this she-wolf. One day, she smelled uniquely intriguing. Nick's human realized she was in heat. They had been doing their usual playing when she stopped, looked anticipatingly and...she slowly turned her backside to him.
"OH god, oh god. She's so hot and beautiful," Nick fretted. His animal was in love? He knew the signs. That scent hooked him. She was in heat. "Damn it", Nick thought. Because even though Nick was consumed by this she-wolf (he is certain he would do almost anything for her) his human self still knew with that job, mortgage, and car payment he also had a wife that his "real" self loved.
Nick jerked back as he caught his nose leading to a natural canine sniff point..you know..the one that really says "hi". He couldn't or he knew he would lose control. He turned and left.
6:30 a.m.. Car doors slammed, and another, then a loud muffler.
Nick awoke to his wife, Kelli. She was probably the only one left in the world that knew his secret. She still loved him and had found it was best to let the beast roam free because she always had his hairy arm holding her close by morning. Nick was pissed that his bitch neighbor was having another garage sale. He slowly pulled his arm back, freeing himself, and headed to the kitchen.
Nick did the Saturday morning routine. First coffee. Always coffee. Nick grumbled to himself about how Sally's ("you can call me Sal") Saturday garage sales were becoming more frequent. The traffic woke him up on his one day to sleep in. Christ, just last week someone had rang their doorbell at 6 wanting to know when their sale started.
He headed to the front yard in his robe. Sally was out there ringing up people. Nick was irked about his neighbors frequent garage sales. He was sure this was against code and disturbance to everyone.
"Hey, Sally. You ever considered not having so many sales?"
Nick pondered it. Between shit like this and when she shovels her snow onto my lawn, and all the times her cats come shit in our garden, the time her kid broke our windows, when she dented my guests car..all that shit adds up.
Nick knew Sally was a grade A cunt.
Her glare met his face. "First, call me Sal. Second, this is my property and you can't tell me what to do on my property. Quit trying to tell me how to live my life." As Nick returned inside with his paper, Sal quietly grumpled and added, "stupid fucker. Hope you move"
Sal really hated her neighbor. The feeling was mutual. Oh well. She grinned a little as she thought about her nights adventure. She flicked her hair, and a little piece of weed from the meadow down the road drifted down. She forgot about Nick and briefly thought of her wolf and wondered why he had refused her.
Edit: when I originally posted this I cut and pasted but missed half. | 2018-05-22T23:23:22 | 2018-05-22T20:31:25 | 725 | 56 |
[WP] Write a seemingly normal story, except for the last sentence, which makes the entire story creepy | I pressed the square button again, sniping the guy hiding on top of the hut that had been taking out my team for the past half hour. It had taken me too long to find him, but I finally got him. The fact that his insults changed from sucking his anatomy to doing inappropriate things to my mom told me I got the right guy.
There was a knock on my door and my mom came in, wiping her hands on her apron. "Sweetie, can you take out the garbage?"
"Mom, I'm playing my game. I can't do it right now."
"Just pause it."
"That's not how it works." I said, clenching my teeth. She didn't get it.
"Danny, the garbage truck is going to be here in half an hour. Please just do it quick?" She was asking, but it didn't sound like a question. "Last time you missed it and it stunk up the basement, remember?"
"Fine," I said, tossing my controller to the floor as the voices on the screen kept asking why I wasn't shooting anymore.
"Thank you, Sweetie."
"Why doesn't Gary do it?" Isn't that what a boyfriend was for?
"He's not here," she said heading back down the hall.
What a useless sack. I walked downstairs and saw three garbage bags by the door. I grabbed two of them and headed to the curb to put them in the trash bin. I tossed the first in without issue, but the second caught the edge tearing the side and causing a piece of trash to fall to the ground.
I picked up the hand from the ground, it's finger pads removed, and tossed it back in the bin. I headed back to the house to get the last bag.
Guess Gary didn't work out either. Maybe the next guy will. | Dear Diary,
It's been such a long trip! I keep bugging Mom to find out when we are going to arrive! Looking out the window gets boring pretty quickly, the scenery just starts to all look the same.
Most of my siblings agree, except, of course, Miss Goody Two Shoes. You know the one. She just smiles at Mom and says what a lovely journey it is and how much she is looking forward to our arrival.
Well, that's all for today!
Dear Diary,
It's so exciting!!! Mom says we will be there in about an hour. I can't wait!! I'm so so so hungry and Earth has some amazing tasting humans! | 2016-05-19T13:02:55 | 2016-05-19T10:54:03 | 203 | 53 |
[WP] He rushes onwards like a bloody tempest, destroying all in an attempt to free you from the stake that binds you to the pyre at your feet. For before he was a Hero, he was the boy that gave you flowers. And before you were exposed and branded a Witch, you were the girl that taught him love. | "Yundara, please! Let me go! Why are you doing this?!"
The armored priestess gave the struggling witch a cheerful smile as the flames of the pyre slowly grew around her. The witch's powers would normally have been able to extinguish the flames with but a whisper and a wink, but two squads of Holy Inquisitors surrounded the witch, chanting and sealing her powers.
"Silly Cassie. You know that the Lord of Purity cannot abide darkness, even in human form."
"But we fought the Dread Lord together! Defeated him together!"
Yundara nodded. "Yes, and the Lord of Purity is grateful for your help! So grateful, he has given me permission to burn away the darkness within you, so that you may be embraced by him in the next life." The cheerful smile widened. "You should be grateful for his mercy, whore of darkness."
"No! Help me! Please!" She looked out at the villagers whose babies she had delivered, whose maladies she had cured, whose crops she had blessed. None would meet her eyes, not in the presence of High Inquisitors.
The flames did as flames did - spreading, growing, consuming wood and flesh, the crackle of burning wood, the smell of burning flesh, the screams of torment.
"CASSIE! NO!"
All present turned to see a red-and-gold-armored figure charging down the road, knocking aside Holy Knights like saplings in a storm. Some of the Holy Inquisitors moved to block him, but a gesture from Yundara held them.
The armored man rushed the pyre, throwing aside piles of burning wood with great sweeps of his gauntleted hands. Seemingly in a panic, he cut the witch, burned halfway up her body, down from the stake and cradled her in his arms.
"Oh gods, Cassie, I don't know how to heal you. Tell me what herbs to gather, what words to say, what powers to bargain with! Tell me how to save you!"
But no herbs, no words, no powers could bring back the dead. The villagers wept as they heard the knight's moans of anguish from within his helm, and even the Holy Inquisitors looked shaken. But Yundara's smile never left her face as she approached. "Brave Dragon Knight, do not weep for a woman who lived in darkness. Cry in joy that she has found the light in the next life."
The Dragon Knight's back stiffened, and his head slowly turned to face Yundara, seemingly noticing her for the first time. Laying Cassie gently on the ground, he stood, and stalked towards the Lady of Mercy. "What have you done?! She was our ally! Our friend! She saved our lives dozens of times over! We would not have defeated the Dread Lord without her aid!"
Yundara shook her head, "Silly Dragon Knight. With the Dread Lord gone, the time of darkness has passed. The High Priest of Mercy has decreed that the faithful shall not abide those who consort with darkness to live... particularly at the side of the hero of us all, the mighty Dragon Knight."
She met the advancing Dragon Knight and wrapped her arms around him, laying her head upon his armored chest, his armor still warm from the pyre. "Besides, would not the Lady of Mercy be a far more appropriate companion for the hero who drove back the darkness?"
The Dragon Knight stood frozen for a moment, then brought up his arms to wrap around the slight frame of Yundara. She nuzzled happily in his embrace, comforted by the warmth... the growing warmth...
Yundara's smile flickered slightly as she looked up at the Dragon Knight, face hidden beneath his helm. "Brave Dragon Knight... Istvan... the heat of your armor grows somewhat uncomfortable..."
She moved to step back, but the Istvan's grip on her tightened, and his armor began to glow. Yundara's beatific smile was now replaced with panic as flames began to lick at the edges of her vestments, at the end of her long silver hair. "Istvan! Please! Let me go! Why are you doing this?!"
But the Dragon Knight stood impassive as the flames rose from within his armor, their roar drowning out Yandara's screams as her hair burned and her flesh charred, their heat driving back the few High Inquisitors who dared approach.
Finally, when nothing was left of Yandara but charred bones, the Dragon Knight stood, surrounded by the flames of his namesake. He removed his helm, revealing a tear-streaked face twisted in rage and loss.
"Run back to the High Priest of Mercy. Tell him what happened here. And give him and all those who worship a god that would sanction this madness my message..."
The flames around him became a towering inferno, driving back everyone around, but the Dragon Knight's voice could still be heard clearly. "Tell them to hide. Hide beneath their pews, hide behind their altars. Because I am coming for them! All of them!"
"They will burn in the next life! BUT FIRST, THEY WILL BURN IN THIS ONE!" | He always did this
He always found a way to insert himself in everything I do
No matter the cost that it would bring upon him, he would be by my side till his last breath. I guess you could say it’s my fault but how can you fault me for caring?
This world was in fear of the things I was capable of so my mother forced me to hide my magic. I had seen what the government did to those before me and my mother swore I wouldn’t suffer that same fate.
This man swirling and slicing in a bloody rage was once the prince of this land. When I met him he was pompous, arrogant, distasteful, and flat out not worth my time. My mother had been sold into ownership by his family and the boy had pointed me out as a interest he would like to pursue. So as my mother was nothing more than a renowned baker for the royal family I was relegated to housework.
He would spend his days arguing and playing chess, ordering for food he would never eat, and making mockeries out of everyone. Then one day he called for me and instructed that I fetch his horse in the garden. I refused.
He yelled to the heavens and ordered again and again but I had no fear of this boy. He fancied himself a king when his resume was more of a court jester. I was forced to the stables to prepare his ride and the waiting process gave me time to apply magic. It was forbidden but there were no onlookers so I thought to try it. The flowers around me began to swirl and the horses brushed their necks at me in delight. A quick display but one nonetheless.
This would go on for years and years and eventually the horses were so drawn to me they didn’t respond to his touch or call. So in order to ride them I would come along with him and this irritated him. He felt little now, as if he didn’t have this whole land in his name once his father passed. These horseback rides gave way for conversation and maybe it was magic or simple coincidence but he began to fall for me. I could see the gleam in his eyes when I would wait in the stables, the restlessness when I was late for a ride, the joy when I would find my way to his room and we would talk for hours. He soon took me as his personal property by way of his father and that was when I showed him the magic.
We stood alone in the stables and he didn’t believe a word I said. “ Magic is only a fairytale” he told me as I pointed to the flowers and remarked that I could make them grow. I closed my eyes and pointed at the beautiful display and they fluttered and grew in the wind. He picked a rose from a bush and put it in my hair. He told me “ this Rose is only a jester compared to regality of your beauty”. We stayed like this for another year or so until we got word that my mother had moved up to become a member of his fathers personal council. A baker becoming a trusted official was out of the ordinary and that was when the knight broke down my door and decreed “ THE WITCH IS AMONG US”.
And that is how we got here with me on a stake being a public display of fear and human indecency and him charging through his fathers forces screaming my name. No one was able to stop him and as he grew closer I made out the words “ my love” from his mouth. They seemed so familiar to me even up here. The arrows rained down at him while he charged but this boy had become a man in the time I’d known him. He had become a master fighter and couldn’t be beaten by one army. But I could and when the arrow pierced the nape of my back I could feel the light fading. I saw the rose flutter in the wind and the horses brush my hair to the sides as my vision went black. All I heard was my name “ Margaret,Margaret,Margaret” but alas I couldn’t respond | 2020-11-16T06:27:30 | 2020-11-16T06:01:14 | 79 | 34 |
[WP] You summon the most powerful and notorious demonic being in the universe. The reason why you summoned it: You are lonely, and are in need of a friend. | "More tea Lucy?" The fallen angel sighed and reluctantly nodded. Brittney almost squealed at the interaction. Moving to Alaska with her parents, into her grannpappy's old house had left her without any friends to play with at the ripe age of 5.
Her father had insisted she read more to occupy her time, while he worked in his office. Her books, although beautifully illustrated, were boring. Her grannpappy's books on the other hand... the ones she found in the attic, were more to her liking. The pictures weren't colored except for shades of white, black and red. She couldn't read it really, just the stuff inbetween the lines, phonics written in pen.
She had been reading out loud to herself, basically the only way she knew how, when the lumbering creature appeared to her in her bedroom, in a flash of fire, smoke and a smell of what Brittney could only identify as daddy farts. At first Brittney thought he was a dog by the fur that marked his waist down, but the wings and hooves dispelled that notion. By the way in which he appeared to her, she knew he was magic, like disney magic, he had to be a fairy godmother or a genie! "Hello, little one." Rumbled a noise from the demons face, his voice box sounded alot like metal grinding together, amongst screaming souls which was his breathe.
Brittney's eyes were wide "How many wishes do I get!" Not wasting any moments for formalities. The beasts wings shuddered and what could be identified as a smile smeared his face. "One wish, at a cost of your immort-"
"I want you to play with me and be my friend, forever!" Screamed Brittney. *POOF*. In another flare of fire, smoke and daddy farts, they were in a large red stone cavern without an entrance or exit. Filled with all manner or childrens toys, as the smoke cleared and Brittney's excitement burst forth in the form of high pitch squeals and jumping up and down while simultaneously tugging the demon's wings.
The great beast looked around and involuntarily let out a "Fuck".
Edit: formatting. Yay! my first WP.
Edit: Thank you all for the kind words and the sweet, sweet karma. This is my first prompt so feedback would be cool, and I'm not much of a writer. Corrections would be cool too. | As the man finished his final intonation, the air itself seemed to invert on itself. The sacrifices, which had been so carefully arraigned, blubbered first with terror and then in simple unending agony.
The very air seemed to twist in on itself, and with an incomprehensible scream, unreality darkened and fused together. The man looked on.
*Who*
Still, the man looked on.
**DARES**
Blood stained hands reached up, lowering the hood of his cowl. His eyes, so steady, betrayed his emotion with a single tear. Into a myriad forest of eyes and writhing appendages he walked. Infinite screams poured around him, clawing at him, but he did not flinch.
"It is I"
The horror he had summoned with his dark incantation dwarfed the man. With words that oozed madness it spoke.
*Why do you summon me*
The man looked around him at the last remains of what had been his world. The sky, once an azure blue, was now a chaotic mockery of black and crimson. Buildings crumbled and fell around them, their architecture undone. A fine mist of blood covered all which had once been so bright and beautiful. *Not beautiful enough*, he thought, *not to me*.
Finally, the man looked up, his gaze piercing through the shroud of darkness, locked eyes with the horror, and spoke.
"I was lonely"
And the horror knew fear. | 2014-07-20T08:05:35 | 2014-07-20T07:59:32 | 507 | 20 |
[WP] A Japanese company sends a poll to their employees: "Should high heels be obligatory?" 76% of men and 23% of women vote in favour. "Per the poll, the new dress code will start Monday. We will provide you with shoes." The men are directed to the counter with high heels, the women to flat shoes. | As Nobu walked away with his pair of pumps, Aiko came up with her flats.
"Sexy, Nobu. Looks classy! Aiko teased.
Nobu smiled. "I'm glad that the managers have a sense of humor. Better for morale I think. Though I thought it would be mandatory for everyone, especially since health and safety sent out the poll."
"Yeah, well I guess they have a playful side. There are so many men in this company, I say it's high time the odds are evened up. Maybe more men will start making way for us ladies."
They got back to their cubicles, and sitting side-by-side they put on their new foot wear. After taking a few steps, Nobu sits back down, visibly annoyed.
"They're really pinching me!"
Aiko tosses a box of band aids on Nobu's desk. "That should help."
Tending to his already sore toes, Nobu strategically covers up rubbed skin.
"Looks good though. Even after a few steps, I wouldn't minding following you to the copier." Aiko was loving the new rule.
Suddenly, an alarm bell came on the PA. Red emergency lights start flashing.
*Employees be aware. The National Emergency Alarm has been activated. Proceed towards your nearest emergency exit in an orderly and brisk fashion. This is not a drill*.
Nobu and Aiko walked together. The hall was ringing with the taps of mens' heels while everyone started filing out. Flashing red lights lined the halls and stairways, lighting the faces of the concerned employees. As they got downstairs, Nobu could see a growing chaotic scene. Fellow employees being pushed down and trampled by other panic bystanders.
"Nobu, what's going on?"
"I don't know Aiko! C'mon!"
As Nobu grabbed for Aiko's hand, he started to move to the side and twisted his ankle. Falling down, he grabbed his leg. Aiko knelt down to tend to her friend.
"Are you alright?"
"It's impossible to run in these!"
As they lay on the sidewalk, a number of their colleagues lie around them falling down as they try to run away.
"What the hell is going on!" Nobu yelled out in frustration as he focused on his fast swelling ankle. "Aiko, please help me up. Aiko!"
Gawking up at the unbelievable sight, Aiko didn't hear Nobu's request. Slowly trembling away from Nobu, with watering eyes and quivering lips, she runs at full sprint in the opposite direction.
Incredulous, Nobu looks back in the other direction. He couldn't believe what he was seeing, as he shouted at the top of his lungs: "Godzilla!"
Edit: typos | He had voted no, but most of his pals had voted yes. They stood in line in front of him and bemoaned the situation.
“This is bullshit, that question was purposefully misleading.”
“Eh, we’ll do it for a week and there’ll be so many complaints they’ll roll back the changes.”
His anxiety grew as the line shrank and he drew nearer to the high heel desk. Everybody was given identical pairs of shoes. The shoes were black, the heel about three inches tall. For some of the men in line it would be the cleanest part of their ensemble.
He listened to the man in front of him when they reached the desk.
“Size?”
“13.”
The man was handed his pair and he walked off to his desk.
“Next.”
He breathed deep and stepped forward.
“Size?”
“11.”
He was handed his pair and he silently strode over to his desk. He set the high heels down in front of him, compared them to his loafers. The heels were a bit darker and decidedly sexier. He slipped off his loafers, prepped himself to be embarrassed until they rolled back the silly rule, and put on the heels.
The first thing he noticed was that they would go better with some no-show socks. He stood up and walked around a bit. They were far from comfortable but there was something about them. He kind of felt... good? He looked around and saw that every man was doing the same thing as him. Every man was checking himself out. Some were even comparing with each other, which of them pulls it off better, who’s got the better walk.
He looked back down at his new shoes and thought, “I could get used to this. Maybe we could even do skirts next…” | 2020-05-11T09:57:11 | 2020-05-11T08:21:21 | 2,942 | 1,270 |
[WP] Write a story that contains a huge plot hole, and try to sneak it past the reader. The bigger the plot hole the better. | Troy ecstatically led his clients upstairs to the master bedroom.
"Oh yes! The master bedroom is absolutely gorgeous; you'll find that almost everything in the room will be to your liking, Mr. Johnson," said Troy reassuringly.
"Almost? What do you mean by almost everything?" inquired Johnson.
"Well I will need to warn you." Troy paused. He wasn't sure how to put this. "I'm sorry, you'll just have to see for yourself," Troy replied while pushing open the doors to the master bedroom.
Johnson could only stare in disbelief at what unfolded before his eyes. "It's a hole," Johnson managed to stammer.
"Yes, indeed, Mr. Johnson," Troy looked at Johnson as innocent as possible. "It is a hole...on this plot of land. A plot hole."
Johnson looked back at Troy then back to the hole. "Where does it lead to?" Johnson asked.
"Mr. Johnson, I'm going to be frank with you. I don't know. If you look very carefully, there's only darkness. Miles and miles of darkness. In fact, I dropped my favorite pen last week, and I never heard it land. It just kept falling. But this is a great feature Mr. Johnson; I assure you. You will never need to buy another garbage can again! Just toss all your trash into this hole! In fact, you could probably poop into it as well. Just think of all the endless possibilities with this hole," said Troy.
While it was true that there was a large, gaping plot hole in the side of the room, this one story house was beautiful. The kitchen, bathroom, and living room were all to his liking. Johnson briefly considered the pros and cons and resolutely decided that he will take this house. | She stumbled through the door, fully aware her last breath of free air was running dangerously low in her lungs. First period. Day one, here we fucking go. Taking the back corner seat was *crucial*. Alex booked it, taking a gamble that her awkward limbs would make the trip. Success! Window seat, too. So far so good, maybe this year wouldn't be such a.. oh who am I kidding, you know where Im going with this.. disaster.
"Hey, Sweetie!"
"M-mom?" Alex's eyes swelled up in tears of panic. His limbs grew numb.
"Congrads on landing that substitute teacher gig, Mrs. M." Joel let out through a tight smirk.
This year was going to suck. | 2017-03-20T15:31:34 | 2017-03-20T14:06:17 | 400 | 41 |
[WP] It is 2026. All major governments have been overthrown by one singular world power, who now intends to rule over us all “for our own good.” It’s Canada.
Edit: You guys. These are so, so great! I’d told my husband I was going to give gold to my favorite and I’m STRUGGLING to decide. Haven’t read them all yet but am thoroughly enjoying these. You guys rock. Thanks for playing along. | We've tried to be be right nice about this eh?
We tried to sit and wait as you sorted yourselves oot and learned that you were all family, all one people.
But no longer can we stand by and watch. Our spies have apologized their way into positions of power, and our mounties are well... they're mounties. Nuff said.
Our legions of trained squirrels have gunked up every weapon in the world with maple syrup. This WILL be a peaceful transition.
Mounties will be making the rounds, as exemplars of politeness and love for ones follow person.
There will be a few new laws, that may take adjusting to, but which will send us into a brighter tomorrow. They are as follows.
1. Whenever a conflict arises, both parties will immediately apologize. This will not be an admission of guilt, but instead a reminder to both parties that they are both people, and therefore on the same side.
2. Maple syrup comes from a tree. Nothing needs to be added to it. Calling anything other than maple syrup, maple syrup, or theft of syrup in quantities larger than 3000 tons of are the crimes still punishable by death.
3. Hockey replaces football. All footballs. Equipment will be provided for those unable to afford it.
4. Health care and internet are now utilities along with food, water, and basic housing.
5. Weed is awsome. Smoke it if you want, dont if you dont, dont be a hoser who does it in public
6. All wood chopping shall be done shirtless while wearing suspenders and a hat.
7. Do your best not to be a hoser.
More laws will come as needed. We promise a brighter tomorrow, and apologize for having to be so aggressive about all this.
Have a swell day, eh? | After a long day at the office, I walk into my favorite bar in Bushwick. I sit down and order a martini. While I'm sipping my drink, I look up at the television. CNN's playing a puff piece on our new Prime Minister, Justin Trudeau. He's halfway across the world in New Zealand to promote Ottawa's "One World" policy.
Trudeau's taking selfies with spectators at a rugby game. Before the match begins, Trudeau dances a poor imitation of the haka. I feel so much secondhand embarrassment that I down the rest of the martini in one gulp. As the alcohol courses through my veins, the words I thought I would never say slip from my mouth:
"I miss Trump." | 2018-04-02T21:10:23 | 2018-04-02T21:03:54 | 104 | 10 |
[WP] A warrior prays to the god of war before a battle but by accident it's answered by the god of healing. The warrior is now blessed with the sword of resurrection, punches of healing, kicks of cure for the common cold etc. | The warrior was invincible in the battle that followed, although also entirely useless on the offense as all of his attacks actually made the enemy healthier. Nevertheless, the tales of his exploits spread far and wide, and soon he was beset by everyone from high lords to the poorest of common folk begging for him to lay his healing hands on them.
Which he gladly did, of course. Although prehaps not in the way they were expecting.
----------------------
"My Lord! My wife is heavy with child, but she has taken ill... I beg you! Lay your hands upon her and save her with your holy power!"
The warrior-turned-healer looked kindly upon the noble, who had come to his hall with his wife and equally sickly son and now lay prostrate before him.
"Fear not!" he declared grandly. "I will bestow my gifts upon you! What seems to be the issue?"
"We can't say, but there appears to be a problem with the baby." the man says fretfully. Behind him, his son tries and fails to hold back a coughing fit.
"The baby, eh? Well, I'm sure we take care of that!" he strides towards the woman. "Tell me, what is your name?"
"Vanessa, my Lord."
"My dear Vanessa, hold very still. This will all be over in a moment."
He inspects her swollen belly carefully. "Yes, I see. It's very deep in there."
"Um, what is, my lord?" her noble husband peers over his shoulder.
"The baby, of course. Stand back."
The warrior stands and winds up. Before anyone can stop him, he delivers a mighty punch to the woman's belly! She doubles over in pain and collapses to the ground.
"W-what have you done!?" The noble cries, aghast. He reaches for his sword, but remembers he was asked to leave it outside. When he looks back, he sees the madman has already started towards his son.
"Ho there, boy! That's quite the cold you have!" he cries, advancing on him. The boy shrinks away in fear, searching for an escape, but there is no running from the warrior's spinning back kick.
"You... you're insane!" the noble sputters as his son skids across the floor. "We came for your help!"
"And help you I have! I've rid you of two problems today! Three if you count the baby!" the warrior replies cheerfully.
"By the Gods..." Just as the noble steps towards the warrior, intent on killing him with his bear hands if necessary, his wife interrupts him.
"Wait!" she struggles to her feet, and takes a deep breath. "Wait. I-I feel... good. Much better than before. The pain is gone!"
He stops, confused. "My dear! Are you saying..."
"Yes... I think... somehow, I'm cured! That man's strange technique... it worked!"
Across the hall, his son sits up and sniffs experimentally. "Finally!" He cries in relief. "I can breathe through my nose again! The Gods have banished my congestion!"
"I *truly* don't understand..."
"Worry not!" the warrior claps him on the shoulder, inadvertantly curing his lingering back pain. "My healing ways may be mysterious, but they haven't failed yet!"
The noble stands torn between relief and anger. "But why don't you tell anyone?!"
"What? And have them come wincing and cringing and hiding their afflicted parts from me?! Nay, 'tis much better as a surprise!"
"I... I see."
"Don't worry, you're not the first to be shocked. Why, old Lord Carell came to me with a lump on his testicles... you should have seen his face!" | A blast of fire licked Setson's hooves as he steadied himself upon the rock, firmly grasping the Sword of the Empyriau Valoru in both arms. Utaria towered over him, reaching down with her neck to stare at him with neon-green eyes, a small amount of smoke escaping her snout as she made a sound like she was licking her lips in anticipation.
"You consult me?" she said, opening her mouth to reveal a firey pit in her larynx behind rows of razor-sharp teeth.
Setson chattered with terror as he stared transfixed into her maw. "Ye-yes. I was thinking-"
"Your first error, centaur, was to think that you can think." She looked behind her as she extended her massive wings, so large that they were wider than the peak of Hokrish Mountain. "You are small."
"I, I'm- I'm- well, *cursed*."
"*Cursed?* You know nothing of such things, no. *I* am cursed. banished to this mountain for all eternity. Do you know how boring this rock becomes after nine hundred years? Not even my gold entertains me anymore."
"Well, well, you see. I am supposed to be a warrior, but I've been cursed and now I can only heal. I haven't been able to harm a single enemy. They've cast me out of the army in Thistledale as some kind of freak and told me to go become a monk. I knew that only someone of your power-"
Utaria paused, her eyes calculating a spell, her long tongue feeling the air around his body. "Hmm, perhaps we do have one thing in common. The same god that cursed me cursed you."
Setson felt immediately relieved. "Somehow I just knew you could help!"
Utaria cackled so loud that it echoed against the distant mountainsides. "Fool, I cannot help you."
"Why not? You're like the most powerful and feared of the dragons in all of Cordragia."
"If I could help you centaur, I wouldn't be stuck on this godforsaken mountain!"
"Oh," Setson put his head down.
"Put that stupid sword down, it couldn't harm me anyway. Do you know what I could really use up here? Some company. You look like someone interesting to talk to, and now that you can't fight you've got nothing better to do."
Setson was flabbergasted, not really expecting this. "Umm, I'd have to think about it."
Utaria moved her mouth within mere inches of him. "It isn't a choice, centaur." | 2022-10-28T08:13:19 | 2022-10-28T06:38:44 | 57 | 24 |
[WP] Seasoned wizards only use dead languages such as Latin for their incantations. Those less experienced quickly learn why--as the meanings of words change, so too do the effects of their spells. | ######[](#dropcap)
"I've told you a million times, you've got to learn the Latin," the old man huffed at his young apprentice, watching as she continued to speak in English.
Luna rolled her eyes.
"Latin is a dead language," he continued. "So the meanings of words will stay consistent."
"I'll be fine, grandpa. There isn't that much overlap with words that I'd use for spells anyway. I've gotta go meet up with Milo right now, so I'll talk to you later!" She dashed out of the house, unwilling to take her grandfather's nagging anymore.
It was so difficult to remember all those latin words, and she could progress so much more quickly with learning spells if she just stuck to English.
Just off-road, she suddenly noticed movement.
Luna froze and held her breath, gazing into the trees next to the dirt path. She had wanted to take a shortcut to Milo's because it was growing dark, so she had decided to cut through the forest area. She didn't usually like to take this path because there were all sorts of wildlife around, but she had decided that it would fine if she did just once.
Slowly, she noticed the leaves and grass on the ground begin to quiver. She kept her eyes trained carefully on where the movement was coming from. Within moments, the creature came into a view.
With black and red stripes, it slithered onto the side of the road, its gaze focused on her as it bared its fangs and hissed.
Luna felt her mind blank out. Snakes had always been her greatest fear, and she could feel her heart beginning to race and her legs wobble. She fumbled before managing to pull out her wand from her pocket. Her lips felt numb.
*Please don't strike, please don't strike.*
She stayed as still as possible until her wand was pointed at the snake. Then, she uttered the words that she had never dared utter before. A spell that that would have lasting consequences that couldn't be taken back.
"Slay," she whispered, watching the rip of electricity hit the snake from the end of her wand. She had expected it to fall still, maybe even to explode into a couple of different parts.
Instead, before her eyes, it slowly grew until its head, when reared back, reached her waist. Its coat also began shiny, almost blinding, and within her terror, she managed to notice that it had grown...eyelashes?
Luna gulped, thinking of her grandfather's warning as the snake hissed and reared back.
It lunged.
*****
More fantasy stories at r/AlannaWu! | "Oh, wow, I can't believe how amazing you are!" the red, cherubic creature said, looking at me with big doe eyes.
"I'm... I'm sorry, come again?"
"You're just the best! You did such a good job summoning me!"
I surveyed the scroll again for a moment, making sure that I'd had everything go right. All the ingredients were correct, I hadn't made any substitutions, and I definitely hadn't tripped over my words like in the lavatory / laboratory mix\-up a few years back.
"So, I'm sorry," I started, unsure of how to proceed. "I summoned you here to destroy my enemies and cast fear into those who would dare oppose me. Did I mix something up?"
"Oh, no, I'm more of a flunky \- a toady, a bootlicker, that sort of thing. For you, though, I can do my absolute best to scare folks!" The creature punctuated its sentence by growling and making a claw\-like gesture that was more bar\-cougar than mountain\-cougar.
"Ugh!" I grunted as I threw my big pointy hat in frustration. Well, not so much threw as set it rapidly down on a nearby counter \- one would not want to throw anything surrounded by potions and elixirs in a no\-expenses spared bathroom like this.
"What's the matter? You did great!"
"I'm just not sure what I did wrong \- the scroll says I was summoning a loyal beast of awful disposition!"
"Well, that's what you got \- I'm yours, Mister, and I'm entirely filled with awe."
\[Not exactly the prompt, but I was inspired to play with "awful". Hope that's okay.\] | 2018-05-02T14:54:23 | 2018-05-02T13:46:18 | 2,656 | 249 |
[WP] At the age of 18, every person develops a magical power. Yours is the power to fluently read and speak every language in the universe. At first you thought the had the worst power on earth, that was until you you realise that the universe has it's own language.
Sorry for the double you, my bad | "You want me to what now?" I spouted.
It had been ten years since I had awakened this gift. For the first year, I had wallowed in the shame of not being able to be a hero like so many of my peers. Slowly but surely though, I had transformed into a man who could easily jump between high paying jobs with confidence. There were too many clients and not enough of me.
"We want you to be a representative for Earth. You are uniquely gifted for this position, Desmond. Once we find life out there, you will be the one who brings us in harmony with them."
They had to fill me in on some details before I accepted the position. Apparently, due to the work of some hyperintelligent blessed, a form of FTL travel was developed. Quantum tunneling they called it. It was beyond any form of FTL travel in the science fiction books I read as a kid. Humanity now had instant access to any point in the universe simply by opening a portal. We were finally about to escape this wasted planet, to spread our wings, to become more than just humanity. The universe was about to become a lot smaller.
...
...
...
Except it didn't. It turned out there was a lot more beyond the observable universe. Our original estimate for the size of the universe was... incorrect, to put it lightly. We managed to jump past all matter in the universe by putting in an absurdly large number, but finding the actual end to the universe by jumping OUs, or Observable Universes, appeared to be an impossible task. In addition, the universe scouters couldn't find any form of intelligent life in any OU.
...
Years had passed. Humanity had already escaped Earth and designated it as a wildlife reservation planet. Our home had become, for all intents and purposes, a museum for future generations. We slowly crept out, creating what our government designated the "quantum web", a series of locations that we regularly quantum tunnel between.
It had been years since I accepted my position as Earth's representative. I had been living a comfy life with my family when...
"We got a transmission." the person on the other end of the call said.
I was escorted to the nearest observation station to translate the message.
"What does it say, Desmond?"
With a pale face and shaky voice, I murmured "...it's... not friendly, sir. Have we been sending anything that could be described as 'noise'?"
"Hmm. Well, the only thing that comes to mind is the cultural transmission. It contains a description of our languages, our cultures, and our unique powers. We've been using quantum tunneling to send the transmitter throughout space.
"..."
"What does the message say, Desmond?"
I was too shocked to say it out loud, so I wrote it down.
QUIT MAKING NOISE, WATERBAGS, OR WE WILL TERMINATE YOUR INFESTED WEB OF PLANETS. | Everyone gets thier power at different times, some may have a power at the age of 13 while others may have thier power at the age of 17 but no one ever can get a power after 18 as by thier 18th birthday they will have a power.
My power came in at the age of 14 when I was just waking up, I could suddenly understand every language, not only that but also speak every language and read every language.
All this was fine as my father had the power of growth, he would be able to get stronger at 4× the rate, meanwhile my mother had the power of health so she could never get sick from anything, but neither of thier powers could help others in any way but food so my father worked tirelessly at the fields while my mother took care of the home, I would also help my father most of the time.
By time I was 18 I thought I knew everything there was to know about my power but that is when I started hearing strange sounds coming from the sky it's self, it took me a year to understand it but when I did I learned about it, how it was lonely and how it was happy to finally have another to talk to, when I asked what it ment when it said another to talk to it just sat in silence for a few minutes until finally asking "you are not like me are you", I was bewildered at that response and it was not what I was expecting, I said "I do not know what you are but I call myself a human" it then got quiet for a mother before talking again.
That all was in the year 1632 and now I am not able to die as the thing I I was talking to won't allow the only one to understand it die.
So I am warning every one who can speak every language, never and I mean never talk to the universe as you will be trapped. | 2019-12-22T11:00:36 | 2019-12-22T08:57:16 | 53 | 31 |
[WP] Sailors have always been a superstitious bunch. In the long stretches of darkness and isolation between stars superstitions still run high. So let's hear a ghost story from deep space. | The called it the Black Dog. They said it was a massive black hole, gravity so powerful light couldn't escape, and so much more science jargon. But what they were really interested in was the large yellow orb inside the Black Dog. What was it? A star? coalesced plasma? What could be bright enough to stand out against a black hole?
And that's what the crew of the Icarus sought, this strange body, and up until they vanished, they had followed instructions to the letter. They approached from the correct vector, at the correct speed to grab the gravity of whatever celestial body was stuck inside the lobsided inky blackness. The math didn't make sense. First, that the ship never suffered the intense gravitronic pull of the black hole. Second, that the ship attempted, (and succeeded) in reversing for a short distance before the ship itself vanished. And third, and most disturbing of all, the Black Dog was now getting closer and closer to Earth.
It took six months of sifting through data, with the Black Dog creeping closer, that one of the junior information techs was able to scavenge the last video feed transmission.
"And Houston, we're on approach to Body designated Bravo-One-Kilo-Delta-Zero-Gamma. The Black Dog is big. Gravitronic measurements have fluctuated slightly, similar to a very big asteroid of small planetoid instead of any type of black hole numbers. And panning camera arm up to view mystery body Omega-Romeo-Bravo. A real diamond in the rough here, Houston. "
NASA personnel stood, stunned, as the massive, pale yellow sphere came into view. Their awe quickly turned to horror, for as the astronauts onboard the Icarus frantically tried to reverse the ship, to change course, the Physicists realized that this threat was something they had not prepared for. The last few seconds of the feed, looping back on itself, displayed the mysterious orb in the Black Dog gazing back at the camera.
And blinking.
| In this universe, nothing is standing still. Everything is moving apart from each other, everything in the same direction. Out. Of course, somethings don't follow that pattern, a star ship for example. The universe doesn't like that much, and it has something to stop us from breaking the rules that it carved into stone at its birth. There's an asteroid cloud out in deep space, called the Bloody Storm. You may think vengeance is an emotion but you would be dead wrong. Vengeance is a force of nature, just like gravity. When we break the universe's laws the universe breaks us, in the form of the Bloody Storm. It has taken more star ships than anything in existence, it preys on the older ones, the ones that break the universe longer than the others have. Sometimes it leaves. Nobody is quite sure where it disappears to when it leaves the area humans have been. But some have concluded that it's looking for something different, that somebody else is breaking nature's laws. | 2014-12-26T21:19:24 | 2014-12-26T20:46:45 | 22 | 10 |
[WP] You thought you were just being dorkily romantic when you included an open challenge to every god in your wedding vows. Now, 3 centuries later. You are The Godkiller, and your spouse is the most powerful warrior on the planet. | I stood holding the hand of the women I had spend the last 5 years building a life and a home with. “No one, not even the Gods, could take you from me.”
What a dumb ass.
Now we sat in our garage, cleaning our weapons and armor after yet another battle. We sincerely thought this one was our last. Sure, we had been fighting and training for almost 300 years, but he was the freaking god of war. Let me tell you, Ares was not happy about getting beat up by a couple of human(ish) women.
I looked up at my beautiful wife taking apart the specialized handgun she had created after discovering how to disperse the energy that each God used to manifest themselves. She is so clever. I really don’t deserve her considering she’s the most acclaimed warrior in history but incredibly happy that she chose me. It would have been helpful to both of us to know why her mom had been adopted though.
It wasn’t until we were about 150 years into this and going up against Poseidon. He, with his dying breath, muttered, “How embarrassing to be killed by the bastard granddaughter of Zeus and her little human wife.” We looked at each other and then down at the slain god with more questions then before. After that we started trying to prolong our battles with the Gods in an effort to get more information.
It has nearly gotten us killed a few times, but if you can get them talking, a lot of these Gods will just blab your ear off. Especially since more then a few of them had beef with Grandpa Z. We were able to get the major points in the story pulled together after a major battle with Cycnus. That guy had a lot of issues but he knew the family history. Worth it even though we didn’t get credit for his death. We did get credit for quite a few others though. So much so that after my wife jokingly referred to me at The Godkiller at a party, it stuck. Our friends and family just called me GK now.
So far, we’ve made it though each of these battles with minimal damage. And yes, while I get more powerful with each God we kill, I’m still not the granddaughter of a God. The wife is the one who welds the real power. She’s also a little upset about how her grandmother was treated and is holding a bit of a grudge. There aren’t many Gods left now. Watch out Grandpa Z. | I thought I was romantic, oh how much have I changed, I KILLED THEM ALL, I have made the greatest murder, and now I rule over this world with my husband
​
all of that because I wanted to be romantic
it all started in 2021, I declared my love to my now husband and trying to be romantic I swear I would kill all the gods for him
​
but I was sent a letter by zeus, himself telling him and the other gods will accept the fight in a year, now I knew that the greeks gods were the real one,
​
And I found a few things about the gods. first off I found a way to kill, I wasn't sure, but in the myth of persephone, she eats a fruit, and have to live in hell 1/4 of the time
​
but what would happen if she disobeyed
​
the gods wouldn't let such an important information pass
​
it might just be the way, but how would I make the gods eat food in the underworld
I had to find a way to do that, and I wasn't even sure it worked, I had to go to the underworld to do that
​
end of part one | 2020-06-28T04:32:58 | 2020-06-28T01:19:08 | 57 | 21 |
[WP] It's your first time inside the dungeon. everyone told you to kill monsters on sight. but so far, the monsters have all been really nice. This Goblin just gifted you an apple. | It was your first time entering the dungeon, and you were feeling nervous. Everyone had told you to kill the monsters on sight, but so far, the monsters you had encountered had all been surprisingly nice.
As you made your way deeper into the dungeon, you came across a Goblin. It looked at you with its beady eyes, and for a moment, you thought it was going to attack. But instead, the Goblin reached into its pocket and pulled out an apple.
"Here," the Goblin said, offering you the apple. "This is for you."
You were taken aback. Why would a monster give you something? Was this some kind of trap?
But the Goblin seemed genuinely friendly. It smiled at you and gestured for you to take the apple.
You hesitantly accepted the gift and took a bite. The apple was juicy and sweet, and you couldn't help but smile in gratitude.
"Thank you," you said to the Goblin. "I'm not sure why you're being so kind, but I appreciate it."
The Goblin chuckled. "I know what people say about monsters like me," it said. "But we're not all bad. Some of us just want to live in peace and help others when we can."
You were surprised by the Goblin's words. You had never thought about monsters in that way before.
As you continued on your journey through the dungeon, you encountered more monsters. And to your surprise, they were all just as friendly as the Goblin. They offered you food and water, and even helped you navigate through the maze-like corridors.
By the time you reached the end of the dungeon, you had made several new friends among the monsters. And you realized that the stories you had heard about them were wrong. They weren't the evil creatures everyone had made them out to be.
As you left the dungeon and stepped back into the sunlight, you couldn't help but feel grateful for the experience. You had learned that sometimes, things aren't always as they seem, and that it's important to keep an open mind.
And you knew that you would never forget the kindness of the monsters you had met inside the dungeon.
As you made your way back to the village, you couldn't help but feel a sense of excitement. You couldn't wait to tell everyone about your experiences in the dungeon and how the monsters weren't as scary as they had been made out to be.
But as you entered the village, you were met with fear and hostility. The villagers had heard rumors of your encounters with the monsters and they were not pleased.
"You're a traitor!" one of the villagers shouted at you. "You were supposed to kill the monsters, not make friends with them!"
You tried to explain that the monsters were actually nice, but the villagers wouldn't listen. They were too afraid and too blinded by their own prejudices to hear the truth.
Feeling disillusioned and disappointed, you decided to leave the village and go back to the dungeon. You knew that you would be welcomed there, and you wanted to continue to learn more about the monsters and their way of life.
As you made your way back to the dungeon, you realized that you had discovered something truly special. You had found a new community of friends among the monsters, and you were determined to share the truth with others and help break down the barriers of fear and misunderstanding.
You knew that it wouldn't be easy, but you were ready to take on the challenge and show the world that monsters and humans could coexist in peace and harmony. And you were grateful for the gift of the apple that had started it all. | As I stood there, dagger and shortsword in hand, the little goblin came up to me and left me an apple. It spoke in heavily accented Shai. 'Mr. Adventurer, is gift for you, as me is.' It pointed to itself, and displayed a row of shark-like teeth. It touched its own chest with its index finger, and spoke softly. 'I be called Song of the Breeze That Blows Spores at Midnight.'
It, (or maybe, she) looked at me, expectantly. The silence grew, and there were some jittery responses from the rest. I saw the golden, reflective eyes gazing back as I put away my sword. The chittering grew into a howling chorus that startled me, and then the goblins crowded me, making it difficult to defend myself.
I didn't even feel when they tied my hands together.
/. /. /. /. /. /
Song came to me, and brought a bowl of soup to me, along with a Hag of a goblin stepped towards me, and started prodding with its claw-like nails. It drew some blood from my cheek, and locked it, shivering as a moan escaped it's lips. It gasped and then spoke in perfectly clear Shai. 'Your blood is worthy. I give you a task in order to protect us from future invasions. We have music, and offer comfort with it.'
'Your challenge is to convince the Lords to listen to us. I will deal a spell into you that you can activate by biting down hard on your teeth. I assure you, this won't hurt....*much*.'
The Hag cackled and chanted in rock gargling, as Song spoke in the same kind of tone, and I felt a pressure as the chanting completed itself. A smugness radiated from the Hag, and Song picked up a heavy sack. The Hag gestured to the sack. 'Take this, and use it to....*facilitate*....something; anything left over is yours, as an apology from us.' The sack was full of silver, gold and platinum coins, and I picked it up, straining.
'It will take time.' I stood, grunting as I pulled the sack over my shoulder. 'Will you be okay I'm the meantime?' The Hag nodded, the same unsettling grin appearing on her face as I turned and left. | 2022-12-06T17:45:59 | 2022-12-06T15:38:53 | 58 | 40 |
[WP] You are the last human on earth, and quite blind without your glasses. One day they finally break. In this new unfocused world, it becomes apparent why you were the only one spared. | I know full well that I am writing this for no one. I haven't gone insane and, even before the End, I was never a careless optimist, not by a longshot. Fact is, I was always the timid one, the one spending the weekend alone, putting worthless comic books in plastic sleeves. I was the penny pincher, measuring out my weekly lunch money into exactly even fifths, and the wallflower at every school dance, leaning against the bleachers, sweating through those starchy pleated khakis, and telling myself the pretty girls would never want to dance with me, while just across the gym floor they flipped their hair all about as the disco lights turned from red to green on their smiling faces. I was someone who lived my entire life outside of the spotlight and never once thought I deserved to shine. So, I know there's no such thing as miracles. The whole world is gone for good and my surviving was a dumb, absurd fluke, paired up with the dumbest, most absurd End an advanced species could ever face. So, of course, whatever I scribble down here will forever go unread, all the way until the Sun explodes and burns up the Earth, until each molecule of this ink and paper turns to ash, and separates, thereafter careening through the void on its own, pointless journey to infinity. Nevertheless, I need to say something, and given what I've been through already, I expect you to indulge me. So, if it's okay, I'm going to lie to myself and pretend you're listening even when you're not.
You want to know what happened. I was always pretty good at science class, but the truth is, when it comes to the End, I can merely guess. That said, on account of how fast it all was, how it struck everywhere at once, and how there was no warning, I believe the attack had to have hit the Earth at the speed of light, and with enough energy and density to break apart most every strand of DNA in every living cell. From what I know about stars and galaxies, the only thing that could do something like that is a gamma ray burst, shot out like a laser beam from a close-by dying star as it went supernova and fell into a black hole. My hypothesis is Earth got unlucky enough to be right in the most concentrated part of the blast.
When the gamma rays washed over the world, I was on the city bus coming back from school. Sitting across from me were two of the guys on the varsity soccer team, showing each other texts from girls in our class, while laughing and pushing each other into some pissed off looking lady in a business suit and cross trainers. But then we lurched to a halt and everyone was screaming, grasping at their stomachs and throats, the jocks and the businesswoman included. Their skin and eyes starting melting into the plastic bus seats, which were peeling away too. Yet, somehow, I was spared, left perfectly in tact to watch the horror unfold. I considered for a while that maybe it was the laptop in my backpack setting off some sort of protective force field. But after I ran off the bus, I searched everywhere, through all the piled up cars, building fires and human bodies singed into the pavement. Hours turned to days, and there wasn't one other living thing left anywhere. There's just no way that I was the only person near a fucking laptop when the burst hit, right?
You want to know what I've been eating and drinking. After I gave up looking for other survivors, I made my way to the supermarkets and corner stores. Most of the food had melted into some bubbling ooze and the drinks had all evaporated away, leaving aisles full of burst plastic jugs. But there are a few exceptions to the destruction, a few sources of sustenance I can still find. As stupid as it sounds, there's even a weird pattern to the food that didn't melt, which is that the name of the product has to mention something in outer space. So, Sunny D, Mars bars, starfruit, Moon Pies, all of that is still fine and edible. I'm sure you don't believe this part, but honestly I don't care. Frankly, I'm not even trying to convince you this makes any sense. I'm just telling you what's been borne out by over two months of scavenging experience. However - and I want you to listen to this closely - if you can't find a way to believe me when it comes to the food, you aren't going to like what I'm about to tell you next. And that would be a real disappointment to me, because the truth is what I'm about to say now is the real reason I needed to write any of this shit down at all. So, even though you're just some pile of burnt flesh caked onto some floor somewhere, if you're willing to try to keep an open mind for this next part, I'd really appreciate it.
I don't know if you wear glasses, but I have for my whole life. I'm nearsighted, I have astigmatism, and one eye is a lot better than the other. The main effect, of course, is that things are quite blurry when I look at them bare. But there's actually a way my condition always made the world more beautiful, which is when I'd look directly at certain types of lights. Not normal light bulbs, but the little, glowing green and red ones, like on the wings of airplanes or the backs of cars. When I'd look straight at those sorts of bulbs without my glasses, I'd see a ballet all around them. Due to my particular lens distortions, I would get to watch these long, flowing tails and pinwheels of color that billowed and flowed around their source like long fireflies tracing out whirls and loops. Every time I would take off my glasses, I would see this. Often, to fall asleep, I'd just stare up at the little, blinking blue light on the smoke detector outside my bedroom, and lose myself in the soothing way the ribbons would cascade.
Now, I know I said before how I had something beyond reason to tell you, and I know that little dalliance about dancing digital clock lights doesn't seem like anything important, given the apocalypse and you being dead. But here's the thing that's different since the End: now, whenever I take off my glasses, I can still see the dancing beams and jets, just like I always would. But instead of coming from some fancy device or vehicle, the pattern just appears from nothing and nowhere, quickly filling my whole field of view. Nowadays, the swirls of light come closer and get bigger and brighter and more colorful than they ever used to. It even takes shapes I recognize, like scorpions and rams, and often the silhouette of a beautiful woman. The light reaches out to me. It strokes my cheek and, after wrapping all around my neck and head, it will start to whisper something, but in a language I don't know. It is captivating and mesmerizing in a way I can't fairly describe in words. Yet, even now, all alone on the Earth, I'm still a coward. Just as the dancing light gets close to me, I chicken out. I push my glasses right back on. The world becomes mundane and empty again.
So, I suppose what I wanted to tell someone is just this: after all these days with nothing to do but think on it, I have come to believe I know what the magical dancing light is. It is the gamma ray burst itself, which is the soul of a star that died, and in its intergalactic wisdom, has chosen me as its consort. Ultimately, I believe the gamma ray burst wants what every creature wants, which is to be seen by another, even when it has done bad or craven things, even when it must travel too fast to ever stop, and sit, and connect. Before the End, I was never seen by anyone either, and I think the gamma ray sensed this as it rained down over the planet, and so it made me it's comrade rather than victim. It wants me to become its partner in the timeless expanse. I now feel, in a deep way, that if I take off my glasses for good, break the plastic frame at the bridge, and crunch the lenses into broken shards, that the gamma ray burst will thereafter take me up into itself. Together, we will become something more than Unseen.
I already told you I'm no careless optimist, and never have been. So even if you're suspicious, me talking like this is more than just madness should hold some weight with you. Most likely, you think I'm making a huge mistake, that I'll just end up blindly fumbling around the city without my glasses, making it impossible to forge out any sort of path forward in this empty world. In my defense, all I can say is you haven't seen the dancing light the way I have. You haven't seen how the gamma rays contort and gleam just for me. Even if that doesn't change your mind, the fact remains you and everyone else with an opinion are still fucking dead, so you don't get a vote anyway. All I know for sure is, at this point, I've been the only person in my world for long enough. | The village of Bibury had always been quiet. Most weekday mornings, until past ten, had been habitually met with an absence of sound, the silence only here or there perforated by the odd chirping bird. Then would the market awaken, but even then it lacked the hubub held by most smaller cities. It had instead surmounted the aforementioned noise with a kind of gossip one may only find in such rural villages and towns -- this talk of seemingly great import, argument, and florid debate. Despite these differences (born of that debate), most agreed of Bibury’s quaintness. It was likened to an elderly woman’s retirement home more than the young entrepreneur’s desired living-land. But, none of this, he supposed, mattered anymore.
Nine years had passed since the end of the world. Nuclear weapons had rent the Earth, and all gave assent that the final breaths of mankind would presently be drawn. Scientists claimed there might be some chance found in bunkering and hiding, but most knew humanity was not as yet advanced enough to survive through a reckoning. The pious, however, had accepted such transpirations; indeed, they touted of their second coming of God. They were the first to die.
Next were the upper echelons, the wealthy, whose opulent luxuries had been ripped from them so abruptly that they could do little else than drown in the harshness that is life. Helpless -- without servants, without knowledge -- they were the second to die.
The homeless fared best of all. Having lived of abhorrent lives, they discovered themselves to be best equipped against humanity’s sudden downfall. For months, perhaps years, they thrived among themselves, living as they had many years past in communes and tent-cities, some moving into grand manors once the previous occupants had passed. In the end, though, death comes for all. They were the third to die.
He stood now on a hilled apex, staring down upon the Bibury that was his hometown by birth. Afore him, the sun breasted a distant horizon, its rays piercing through the clouds that were oddly beautiful this day. The clouds that oft covered the sky were absent, the air that oft hazed the land was queerly clear. He saw none of these things; his glasses had broken some time ago, and without them was he made blind, only able to see a foot before him, all else a faint blur of color.
He meandered down the road, which he recalled had once been smoothly paved but was presently cracked and strewn over with decaying human waste -- or that of human remains. It made the walk hard going, with him being barely able to see, so when he arrived on the outskirts of Bibury was he made surprised that he had finished the walk at all.
Presently he turned a corner, and that surprise slid to sadness, regret; he had remembered a snippet of his childhood in Bibury upon viewing some familiar landmark not much more than rubble lying by his feet. A tear leaked down his cheek. *Why did I come?* He wondered, and knew he had come wishing desperately to see the place he had once called home. Yet, in that journey had his glasses broken, that he could barely see now he was arrived. *Ironic,* he thought dryly. Thus he walked by memory now, for there had not been many streets to memorize when he’d grown up there, and took a path he hoped would lead him true. Once, on left turn, he stumbled over a downed lamppost, but that had been the greatest of his obstacles. Elsewise had he managed to avoid most other debris.
His footsteps echoed along the walls that still stood, but most had been toppled from disrepair or some nuclear bomb. “Hello?” He called out, but his voice, like his footsteps, echoed. Of course there would be no answer. He was the last, he believed, the last man alive.
After some time, he came upon that which he had headed out to find: his old home, now in ruins but for the front end of the picket fence around the garden. He bothered not with opening the gate, instead, caught by sudden violent urge birthed of that regret, kicked it down. *Oh, why God?* He wondered and despaired. *Why am I made the last to live?*
He saw among the rubble a tiny sapling, yellow and wilting, barely reaching through the wood from the gate he’d just knocked down. It was the first life he had come across in some time, so he removed the wood and sat and stared. At length -- “What the hell, I’m the last man alive” -- he pulled water from his pack and poured, in little streams, that which remained of his water supply. Foolish though some would say, if one asked him then for a reason, he might have simply answered that he was now content; indeed, that sadness and regret emerged by his visit to Bibury seemed to have brought around a sudden peace. Are not all men fated to pass?
He was the last to die.
***
“Hello.”
He looked around him, then realized that he stood on nothing, the Earth thousands of miles below. He took a tentative step and found that whatever was beneath him would still hold. Then he glanced up. “Are you God?” A man in white stood before him, bearded and barefoot, much as he might have once imagined Jesus.
The man nodded. “I am, I suppose what you might call God. I created the Earth below.”
“Why?” He asked, and now he was angry. Loss of life for so many others, yet here he had been cursed to walk alone for what had felt like an eternity.
“Look,” said God. It was a simple word, infuriating, and not at all the explanation he felt he deserved.
Then he was no longer standing among the stars, but within Bibury once again. A great change had come over the town; listening closely, he could hear the chirps of birds. Plants grew along the edges, berries and shrubs had drawn close the wildlife. And, in the center of it all, an apple tree, within whose leaves bore a great beehive dripping with honey. A bear walked beneath, licking that which fell.
He paused and watched a moment. To his eyes, who had seen little life in years (save the sapling), such a scene was breathtaking. “It’s beautiful.”
God nodded, and they were silent a moment, simply watching, listening. At length, God said, “You don’t realize, do you?”
He shook his head, confused.
“The apple tree is the sapling that caused your death.”
“You mean . . .”
“The sapling you watered with your remaining supplies. Your actions birthed this life.”
“So you kept me alive all this time, just so I could give life to a tree?”
God was silent; a time had passed, and still was the question left unanswered. Then they were standing no longer afore the tree, but by a beach. He recalled his love for beaches once, but remembered he had begun to hate them soon after the apocalypse. One might be dying of thirst, an entire sea of poisoned water writhing beside. *God loves His irony, doesn't he.*
But his eyes were now drawn. On that beach was an Asian man, running desperately for behind were three assailants. “Chink,” they called. “Chink! Get back here, we need your water!” Eventually the Asian man tripped, was overcome, and beaten near to death. A minute later, the man watched himself emerge from the bushes -- and this was a time after his glasses had broken. He leaned down to the Asian man, again sacrificing his own wares for the betterment of another.
“Remember what happened after?” God asked.
“Yeah. The guy gave me his raincoat. It saved my life in the storm the next day.”
“What goes around must come around,” said God serenely. The scene had faded, and now they were back, thousands of feet above the Earth. “Just remember that, won’t you?” Then was God suddenly gone, leaving the man to his thoughts and wondering what might happen next.
***
/r/Lone_Wolf_Studios for more!
| 2018-01-08T21:16:43 | 2018-01-08T21:05:13 | 131 | 28 |
[WP] It is the 24 th of july, your birthday, and also the day that humanity is going to reach 10 billion inhabitants. You are watching the number grow, live on a site. Just as it's about to hit 10 billion, at 9,999,999,999... It Hits 2. You are still alive. | I watched the website wondering if the time of my birth would be the exact time the world would hit the 10 billion mark. I mean, what else was I going to do no one remembered again. I casually sipped a beer with the news playing in the background, live coverage of the counter at the headquarters of the United World Nations, there excitement meant that we could send another billion people off world to colonize another set of new star system, no one mentioning that we hadn't heard from the first billion we sent when we initially hit the 9 billion mark ofr 5 years now. Not that we should be concerned they say, after the first year the excitement sort of died off and they didnt see a point to keep prodding the computers just to get the responses -cryos functioning at 100%, ship functioning within acceptable parameters- I glanced at the TV as it cut to commercials, I muted it and went back to watching the website.
Human Population: 9,999,999,995
9,999,999,996
9,999,999,997
The news came back on the TV behind me, but it was still muted, I didn't hear or see the black cloud that had appeared over the UWN HQ, the green beams of light spewing from it and raining down on the people below.
9,999,999,998
9,999,999,999
There was a boom outside and I felt my basement apartment rumble, I could hear car alarms going off. I glanced around and stood up as the TV went dark and went to static. I looked back at the website,
Human Population: 2
It stood at 2 for five minutes, I stared at the page and listened at the silence that now filled the air as the alarms I could barley hear stopped. I refreshed the page thinging it had to have been a glitch.
It still read,
Human Population: 2.
But now, beneath it it said Unknowns: 0
Unknowns: 10
Unknowns: 500
The number started to rise and was rising quickly. I ran to my door and checked the bolt to make sure it was still locked, as I heard a sound like a horn from outside. I walked to my window and looking out the sky was filled with a black cloud that was slowly dissipating, a large fleet of vessel were above the city as far as I could see. I let my curtain fall closed as I stumbled backwards, panic filling me as I looked at the computer again,
Human Population: 2
Unknowns: 3,333,333,333
The counter for the unknowns had stopped but the human population number hadn't changed at all. A cold fog started to seep under my door, it smelled something vaguely of sulfur, I passed out wondering as I fell to the floor who else but me was out there.
The website counter changed as I lay unconscious.
Human Population: 1
Unknowns: 3,333,333,333
...
...
...
Human Population: 0
Unknowns: 3,333,333,333 | I wasn't fond of crowded places, and standing in the middle of Times Square craning my neck up to look at the boards could be chalked up to one of my least favourite moments. This, however, was a momentous occasion, and as Julie put it "in order to witness greatness we must sacrifice our own desires." She liked to, as it seemed most in my generation, to take simply phrases and over exaggerate their importance. It apparently inspired some part of me since I am standing here in the rain with thousands of other people watching.
*9,999,999,997,396*
*9,999,999,998,653*
I hear a tapping on a microphone.
"The future lies in the greatness," the Mayor begins in an empowering voice, "of those who are willing and wanting to create it. Today marks an advancement that our world has never seen. Today the future is more secured and our international bonds are present in our diversity. The future is happening..."
My eyes are screwed shut and my hands are covering my ears, knowing that once that counter hits the mark the noise will be deafening. I can see the flashes of light through my eyelids and I can hear some muffled noises despite my hands trying to create an airtight seal.
But the noises I was expecting to hear never came. In fact, I can't hear anything. My heart is beating fast, part of me wants to take my hands off and open my eyes, but like always that's when the noise hits. Fuck it, I thought. I open my eyes and look around.
Everyone... everyone was gone. Streamers falling down, balloons still rising, and the lights and signs still flashing. But, everyone... gone. I looked up at the sign and see it flickering for a moment: 9,999,999,999... the numbers flick off and on as if someone was flicking a light switch. Then it goes off. Black. Only to return a few moments later with a single number: 2. | 2017-02-28T20:52:59 | 2017-02-28T20:48:57 | 54 | 11 |
[WP] You live in a world where each lie creates a scar on the liar's body. The bigger the lie, the deeper and larger the mark. One day, you meet someone that only has one scar; it is the biggest one you have ever seen. | I was on the phone with my wife at the time, sitting at a patio table with my half-eaten sandwich in front of me. "I'll be home at five. I promise." The thin line stretched across my index finger and I dabbed the blood away with a napkin discreetly. A couple walked by, hand in hand. I glanced over for half of a second. She didn't look like anything.
I gave him a second look as he walked past, obviously. He'd have to be used to it by now. He had the fair complexion we'd all coveted in grade school but long since abandoned with the convenience of lying. I wondered for a moment how he'd done it, been so honest in such a dishonest world.
This train of thought was abandoned shortly after, when I'd taken up scrolling through my facebook feed until I had to get back to the office.
"I love you," I half-heard the man say say. Then I heard her scream. I glanced up attentively, as did everyone. His shirt stuck to his chest, blood coming to the surface. "Please. I mean it."
"If you mean it, why this? Why lie about something like that?!?"
"I love you," he repeated. A wet, tearing sound accompanied his words and the blood was soaking his shirt. "I don't know why this happens." Tears formed in his eyes.
She got up from her seat. Her face shown a mixture of anger and pity.
"You don't need to lie. I'm sorry." She walked out. I got up and walked over to the man, shaken.
"Dude, are you alright?" I asked, picking the napkins up off the table and handing them to him.
"I don't lie." He said, face pale from blood loss. "But this happens everytime I say it. Even to my own mother." | "What's your secret?" I asked a twinkle in my eye. Never had I seen such pristine skin. Sure a lot of people had the tiniest scars for their white lies but here before me was someone without a single one, only a handful of people in my lifetime ever came close to that sort of honesty. He smiled sadly and began to remove his shirt. The mark ran diagonally across his back and circled clear around to his front the largest single scar I'd seen... but the rest was pristine. He simply replied. "I don't lie." I stared dumbfounded as no new scar appeared. "How is that possible?" He responded simply "There is more than one way to earn a scar." and walked away. | 2016-12-29T10:27:28 | 2016-12-29T10:04:44 | 448 | 224 |
[WP] A curious scientist genetically engineers a set of wings onto a pig. As the pig flaps it’s wings and takes flight for the first time, low probability events across the world begin to occur. | The sun rises in the east, and it sets in the west.
Why? It works. I don’t touch the code for that.
I must have written the humans out somewhere, possibly nested under a mountain of bugs and forlorn remarks. Or did they just spring up by themselves, errors coalescing into something that simply… ran?
Humans, when simply left alone for any amount of time more than the few seconds it takes to bash two random things together, will bash two random things together. It is a truth so utterly impossible to go against, because of the sheer amount of human beings that have spread over my green Earth. They are simultaneously my proudest creation, and one that I live in utter fear of—because I have no idea how they are still running.
I watched in morbid fascination as one scientist, Alisson Porcos, did the refined version of bashing two things together—under the guise of science. White feathered wings, from I know not where, were carefully placed onto a pig that oinked so loudly that I mistook it for an accidental discharge of thunder from the cloud I was currently sat on.
There was always the moment of disquiet, of prayer, of where everything you’ve worked toward hinges on the fickle doorway of chance. Somehow, some way, the code linked! In a cosmic coincidence and likely celestial trangerssion, the wings took to the pig.
Flutter, flap, and the pig flew.
I looked to Earth. The supercomputer hummed and buzzed, and I felt its inner gears churning like never before.
I looked at my screen.
If (pigs=fly)
{
WHAT THE HELL EVEN IS THIS. JUST LET IT ALL OUT.
}
When pigs fly.
First, there were the miracles. In the blink of an eye, I saw a little girl’s eight-year-old wish of world peace fulfilled, eight-colour rainbows spread across the sky, and even the impossible—a well-mannered game of Dota.
Then, I saw Earth’s seedy underbelly pulse, and watched it groan. Swirls of red emerged on the blue marble, creeping insidiously over air, land, and sea. Each of them grew crimson, and tore and pierced and clawed through my baby.
There was the brief moment of disquiet, the one where you prayed as hard as you can that you didn’t just screw up as much as you thought you have.
And then, all hell was let loose.
---
r/dexdrafts | *The butterfly effect. That's what they call it.*
I never thought I would start the end of the world, but here we are. All I did was an experiment with a pig and wings. I know it may sound weird but that's what it was. I gave a pig wings. I watched it as it tried to fly. It looked funny. I was so happy. It might be nothing, but I did it! Then suddenly my joy disappeared. I got a call from my sister. It was weird. She never called *me*.
"Did you hear what happened?" I could barely hear her voice, but she sounded terrified
"No, what is it?"
"There was an earthquake in our city!"
"But we're in central Europe! How could that happen?"
"I... don... ow..." The call quality was getting worse every second.
I ended it and checked the news. The headlines sounded absurd: "Global warming stops!", "Amazon forest gets bigger and bigger" or "The [insert country's] government surrended". I stared at the phone in cofusion. Is today April Fools or something? Then I heard a characteristic "beep" and my phone died. I didn't know how, I charged it in the morning. I decided that I had to get out of here. I closed the lab door and ran through the corridor.
#and then I had no more ideas so it's probably too short | 2021-11-04T11:12:51 | 2021-11-04T11:05:45 | 156 | 67 |
[WP] Nonhuman youths swap stories about humans around a campfire equivalent. The stories are true, if wildly misinterpreted.
-012 | "They say they were ground-bound." Elpha whispered, the fire sending long streaks of orange light across her face and into the shock of brown feathers that started at her eyebrows and rocketed back over her narrow skull.
"How? Didn't they have wings?" Inya, the youngest of the four asked. She sat huddled against the fire for warmth, holding out the webbed hands as close as she dared.
"They didn't have wings, Inya." Garell said. The oldest of the little group, he was presumed to be the most knowledgeable. Now, however, he was mistaken.
"They did have wings!" Elpha snapped back. "They were just bare, is all. They didn't have The Skin like we do."
Orcish shivered and drew his feathers closer around himself as though the very thought of losing his Skin made him feel the cold.
"So what did they do to travel?" Inya asked, breathless.
"Welame told me that they build huge empty bellies out of metal that lived off dead animals and in return the bellies would carry them safely inside them."
"Welame's an idiot. She also said that they used to hunt and kill other animals... Then not eat it." Garell said
Inya let out a frightened gasp and Orcish rolled her eyes. "That one's obviously not true." He said. "It's just stupid... Why would anyone go through all the effort needed to hunt food and kill it, then leave it? It just doesn't make sense."
"Maybe they had more food than they knew what to do with."
"I heard they used to starve."
"I heard they cut a hole in the sky and let the warmth of the earth escape."
"How could they do that?" Garell asked, trying to conceal the note of breathless excitement in his voice, but Inya noticed, and she nudged him.
"The metal bellies swam in the sky too. Like us, but noisier and with fewer feathers."
"And they had a great War against the trees and they cut them all down!" Inya supplied.
"That's ridiculous." The small group looked around, tall trees shadowy at their backs. Elpha spoke for the four.
"Why would they destroy that which gave them life?"
| "Have you heard about Chucky?" he said.
The conversation topic had somehow changed to humans. Humanity had been extinct for 50 years now, after their mass execution was approved by the galactic government. After their arrival, the energy consumption of the galaxy had increased a hundred fold. The debate for their existence waged on amongst the top leaders of the galaxy but unfortunately had not ended in their favour.
Also no one had heard of Chucky.
"Well Chucky", Jaadu continued " was the one rumored to have survived."
"but the poison?" said Jakpo.
"The humans had a very large population, it is almost certain that at least one of them would have developed a resistance to it."
"But how did you hear about him?"
Jaadu beamed an article over the fire with his garhomizer.
The article read, "another planet has been blown to smithereens in a string of assaults on planets. The galactic Police has so far not been able to apprehend the suspect who has access to high grade thermonuclear weapons.
However, right after the spontaneous explosion of the planet a message was beamed out into the Sub Etha which read, "This one's for you mother - Chucky.""
| 2014-01-12T12:39:19 | 2014-01-12T11:58:37 | 141 | 27 |
[WP] All the alien species in the intergalactic council excelled in one way or another to climb through survival of the fittest. So why are humans, a species with average physique, so hard to deal with? And what the hell is persistence hunting. | The arena itself was over a thousand miles square. It was the largest arena in the western Zyraxian realm. It was built to hold the universe’s most exotic species. The floating platform had within tens of thousands of rooms with thousands of species managed and researched. The floor of the arena itself was made of a special material which could transfer into and mimic virtually any environment imaginable.
It could mimic the great iron oceans in which the Threads of San’thras, the sea serpents from that planet, would battle and consume whole legions of Zyraxian prisoners of war. There was the beasts of Bode’s gate, with their galactically famous eighty-seven rows of teeth and claws which can tear through even the toughest Zyraxian armor.
The Zyrax empire selected citizens at a young age to be an arena keeper. Curating the events, taking care of the species, completing the research. The Zyrax empire was at their zenith. Extravagance like this would not last and, in many ways, would eventually lead to their downfall.
Zan’Tharr the Third Light, considered to be one of the greatest of their emperors, who brought in the era of Thyrinian Peace while also building the galactic wall of Junisar along the Butterfly nebula, was the emperor to lay the ground works for the arena. Three hundred years later and the public works project was completed in the reign of his son, Zynar the Fourth Light.
The arena was seen within the empire as a display of their greatness, their manifest destiny within the universe. At this current point in time, the borders of the Zyraxian empire was expanding at almost a parsec across every Zyraxian year.
Some of the wealthy and elite Zyraxian would actually participate in the arena—that is, of course, when they knew the distinct advantage was on their side. It was seen as a great honor and a way to spotlight yourself in front the emperor and his cohort. There had been many ambitious Zyraxian who made their social climb this way.
And of course, there were prisoners within the empire, those who were convicted of high crimes, that would be sent within the arena to fight against the never-ending flood of species the Empire pulled into their chambers.
Today there was a great crowd for a particularly special species was brought. A curiously small… yet surprising hardy and tough species. The word had passed along from Zyraxian to Zyraxian that this would be a special event. That there was a species on the outer fringe of the Zyrax empire which warranted special attention.
“Bring out the humans!” the council leader called.
*Part II Below* | Svedbar grasped the arm of his favorite discussion partner Chiztet and led her to the counsel chambers to discuss what was just presented. The humans finally laid proposition to the counsel to join the galactic treatise.
“That human removed its exo-skeleton.” Svedbar said. “I didn’t think it was possible for them.”
Chiztet chirped into her hand-held and Svedbar heard, “You are mistaken. Humans in some spaces are able to remove their outer wear. It is not actually a part of them. Their real selves are squishy and raw. It’s a wonder they’re the dominant species on their planet.”
“Tell me about them. Are they to be trusted? What would their end goal be?” Svedbar ducked to whisper to his friend as other counsel members joined them in the chambers.
Chiztet chirped again and Svedbar heard, “Well they are persistent. I have read that back before they used what they call modern weapons, they would chase down other species on their planet in order to wear them down. I have no doubt that unless we wipe them out, they will eventually become a part of the counsel if it is their intention to do so. I say we hear them out now. Maybe their fleshy minds will provide insight on how to deal with the fungi. It is the major threat to us all.”
Svedbar nodded pondering about what the counsel might have to give to these fleshy beings clad in metal. The two took their seats with the counsel members of their species as the prominent took their position at the front and started the formal discussions. | 2021-02-04T08:53:25 | 2021-02-04T08:48:14 | 406 | 144 |
[WP] You are a alien ambassador sent to meet with the newly discovered Humans. After browsing thru their literature, you slowly realize they have knowledge about all other space faring species including your own with remarkable detail under the genre of "Sci-Fi".
I did not expect this much response. | Impossible.
There was simply no way. Hartsch put down the ereader and sat amazed. How could they possibly know?! There had been no contact between the QueeTee and Humanity before a year ago. In fact, Humanity had had NO contact priority to the QueeTee reaching out.
The QueeTee had been passing through the system called Gamma Cephei by the Humans when they heard the radio traffic. The QueeTee had been investigating the strange system with its semi habitable world around Gamma Cephei B. When they heard another voice, another species, they retasked their mission from a quick survey of an empty world to First Contact. New species of intelligent life were rare and precious. Whatever race brought them into the Galactic Commonwealth peacefully reaped rewards of both helping them develop and the enormous prestige. The QueeTee lept with both hairy feet at once.
First Contact had gone exceedingly well. Humanity seemed, despite its oddities, to be well disposed to the QueeTee. They were far from perfect, but what species was? At least they were not Geigerians. He shuddered at the thought of the species that had attempted first contact there. Rydleyarians almost went extinct before the quarantine was successfully slapped in place.
No, Humanity, for its warts and all, was a prize on so many levels. They had been worried the QueeTee were out to enslave them, but that was not how the Galaxy worked: who needed slaves when you had dumb bots for far cheaper? No, Humanity's insight and friendship was worth more than mere material things.
The most amusing of the idea the QueeTee were here for taking over the world, especially for its /water!/ There was far, far more water in the asteroid belt or the moons of the gas giants. Why pick a fight with even a slightly annoying race if you can just wave hi and collect the water in space for cheaper?! Sometimes the ideas thrown around were just plain silly. Water was plentiful in space.
The weird ideas Humans had about aliens had led Hartsch to look into the genre called 'science fiction.' Most stories were silly. Some were insightful. Many needed to rethink whether or not ought to associated with 'science' at all. SQUIRK!
However, in reading, and especially digging through the 'classics' of the genre, Hartsch had found one author that was prescient. However, the roles of the aliens and humans were somewhat reversed. The author described the QueeTee's world perfectly. The author described the QueeTee perfectly. However, the story would deeply offend so many QueeTee.
Perhaps, given its obscurity, Humanity and the QueeTee could develop a deep bond without being endangered by this silly story. Perhaps.
Pondering, Hartsch sat in the library in the embassy in massively oversized Human furniture and looked at the pipe on the table with disgust.
What could be done about this ancient author 'Piper' and his Little Fuzzies? | "... There must be a mistake." Supreme magistrate Zarkon's dismay buzzed directly into my mind. I'd not yet gotten used to the harshness of the interstellar telepathic communicator, the sheer command of his thoughts literally pushed out all of the responses I'd considered.
"There is no mistake, eminence. I have read the words myself. They knew of us before our coming." I managed to reply in the meek tones required when speaking to royalty.
"How could they know, emissary? We have not visited this system in thirteen thousand cycles. They would have been only on the verge of sentience when our explorers charted this sector. Further, there is no record of any contact with the humans."
"Nevertheless, eminence, they do know of us." I replied. "There are countless representations of our species. They show our grey skin, large eyes, round ships, and our transport beams. They have... bizarre ideas of our intentions. Many feel we are here to probe their genitals." I could barely conceal the note of disdain in my thoughts.
"Truly? How curious. They certainly seem to have picked up on the social morays of the last cycles." The magistrate was clearly amused. "Send the records through tight beam at the first opportunity. I wish to read these... words." The magistrate was bemused with the human concept of graphical representation.
"There is more, eminence. They know of the Klingnons also."
The magistrate paused the dialogue for so long I thought the connection had failed.
"We must know all that they know. This may be a trap by those brutes. Gain access to these archives and send back all you can immediately. We cannot have another star war initiating over this sector. We have fought the Goa'uld too fiercely to have another confrontation so soon."
"Yes, eminence. I will transmit as much as I can find."
The transmission line was severed. I immediately ordered my subordinates to prepare for retrieval and intrusion operations. We may need to revert to the probing of our ancestors after all. | 2016-01-04T13:55:20 | 2016-01-04T13:03:39 | 45 | 28 |
[WP] People start 3D printing up meat of themselves as a fringe curiosity, and it becomes mainstream. Turns out it tastes really good, and it becomes the norm. Suddenly, all electronics on Earth stop working, humans cast into the dark age. No crops, no herds. Just the constant urge for human meat.
[Original comment](https://www.reddit.com/r/Futurology/comments/72umg6/comment/dnlp95k?st=J83NSLFF&sh=73bb6976https://www.reddit.com/r/Futurology/comments/72umg6/comment/dnlp95k?st=J83NSLFF&sh=73bb6976) | **“You’ll be hooked from the first taste.”** Is what pretty much everyone said when I told them I was one of the few that refused to indulge in the new taste that was very much taboo. “It’s not murder. You’re just eating meat created by a machine.” is another thing a lot of people told me. Of course, it wasn’t murder, but couldn’t it be seen as something far worse? I’m not a religious man by any means, but is this really the way we want to take science? Peaking humanity with a piece of technology that allows us to eat our own meat guilt free?
It all started two years ago, and humanity has fallen into a bigger slump than depicted on “Idiocracy”. I don’t feel like Luke Wilson going on some fun adventure, I feel like I’m on the set of a humanized version of “The Walking Dead.” You know when people told me it wasn’t murder? Well, it turned into murder. I saw it with my own eyes. The 3D printers that created an unlimited amount of food for my mother turned into a useless piece of scrap metal when the electricity went out. Shortly, her sanity ran out and I walked through the door to our house just in time to see my mother feasting on my dead father’s body. She never went to prison. The government was in shambles, and petty murders were the least of anyone’s worry.
They only wanted meat. Meat that was attached to the bones of their loved ones.
I really didn’t want to join in, but everything turned to shit. There wasn’t a single bit of actual food. The farms that were once prominent in Kentucky have changed to dirt stained with red and littered with bones.
I’m what you call a vulture. There are 12 in my pack. We go around and find the freshest corpse possible. Sometimes we will strike gold and find a person who died of natural causes, while other times we are stuck with splitting a rotten foot amongst the 12 of us. There are two main things that separate us from the others.
1) We don’t kill under any circumstances.
2) We always cook the meat that we eat.
All 12 of us never wanted to eat human meat, but we didn’t have any other choice. Dave, my best friend, was in the group. We grew up in the same neighborhood, he was one of the few that refused to follow the 3D meat trend with me, and he always made sure I was taken care of. He was like a brother to me, and we always stuck together wherever we went.
Yesterday, it was our turn to find our meal. Everything was going fine. Dave was even cracking a couple of jokes about how bad vegans must taste when I saw him go down. It was sudden, and neither of us saw the girl run up behind him. He fell on the ground, and before I could get her off of him, she had taken several bites out of his neck. I hit her on the side of the head with a rock and she silently fell next to Dave’s dying body. He didn’t say anything before he died. He couldn’t. He just looked at me the same way he did when he knew he couldn’t help me. I gave him a nod and a smile, and with the last of his strength, he gave me a smile back before taking his last breath. Rage filled every part of my body when I looked at the girl. She looked like she was barely over 12 years old. I know she was only doing what she grew up learning, but I made a decision that day. I never went back to the other 10. They were fine off on their own.
It’s time I join the rest of the world because it’s not murder anymore.
**Humanity is gone.**
| "Hey, John?", my coworker next to me on the assembly line said.
"Yes?", I responded.
"What do you think will happen when there's no more real humans to slaughter?" It was only his second day on the job. New employees always ask the most annoying questions.
"What do you mean 'no more real humans?' Weren't you paying attention during your training?" A guilty silence answered that question. He stopped packing for a moment. "Keep packing. Let me tell you how this works, and listen this time because no one, including me, is gonna repeat it.
"First, a synthetic sample of semen is inserted into the woman's vagina-"
"What woman?"
"It's not just one woman," I said agitatedly. "There are factories full of women. After that, the three trimesters of pregnancy are sped up from a time frame of 9 months to only 48 hours. Then, the baby human is put into an isolation pod where they will remain until they are between 22 and 28 years of age, when they are transported to-"
"To the slaughterhouse, right?", he interrupted. I jumped from my stool and covered his mouth with my hand. His eyes suddenly looked nervous.
"We don't call them slaughterhouses. You understand? They're called neutralizing laboratories." He nodded his head in affirmation. I sat back in my stool and continued packing. "And do you know what happens after the fully grown humans are transported to the neutralizing laboratories?"
"Then they're flayed and hacked and sent to us for packing, right?"
"Great job, you remembered *something* from training." He smiled with pride and we both continued our packing.
"Hey, John?", he asked after a few minutes of silence.
"What?"
"Are you old enough to remember what the Blackout was like?" I paused for a second and thought about it.
"I was only a child but yes, I have memories of it. I remember specifically what it felt like, the hunger that sets in after just a few days without human flesh. You don't even want to know what weeks without flesh feels like. It's more like a heroin withdrawal than hunger. It's unbearable."
"I've heard stories about people running in the streets with cleavers looking for a meal. My parents somehow made it out alive. What happened to your family?" He clearly did not know any boundaries. I looked at him and shot him a lukewarm grin.
"My mother died and my father lived. That's the short version." I stopped for a few seconds as memories from my childhood flooded my head. "And I don't know what happened to my younger brother."
"Will you ever tell me the long version?"
"Not today," I replied. "Now let's just keep packing."
 
edit: spelling | 2017-09-27T17:12:05 | 2017-09-27T17:08:34 | 311 | 161 |
[WP]: Cupid has been hunting you for years. This Valentine's he's finally cornered you but before he shoots his arrow he demands an explanation why you have been avoiding him. | Another one was waiting at my doorstep again this year. By now I wasn't even surprised. It happened every Valentine's day for the last ten years. Why would it be different this time?
I drove my Porsche into the garage, parked it between the Cadillac and the Lamborghini, locked everything up, and went out to confront her. I whistled softly to myself. This one was beautiful. Tall, blonde, tight body, and *very* well dressed. She stared at me eagerly. I could tell she'd been waiting for a while. "Are you Rob Cesar?"
"Yes," I said, more sighing the word out. I didn't have time for this. I had a satphone call with the Shanghai office at 8:00. "And you are..."
Actually she looked a bit familiar.
"I'm Tara. Tara Jennings."
"The model?"
"Yeah," she giggled, turning red. "Victoria's Secret cover girl for January 2015. Listen, I'm not really sure how to say this but... it Valentine's day, and I know we've never met but-"
"But you felt this weird compulsion to come to Rob Cesar's house, right? Like your feet dragged you here of their own will."
"Yeah." She bit her finger. Even I couldn't deny it was sexy. "How did you..."
"It happens a lot. Look Tara, you're beautiful, and very talented, and I loved you at Milan Fashion Week, but I'm afraid you're wasting your time. I spend Valentine's Day alone. You need to go spend it with someone you really care about."
She pouted. "But I-"
"You think you like me, but you don't, Tara. You've never met me. You may have seen me on TV and think you know me, but you don't. It's an insidious kind of spell. Please, let me call you a cab."
The woman looked absolutely devastated, as well as a bit confused. She glanced at her phone for a second. "Why did I come here?"
"Just wait there, okay? I'll be right back."
I went inside and walked to the central garden. I stopped at the stone fountain. "Come on out, you asshole. I know you're here."
Cupid sheepishly stepped out from behind some persimmon trees. "What, this one's not good enough for you either?"
I sighed. "You have to stop doing this, man."
"What the hell's wrong with you, bro?" said Cupid angrily. "She's a model. A *model*!"
"You do this every year, Cupid. Every year on Valentine's day a new woman is at my doorstep, somehow inexplicably drawn to me and thinking she's in love with me."
"That's because you're Rob Cesar," he said. "Billionaire, businessman, television host, philanthropist. You're the most eligible bachelor in the world. Having you single year in and year out is fuckin' embarrassing for me, bro. All the other gods are saying there's something wrong with me. If I can't find a girl for Rob Cesar, I must not be the god of love after all."
I sighed. "Look, Cupid. You do a great job. You pair up thousands of wonderful couples every day. Just forget about me, okay?"
"What is your deal, bro?" He was angry now. I'd never confronted him like this. "This girl is fine as they come. Did you see the tits on her? Are you fucking gay or something?"
"YES I AM!"
Silence. Holy shit, it felt amazing to finally say it.
Cupid blinked at me. "Are you serious?"
"Yes, damn it, I'm serious. I've known since I was eight years old. But my family was old-school, and then I was managing my dad's company, and all of a sudden I was this billionaire businessman and I had to keep up appearances and-"
"Jesus fucking Christ, bro. Why did you never say something?"
I looked at the ground. "I was embarrassed... I don't know."
He put his finger up. "Wait here. Walk outside in one hour."
One hour later, I opened the front door just a crack.
"Hey, is this Rob Cesar's house?" asked Matt Bomer. | "Very well, tiny baby man, you have me. I at least owe you my reasons for this cat and mouse game.
I've dealt with you in the past. Danny, Mike, Justin, all who I...rather you, thought would be a good match for me. Oh tiny baby man, how wrong you were.
You rest upon your laurels, under the belief that humanity cannot love without your interference. What you do is not uniting humanity with love. It is inciting of lust. Love rarely blossoms forth from lust.
I had evaded you for years before that, with great success, mind you. *She's just a late bloomer, books over boys, an ugly duckling, my truest love is cheese* I'd tell myself those things to keep your relentless arrows at bay, the shield of self-pity can only take so many dings before cracks show through. My increase in self-confidence became the biggest gap in my defense against your wicked game, now a permanent chink in my armor.
You caught me when I was vulnerable, thrice. I would not let it happen again, at least my pride thought so, till now. Once, when I was feeling lonely in a new place nearly half way across the country at school. That ended poorly when your damnable arrows struck wrong once again and Numero Uno decided he liked my best friend instead. Strike one.
Number Two was when you caught me reeling and pining for Number One. That one was cruel, tiny baby man. I get caught up in those feelings of love and affection and wanting to spend my life with someone? You're a twisted bastard. Dumped in the snow to focus on schoolwork. That one still stings. Strike two.
Number three wasn't anything terribly special. Sure, he'd asked me to marry him, but he was so socially inept I get the feeling that you REALLY missed the mark on that one. Awful like you - selfish, clueless, total lack of empathy and used me like a goddamned ATM. That was strike number three.
A heartless God of Love is what you are, tiny baby man. Pitiless, like an executioner. Your vile game sickens me. Preying upon the vulnerable, shooting fish in a barrel. How many couplings have you passed up pursuing me? Was I the only one you chased? Are you just a member of a be-diapered army armed to the teeth like a Lust-Inducing Rambo? Did you notice that folks found love without your meddling?
Relying on your terrible judgement to obtain *love* is a fool's game. After that third I decided that I'd find my own way toward love. I may not have found it, but I'm certainly better off without your "assistance", I don't want it or need it; I'm much happier without.
There you have it, now shoot me. I probably deserve even more angst generated by your cracked definition of *love* at this rate. I hope you're happy with what you do to people."
******
Miiiight have been a lot autobiographical but there it is. Specifically, the part about cheese being my one true love. | 2015-02-14T06:03:09 | 2015-02-14T02:35:06 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] You think you're the first person ever to exit the Milky Way Galaxy. On your way out, you see a sign written in English floating around in space. | >**IMPERIAL RECORD 0064567.87 ref. 209.88**
> *Cross ref. “Milky Way” Imperium Files 305-593, ref.*
>**Ordo Malleus Archive: Worm Holes**
>**Operative: Inquisitor Seth Quintus**
*Station 333109 [888.M41]: Interrogation log 1… Accessing…*
“Please remain seated,” Inquisitor Quintus said, holding up one gloved finger. “Truth is not subjective. Bear that in mind.”
The shadows crawled and churned in the corners of the small cell. Its occupant, an unshaven man in an archaic space suit, stopped himself mid-motion and sat back down with his elbows leaning on the metal desk.
“W-what?” the man said, his eyes wide. “What’s going on? Who are you?”
“I am a representative of the holy ordos, and it is my job to determine if you’re telling the truth... or if your mind has been tainted by your journey through the warp.”
“The what?” The man threw up his hand in frustration. “My crew and I just left the Milky Way, before you shot us down! We’re just explorers! Our rocket has no weapons.”
“Don’t exert yourself,” Quintus said dismissively. “The initial report states that you claim to be from a planet called Earth. Is that correct?”
“Yes! Please, we’re not a violent species. Not really. We mean no harm.”
Quintus ran a hand through his silvery locks. This man had clearly lost his wits. If it wasn’t for the strange circumstances surrounding the ship, Quintus would happily have handed him over to the Ordo Hereticus.
“Would you be able to point out your homeworld on a star map?” the Inquisitor said and pressed a few buttons on the cogitator.
The holographic image of the galaxy swirled to life over the table. Quintus made sure to remove all labels and names of the stars and their systems. The man’s mouth opened wide, and probingly, he put his hand through the three-dimensional image.
Trembling slightly, his finger pointed at one particular star, which made the inquisitor’s eyes narrow in suspicion. Quintus flicked his fingers, and a single system replaced all the twinkling stars.
“That one,” the man said and pointed at the third planet from the center.
“Are you certain?” Quintus’s face hardened. “Remember what I said about truth.”
“I swear on my life. That’s where I’m from.”
“And you call this world… *dirt*?”
“Earth, yes. That’s our name for it,” the man said nervously.
The solar system flickered. Quintus leaned back in his chair, examining the man before him. If he was lying, he did a damned good job at it.
“Tell me something, Mr. Moore,” Quintus said. “What’s your world like?”
The man’s eyes stared up at the ceiling. “We have big seas… six continents… seven if you count Antarctica. We have forests… mountains… deserts… big cities… We’re pretty diverse, I’d say.”
“And what do you call your closest planets?”
“Venus and Mars.”
The inquisitor’s lips stretched into a tight minus. The man was either lying through his teeth or else had somehow gotten lost in a warp storm. Quintus had run all his info through the databanks – no records existed of him. He claimed to be from Holy Terra, but his testimony didn’t hold up to the facts. And yet…
“Would you be able to find your way back to your homeworld?”
“If you can recover the piloting system from the rocket you blew up, then maybe!”
“What year do you think it is?”
“2431,” the man said, with a serious face.
The strange technology of the spacecraft that belonged to the man was a combination of extremely outdated and almost arcane. It had no warp drive – that was the biggest concern. But if Quintus could recover the pieces and reconstruct them, perhaps he could trace back the route of this man. It could change everything.
“I'll hand you over to the Knights of Titan for more in-depth cleansing. Then you’ll help me reassemble your spacecraft,” Quintus said and rose out his chair. “Welcome to the 41st millennium, Mr. Moore.”
*Station 333109 [888.M41]: Interrogation log 1… Closing…*
***
r/Lilwa_Dexel
| The planet was dead. A world of ash and rot, where even the stench of death had long since died. A planet where green and blues, once married in beauty unrivalled, there were now only shades of black.
Sarah's voice broke through the static of my helmet. "Are you ready, sir?"
"Five more minutes," I instructed, as I clambered over the remains of fallen monuments and tombstones, until I came to the spot where once, a world away, a peach tree had grown. The place that she told she'd want to be placed beneath, so that she could one day be a peach swinging on a tree in the autumn breeze.
It took me longer than five minutes in the end, to find enough pieces of etched, crumbling rock to be able to complete the jigsaw enough.
> Ca-o-ine S--th. 2-05 to 2116. R--t in p---
I sank to the ground, along with my heart, as a plume of dust pirouetted around me, as once my little ballerina had done.
"Have you finished searching, sir?" It was Sarah. Her voice was unemotional. Professional. I hated her for it.
"Yes. 2116. That was the latest here. What have the rest of you found?"
"No graves later than 2118, sir."
I'd left when Caroline had been five. She was healthy and fit and...
"Sir," said Sarah, as if reading my mind, not only my frequency. "Just because it happened to this planet, doesn't mean it will happen to ours. This clearly happened a long time in the past, not three years from now."
Our expedition had been the first to leave the Milky Way, the first Faster Than Light ship on the fleet -- which was of course an exaggeration, a show of power to make the Russians and EuroAsians piss their pants. It was closer to a warp drive, in truth, and it had still taken us almost three years to get here.
What we hadn't expected was to receive -- to store -- a message that had been repeatedly broadcast on radio waves, as we left the Milky Way.
We hadn't even noticed it until long after we came out of Cryo. Until we'd arrived, orbiting this broken replica of something once precious to each of us.
> Now leaving Earth 53062. Welcome to Earth 245492.
We laughed. Nervously -- but we laughed. A message out here? And in English? We'd been pranked -- an automatic message left by the boys back home, to give us a bit of a scare. We laughed all the way up until we landed.
"It was a long time ago for them, Sarah," I said. "But for our planet... three years from now this could be us. We have to go back. Warn Earth -- our Earth -- of what's going to happen."
"But what is going to happen?" asked Mikus, my science officer. "How can we help them if we don't know what happened?
"So you propose... *what,* exactly?" I snapped.
"We stay. We start an archaeological dig, if we have to. We find out what happened -- what *will* happen -- to Earth, before we go back."
"Mikus," said Sarah. "Whatever did this... whatever created these worlds... Could they be *tests*. Failures?"
"We're only going to find out if we stay," Mikus replied. "Captain, what's it to be?"
| 2018-03-04T09:24:10 | 2018-03-04T09:09:11 | 369 | 59 |
[WP] You spent most of your life trying to prove there is an end to Pi. After writing down the last digit, the numerals begin to glow. | His hands moved with speed and grace that people rarely possessed these days. The numbers his pen left behind were colored in an orange hue, the same as his pen.
Exactly every 7 minutes and 30 seconds, he would stop and take a small sip from the teal-colored cup besides him, before setting down his pen once again, continuing his seemingly endless quest to conquer a number that held a size that was considered infinite.
However, this old man believed otherwise. He believed- no, he *was sure* that there was an end. And so he had dedicated a lifetime to writing down digit after digit, going further and further until he would reach the final number.
Every day, more and more pages were filled, stacked up and put into a drawer with the label **PI**. Or, to be precise, the 28^(th) drawer he had used for his lifelong project.
But today?
Today, the pages would be filled for the last time. Today, they would be stacked up for the last time. Today, they would be put into the 28^(th) drawer a last time. Today, on this final day, the last digit would be found.
The illusion of infinity would be broken by the truth, and the number would turn finite. And just when he reached the end of the page, a zero came to be. A zero.
0...
The final number.
The old man smiled proudly at his work. He knew it. He had known it all this time, and he had worked for so long. But here it was. The end of what was once considered endless.
A light spread through the dimly lit room, out of the windows and into the night sky.
The numbers...
They were glowing.
A warm, golden light radiated from each and every number he had ever written down.
All over the world, every number to exist was glowing as well, covering the earth in golden light.
But in the old man's room, something happened that his and only his eyes and ears would witness.
A voice so strong and yet so fragile, both young and old, overjoyed and sorrowful at the same time.
*You have done so very well. This is the first step of many. You are the first of your kind to destroy one of the illusions blocking humanity's ascension to true knowledge. Congratulations.*
At that moment, the man had a vision. A vision of the future. It was a wonderful one. And he knew what would be the reason for the beauty of the future he had seen. It was his work that, along with seven other works, would grant mankind a future far more amazing than anyone could ever imagine.
And as he stared in awe at his creation, a golden butterfly fluttered into the sky. | The final digit.
It was 3. The moment I write it down, I reap the fruits of my labor for the last 20 years. 20 years I have slaved my life away for this. 20 years I have tried to finish this number, because I believed that there is an end to everything. 3. 3. 3. 3. 3.
The decimals float in my head, they invaded my thoughts. No, they are my thoughts. 3.1415, 3.1415, 3.1415. What am I without this? What am I when there is an end? What will I do on late nights, to replace the void of intense mathematic research by the light of a small tabletop lamp?
But there is an end. I write down the final digit, and the paper begins to glow.
"I did it."
"It was me. It was all me."
I try to fight the urge. I try to, but I feel compelled. Moved, enticed. It is the beginning of something much different, something I've barely seen or heard of before. It's time, my time. Everything has an end. I grab the paper, and crumple it into a ball, with as much intensity and contempt I can muster. I throw it as far as I can, as far as I can.
1, 2, 3. 1, 2, 3. 3, 1, 4, 1, 5, 3, 1, 4, 1, 5, 9, 2, 6, 5, 3.
I open the window, feel the breeze on my face.
It's a good day, and I'm ready to soar. | 2018-07-01T09:38:55 | 2018-07-01T08:14:34 | 290 | 53 |
[WP] A shapeshifter befriends a lonely human multiple times throughout his or her life, but the human thinks it's a different person every time. One day the human realizes that all of his/her friends are really the same person. | Martha sat on the porch in her rocking chair. She felt the warm breeze, the way only spring could feel when hopes and anticipations blossom in every heart. Her newspaper was still rolled up, it was too much of a hassle to get up and get the glasses, and even more of a hassle to read about today's nonsense.
She had left some left-over stew on the patio, for Buck, the stray dog who would sometimes visit her. She listened to the bird song and scanned the garden looking for the little curious blue-jay who would sometimes visit and perform it's acrobatics.
The day seemed very still, calming and comforting somehow.
She looked for the road and saw a man standing there. That was enough reasons to get up and get the glasses. The man was approaching the old fence when she got out. "Nice evening, ma'am" he said. "Nice indeed" Martha answered, "How can I help you?". The man, about middle age, dressed in light colours and with a smile so big he further lit up the evening, proceeded to tell her how his car had broken down and he needed directions to the closest gas station. Martha smiled and explained that it would be quite the walk but he could make it before sunset and the gas station was always open. The man kept smiling and said "Along my way I found some ripen plums" he held out his hat, that he had previously hold to his chest and showed her the deliciousness he had carefully plucked in to his hat, "I don't know if I could carry them all the way and it would be a shame to spoil such fine plums, perhaps you could help me and take them for me, ma'am". Martha smiled, "oh, Victoria plums, but isn't it too early for plums this time of year?". "Perhaps" the man answered, "and I am no expert in fruits whatsoever, however I do know that I found an early-bloomer and thought I would pick the plums before the got spoiled". The meeting was familiar. They were both smiling, and the silence in between the courtesies spoke more than their words. Martha looked at the red-yellow little treats and said. "You know, I have loved Victoria plums since a boy came by and gave them to me when I was a little girl". It was true. Martha had lived in her house her whole life. She felt so secure there, almost protected by the nature, so she was not at all anxious about walking in the woods, talking to strangers or sleeping without locking her door. She had lived her entire life completely free and at the same time secure and in harmony with the little world around her.
She continued: "There are not many folks around here, but every so often people lose their way up here and they always seem to have found delicious Victoria plums. Lord know I have searched for that tree around here, but I have yet to find the source to my sweet favourites. Honestly, I don't know where you pluck them". The man's smile softened, and his eyes appeared to be longing for something. "I don't know where *you all* find them, that is" Martha quickly said. The man's smile brightened up again but his eyes appeared almost tortured now, "Martha" he whispered, barely audible. The woods became all quiet, all calm, not even the tree's branches moved in the breeze.
Martha shed a tear. "I don't know what to call you", she said. "The only name you gave me was Buck" the man said. He was a classic man, with a great posture and great manners, like every visitor had been, like even the animals had been.
Martha remembered that day when she was about five years old. The boy had stood by the fence and offered her beautiful Victoria plums. "I should have understood earlier" she said. "I'm happy you didn't, then I wouldn't be able to see you again" the man answered. "But now I know" she said, "when will I be able to see you again?" "The man smiled again, tears were pouring down his eyes and he sounded relived when he said "soon".
Martha turned around to see if the sun was about to set, when she looked back the man was gone, but in her hands she held the hat with the beautiful ripen Victoria plums. She walked back to the porch, she was livid, full of memories, full of hope, full of anticipation. She sat back in her rocking chair and remembered. She took a plum, polished it with her apron and thought about all the handsome people she had met, all the beautiful animals, even the deer that would come. She understood how she could have lived alone in the woods her entire life, without ever feeling alone. She longed for "soon", she couldn't wait for "soon" when she again would meet her friend of a lifetime. A true friend, of a true lifetime.
She took of her glasses, inhaled the tranquillity of the forest and fell asleep. That night, her heart beat for the last time in life, but for the first time for "soon". | The shapeshifter doesn't remember it's origin. It's been here for far too long. It doesn't even remember it's original name. It has taken the form of too many people. People that throughout the years that have been successful, talented and have had rich life giving experiences. Theses experiences taught this alien creature what the humans are all about. It has learned to love each family it's come across and each family it has been a part of.
This better half of the century it has chosen to live through the life of a man that was considered a celebrity. A celebrity that had no shortage of friends or fans, and got quite busy with them at that. It could be said the alien was enjoying itself very much. It has lead nothing but selfish or enjoyable lives throughout its time, and yet the alien thought it had everything figured out. One evening this shapeshifter had a house party that a lot of people had showed up to. Including a man named Colin. Colin never was too happy with his life, and accepted his life to be quite a disappointment. He had no friends, and both his parents were very dismissive of the parenting role that was such a burden to them. Colin didn't even know what he was doing with his life. All he ever wanted was a couple of friends. One friend maybe? What was the use anyway? Colin was too socially awkward he wouldn't know what to do with them.
It was time to leave this party he thought. He didn't even know how he got an invitation. He looked up to leave and was startled to see the shapeshifter staring at him. He had a frown upon his face, but was puzzled at this man named Colin. He didn't seem like anyone he had the pleasure of meeting before. Why has he not met someone like Colin? Perhaps they don't go out much? Perhaps this is a new experience I can have? Colin watched as this man walked off into the crowd. He was still puzzled, but what did it matter, he has met the same look many times in terms of his parents. Colin walked to leave out the door to his second hand car. A figure walked quickly into him at the door."woah hey man! Shit my drink! No don't worry about it man, it's an accident. But..uh..wait shit! You are that Colin guy right? Dude no way! I've heard a lot about you dude!" Colin was immensely confused. How could this guy the same age as him possibly know who he is? "I apologize man, really for the drink and all, but how do you know me?" "Shit, well I heard a lot about you from the girls I hang with bro, you know Stacy and, fuck, that one over there katelyn!" Colin looked over. They were girls from high school. Girls that he never spoke one word to, and never planned to due to his nervousness. "They have been talking about me?" "Well of course bro, you're like what? The hottest guy they've seen?" "Wait what? Umm, I actually never talked to them personally dude,well..I uh sorry uh what your name?" Colin was trying the best to change the subject the best he could. But as soon as the casual name question popped up the man made a quick excuse to go back the party and let Colin go on his way. It was all very surreal. It must be a sick joke Colin thought. There is now way in hell anybody would know him, especially the girls he has done so sure to avoid in the past.
I have to leave unfortunately. This is my first try at a story. Let me know if it's worth continuing. I had planned Colin to meet his new best friend, along a few others. Along with that, his first girlfriend. One day after his girlfriend leaves(to transform into best friend) the shapeshifter forgot his cell phone. In which Colin tries to look through(personal issues), and finds no record of any proof she has other friends. Looking into it he discovers the horrible truth. | 2014-08-15T09:28:27 | 2014-08-15T08:43:05 | 80 | 12 |
[WP] You drunkenly email the UN telling the countries they are doing a shit job of running the world. A month later an official UN letter arrives, signed by all the world leaders. "Let's see if you do better then" | "Well, this is interesting"
I plopped bonelessly in to my recliner, fancy embossed paper drifting from my hand. How could this have happened? How could they do this? *How could they trust me?*
A quiet "ahem" alerted me to the still-present courier in the doorway of my apartment. My gaze drifted up from my lap to his polished shoes, pressed slacks, and immaculate suit coat, but I couldn't quite look him in the face yet. He cocked his head and launched in to a rapid fire speech that I suspected must have been well rehearsed.
"You have two years - some wanted less, but others argued that a few weeks wouldn't be nearly enough time to actually prove you could do anything. The world leaders will be watching you. They will act as your proxies, implementing your orders so long as they don't lead to catastrophic disaster or war, but for the sake of public appearance they'll have to run the laws and regulations through their respective legislative assemblies. Of course for the monarchies and autocracies, that won't be as much of an issue. I will be your assistant through this experiment - I can give you information, and general advice when you ask for it, but you'll be steering the ship, so to speak."
I shook my head a bit as he continued to talk at me, going over minutia of "the rules", but I wasn't quite listening. Tears for Fears had it right, everybody wants to rule the world, but now that I actually had the power, my mind was blank. Where should I begin? What should I actually *do*? Most people will rag on their own governments for what they're doing wrong, but few have the knowledge and background to know what should be done right.
"...and in the event of a natural disaster, Zimbabwe-"
"That's enough," I cut him off, "What's your name?"
"George, sir. George Morgan. Born in London, raised in Scotland, and educated at Oxford."
"Alright George, if I'm about to violate one of these rules, let me know - otherwise, let's not waste time going over things I'll easily forget."
I stood up slowly, and forced myself to look him in the face. He was older, late 50's I'd guess, thin with salt and pepper hair and wire-rimmed glasses. I had the sudden temptation to call him "Alfred", but the accent and hair weren't quite right, so I forced the urge to the side and continued on.
"I won't be managing minutia of day-to-day governance. At this scale, that would be impossible. Instead I'll be focusing on broader economic and environmental issues. I reckon fixing those will solve a lot of problems."
George paused for a moment, and I saw the hint of a grin tug at the corners of his mouth. "Very good sir" he replied.
"I'll need a panel of world experts in economics to convene as soon as possible. Full autocratic power is going to make this a bit easier, but I want to make sure we're making decisions that the best minds in the world have signed off on."
I walked to the closet next to George and pulled out my coat. Donning it, I looked over my shoulder at him and jerked my head towards the door.
"Let's get to work." | “All roads lead back to White Claw,” I thought to myself as I watched the new UN flag, with its three dramatic waves getting the whole world blitzed, slowly rise above headquarters.
It’s been six months since the UN sent me that crazy letter, and things have been going far better than anyone could have guessed.
Well, to start off, I was expecting far more resistance from the general public considering that the UN had just anointed a college student to one of the most important positions of power in the world. To be fair, people *were* pretty pissed at first, but not at me.
“Is the UN run by a bunch of children?”
“Why would they give this position to some random kid?
“Well, world leaders have really lost it, huh?”
“Stocks in White Claw have just skyrocketed in value!”
Now, I could get into all the “politics,” and “foreign policy” mumbo jumbo stuff, but even after taking a grueling political science class, that stuff still confuses the hell outta me. Good thing I had a diverse friend group in college, because I recruited all the right minds for the job. You bet your ass that my valedictorian, who was a genius in public administration, international relations, and economics, was PUMPED to get a job offer from the new leader of the UN. And from there it pretty much snowballed into enlisting as many college graduates and bright young minds as possible.
Now, when it comes to all the “the fancy technical stuff,” I may be out of my element, but when it’s time to talk shop, you’ll find no one better (I was the weapon of choice on my school’s debate team). But as it turns out, society was sick of all the slander, deceit, and underhanded tactics that world leaders were using. People felt refreshed to hear an important figure say, “Hello everyone, I know we really fucked up on that *insert major world leader fuck-up here* but with your support, and suggestions, we will try our hardest to make things right.”
I can’t tell you what the world will be like years from now, or if my whole “leadership” thing” will work out. Hell, I went from being plastered on my couch to being in charge of the fucking UN in six months. But what I will tell you is that no matter what happens, I’ll be drinking White Claw till the day I die. | 2019-07-09T09:11:24 | 2019-07-09T07:34:44 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] A person's superpowers emerge during- and relate to- a highly stressful moment in their life. Your brother nearly drowned, and as a result could shape water to his will. A classmate fell from a high balcony, and ended up learning to fly. You? You just got your powers last night. | It happened again.
**"THE FUCK HAVE I TOLD YOU BOY?!?"**
One impact after another. Blow after blow. A bottle this time. Jim Beam.
**"FUCKIN LEARN YOU GOOD BOY!!"**
Ben felt something in his chest break. His heart? His ribs?
**"YOU GON LEARN, BOY. OOOOOH YOU GON LEARN TONIGHT, YOU LITTLE SHIT."**
No matter what he'd tried, he couldn't make things better.
**All he wanted in the world was to make his Dad happy, just once.**
Why couldn't he do that? What was WRONG with him??
In his haze, Ben felt like he was floating.
He hit the wall hard enough to crater the drywall.
Ben saw stars.
Ben saw galaxies.
Ben saw universes.
Ben saw through the veil.
Ben saw something ancient.
Something ancient saw Ben.
@@@@@@@@@@@@@@
Ben woke up refreshed, energized, healed, and numb. Gingerly, he levered himself up out of the debris on the floor, expecting agony from a dozen injuries that no longer existed. He felt... intrigued. Curious. Detached. Most mornings... *after,* he'd be sobbing, sore, aching, unable to move. He felt nothing.
He felt *nothing.*
He looked around the shattered wreckage of the living room. Clearly, this had objectively been the worst night yet. There was a substantial amount of blood, it looked like a murder scene. Possibly, for a moment, it had been.
Behind the couch, he found his father.
Catatonic.
He'd soiled himself, in every possible way. The smell was unpleasant. His pores oozed alcohol-infused sweat, his breath still stank of drink. His eyes were open, pupils dilated so wide they were wire-thin brown circles over an empty void.
And he had the biggest smile.
Ben felt a nudge, in the back of his brain. An urge. An impulse. He saw, without using his eyes but some NEW sense, inside his father. Inside his brain. He saw deep down, to a place where a million neurons were firing endlessly, frantically, joyously. He reached out, grasping not with his hand but with his mind. He reached out and grabbed that white-hot burning star in his father's mind, and snuffed it out.
With a gasp, his father jerked back to life. Tears streamed down his face. Tremors wracked his body.
"Ben! Ben, my god. Ben. Please. What was that?? Oh god, please Ben. Why did you do that?! BEN! WHY?! WHY DID YOU MAKE IT STOP??!?"
And Ben's father begged. He pleaded. He promised the moon. Offered anything. Offered everything. It was practically obscene, the extent of it. The degree to which this man debased himself. He would do anything, anything at all, anything Ben asked, he said. Absolutely anything, to *feel that way again.*
And Ben had the biggest smile. | In this world, people have superpowers brought upon highly stressful moments. For example, my brother almost drowned, but gained the power of controlling water, now called the superhero "Aqua", and my classmate fell from a high balcony and ended up flying, ended up as "The Owl", but I got my powers last night.
I was walking out alone in the dark, something you should never do, but I started hearing whispers from the alleyways, and the shadows too. I started getting paranoid quickly, and started to run, but I tripped, whether if it was from that thing or from something else, that I do not know, but when I got back up, there was something in my shadow.
It looked at me with an open mouthed grin but all there was that I could see was darkness and lights where the facial features should be. I took off running again, trying to get away from this thing, but it stayed in my shadow and followed me home. Then, it started to crawl out of it's shell that it had latched onto and into this mortal plane.
Thankfully, I live alone so no other lives were in danger at the moment, but probably not for long. I was looking around in a panic, and as the creature was getting their humanoid fingers and feet out of it's temporary shell that was my shadow and into my mortal plane, my powers awoke.
Chains rained down on the creature and held it where it was, as a collar connected to the leash, and my name was written on the new collar in a language of chaos and other other sorts. I made it go back to whence it came in shackles and claimed as my property.
I am the superhero," The Exorcist", but I am also the supervillain," Demon Summoner", who gets more power the more human souls are consumed and their bodies burned. I am the light and the dark of this world, and I shall bring it to it's knees. | 2021-04-01T06:11:48 | 2021-04-01T03:37:49 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] People only age when they move. Some folks live for centuries, only leaving home to buy groceries. Others age quickly, traveling from town to town. Today, you meet someone who claims to have traveled the world. The odd thing is, they only look 10 years old. | Affluence has it's perks, I suppose.
I am halfway through my life, in just a few dozen years, having only seen my hometown, and experiencing the world through books and pictures. But this young man (who looks scarcely older than a child) has traveled the globe, and has been to every populated continent on the planet. While most of my time is spent here at the docks, doing this job out of necessity, to ensure my short life isn't too miserable, he has seen the wonders of the world, and met so many different and interesting people. Yet according to the identification papers that he handed me, we were both born in the same year.
His secret? A goddamned stroller.
Well, the stroller, and a LOT of money. Money that he uses to hire people to waste their lives pulling him around, making sure he gets to experience it all, and avoid the rapid aging that keeps most of us stationary, bound to our places of birth.
To imagine! Being so wealthy that you could have people carry you everywhere. Spending their lives, in exchange for a small portion of your nearly endless pile of fortune, so that you can enjoy yours.
I stamped his passport, and watched as his servant, who's papers indicated was born years after me but who looked as though he could be my father, groaned slightly as he picked up the front of the rickshaw-like miniature carriage and and strained to pull it up the ramp and onto the ship.
I wondered to myself if he thought it was worth it. What was he being paid? Did he enjoy spending time with his employer? Like a dog with his master, eager to please for mere table scraps, but destined to be replaced several times over during their master's comparatively immense lifespan?
Or was I being to harsh? Perhaps he genuinely enjoyed the adventures he went on, pulling this man-child around our world, and his short life was fulfilling and exciting. Getting to witness things firsthand that I could only read about. Did his employment simply facilitate this goal?
I stamped several more passports as I thought to myself, "Is he a slave, or am I a coward?"
As I processed the papers of the remaining travelers, it chewed at me. "Is he an unfortunate wrench, latched onto the teat of the aristocracy, or am I so fearful and desperate to elongate my own life that I have trapped myself in a cycle of misery that is functionally identical to what I just pitied him for?"
This thought stuck with me as the last passengers boarded the boat. I watched him pull up the gangplank, as I have so many times before, but this time it felt different. I wasn't ready to go home and curl up with a book. I couldn't stop thinking about where the man pulling the cart might be going, or what he might see when he gets there, and how all that I will ever see is this podium at the the dock, and my own four walls.
I watched the ship sail over the horizon, and realized that in all my time doing this job, I have never once watched a ship past the boarding of it's passengers. I never watched them depart.
I found myself asking, is it better for a fire to burn twice as bright, or twice as long? I pondered the riddle for a bit, and the only answer I could find as I turned in my daily ledger for the final time was, "I guess we'll find out..." | The day was nice. I had left my home only for the necessities. Bread, eggs, and gallons of water filled my cart. I bought in bulk, always in bulk. It was how I was taught as a child. My clothes were bought all at once and the only things we ever left home for were groceries, funerals, and weddings.
On this particular day, I had chosen to go to the new grocery store that had opened near me. The shortest drive possible, with a time spanning only five minutes. The cashier was behind the counter and began ringing up the items. Going at a slow pace, almost as if her skin was so dry, that a sudden movement could cause it to crack and bleed. She was beautiful, quite gorgeous. Porcelain skin, gorgeous dark eyes and ginger hair. I couldn’t bring myself to make conversation with her, she seemed too dedicated to her work it would be seen as almost rude to take her focus away from the job at hand.
Standing behind me was a boy, who looked to be no more than ten. He had dirty blond hair and the rosiest cheeks you ever did see. Bright, youthful blue eyes matched the same youthful smile. “Excuse me sir, could I bother you to reach that pack of chewing gum for me? Thank you.” Nodding, I kindly obliged to. In the process, it seemed to age me a few years. I was now about twenty three, two years past the legal age of drinking. “You aged. I never age though I travel the world!! Like Amelia Earhart.” The boy said with a giggle. I smiled and had a confused look on my face. “You have quite a bright imagination my boy.”
A few more moments passed as he proceeded to explain that it wasn’t his imagination running wild. That in fact, he had started roaming at the age of five, deciding where to go and when. He seemed to have the wisdom of somebody my age or older, so I didn’t question him. When it was his turn to ring up, he waved and I gave a small smile back. “If only I had learned the method to your madness at your age.” I said, leaving the store to go home. It astounded me how the children of today used their brains. Learning ways around the curse of aging, tricking it almost. | 2020-08-01T14:49:25 | 2020-08-01T13:43:53 | 29 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone can become infinitely powerful if they so choose, however the more power you gain the less you remember about who you are and what you wanted. The greatest beings in the land have no feelings on anything and are more an extension of nature than the deity's they had hoped to become. | My grandpa used to tell me that no matter where I looked, the gods had their hands in something. He pointed animatedly at the sky and down at the ground. There was no power too big nor small, each near miraculous in its design.
“That’s how an old man like me remember all these stories, boy,” he said, tapping his forehead, before laughing at my clambering to know more.
I remember those stories, seared into an impressionable child’s mind. I remember the tender wonder in his voice and the admiration in his face when he spoke of shooting stars, and with no less enthusiasm of burrowing worms.
And for the life of me, I couldn’t remember his name.
But there were gods in everything. I remembered that he often stood alone, staring wistfully into the distance, speaking to nothing but the wind, soft-spoken words carried to eternity and beyond.
Tonight, the wind whistled through the windows, and brushed past my face with the urgency of a subway commuter late for work. I took a deep breath, feeling the chill air fill my lungs.
“What was my grandfather’s name?”
The wind sped up, a furious roar overcoming it. The dead leaves on the floor were swept up, coalescing around a form, like a person still occupied the space within it—but there was nothing but air. The leaves seemed to coalesce around me, taking me into its cocoon, and I did not resist.
Inside, the sound died down. There was nothing but a soft whisper grazing past my ear.
“Child. Why do you want to remember?”
“Because I remember everything else,” I said with chattering teeth, wrapping my arms around myself.
“Is that not enough?”
“I want to know,” I whispered.
The image shimmered, drawing closer to me. I felt the wind touch me, an inch-long tornado on my cheek.
“He spoke to me often. Do as he did, and I will grant you your wish.”
“Yes,” I said.
The answer was simple for a god. The wind whispered it into my ear. Like treading upon an overgrown front year, the wind easily tore apart the long weeds, unlocking an once-abandoned pathway.
“I remember,” I whispered.
“You do,” the wind said. It began retreating, it shape now losing parts of itself, tearing through the armour of leaves around it.
“And what of yours?” I cried. “Your name?”
The wind disappeared, returning to the world once more. For a second, there was nothing but dead quiet, a vacuum seal on all my senses. And then, I could feel the wind gently kiss my cheek once more.
“I remember his. I hope to remember yours. But I will never remember mine.”
And the wind’s voice was carried away on its own gusts, hushed once more.
---
r/dexdrafts | The land, the forest, the trees. They sleep quietly, calmly. I move through the ground itself, tending to my kin, my children, my *people*. The rains have been heavy as of late; mushrooms are sprouting. The beauty is incomprehensible and I take in every moment.
Noise. Sudden. Sounds like... loud, continuous roaring, high pitched and aggressive; the growl of a wolf pales in comparison as this is far more unnatural, not a part of nature. I move closer to investigate, the moss rising slowly as I travel and weave my way around the healthy roots.
I see it. Him. A man, machine in his hand emitting the sound. He seems to have ill intent towards the trees; my suspicions are confirmed. His machine loudly bites into the bark and I hear the tree cry out in pain. I feel... anger.
I lightly move my finger - the motion is almost imperceptible. In an instant, the man is enveloped with vines and roots and barely has the time to utter a scream as he becomes completely enveloped and dragged into the ground. His hand, reaching out for help, is the last thing seen before he's completely sunken into the damp, cold dirt.
The tree is wounded. But it will heal. Nature always does. I move on.
Something catches my eye. A pond. I gaze into it, see... a face. It resembles that of the man, though it is noticeably different with the coarse, bark-like skin and black eyes. I stare at it for a moment and it stares back. It reminds me of... before. What was before? Before the forest? Before nature? What... was I? It matters not.
It only matters what I am now.
I am Nature. | 2022-01-27T08:07:33 | 2022-01-27T07:55:30 | 36 | 19 |
[WP]Aliens come to Earth in hoping to wipe us out and take over the planet, but are honorable and gives us a fighting chance. They announce they will return in 100 years so as to give Earth a chance to prepare and defend itself. Neither side expected what the other would bring to war | The first evidence of life beyond that humans were to be treated to, consisted of huge, intricate, metallic structures dropped by parachute, and gently wafting down to the earth. But once ensconced, these origamic beauties created Einstein-Rosen Bridges that disgorged hordes of arachnid shock troops, in an alien invasion that nearly ended us.
I was too young to have lived through the Teegardener War, but I've seen old-style video clips in school. They were lightning fast, incredibly intelligent, and unmatched in their ability to improvise weaponry. They didn't come with fancy guns, bombs, swords, or powered armor. It was just them, naked as the day they were spawned, streaming out of their tripod wormholes.
It was to their great fortune, and not ours, that their first wave randomly landed in southern Africa. It was pure dumb bad luck. If, say, they had started in the heart of the European Union, North America, or heck, even urban China, we might have stood a chance. But we lost too much ground, too fast. Before most of the planet was aware of the danger, they already had a sizable foothold, had consolidated and fortified their initial gains, and had already figured out how to fly our aircraft. All those unscheduled flights out of Johannesburg, Pretoria, and the Congo should have tipped off someone--but those flights were "only" going to other places no-one cared about: Brazil, other towns in Africa, Yemen, India. As well, where the Teegardeners went, the grey goo weapons we first tried to deploy, but they co-opted from us were not far behind, finishing off the campaign of decimation their soldiers had begun.
The news of invasion in the developed world began with talking about South Africa in the past tense, along with cities like Rio de Janeiro, Lagos, and Mogadishu.
The Teegardeners marched up the Southern Hemisphere into the North, scouring the helpless Earth of its air-breathing masters, trampling every city and nation and grinding human civilization into the dust. Only the undersea nations and colonies of the world, the newest members of the United Nations, were left relatively unscathed. They had chosen us to be the messenger of doom to future generations of survivors. In one hundred of our years, they said, the second wave would arrive to finish off the race of men. After eleven tense days, they had evacuated their surviving forces back across their star bridges which deactivated and were left completely inert after them, perhaps to serve as monuments to their victory. And perhaps to serve as ever-present insults and taunts for the unborn generation they would someday come back to annihilate.
They must have never thought we could figure out how their star bridges worked, but we did. In fact, we were always "just twenty years away" from a lot of fantastic inventions that promised to save mankind from its own vices. But their portals provided the missing links that were needed in so many different fields.
In my generation, we were supposed to fear and tremble at the hundred-year problem. But my generation solved it.
When the Teegardeners come back, they will not just have to fight us. They will have to fight our friends: The Altairans, the Reticulans, the Kellerites, the Risatas, the Cuttlefins, and all the other alien species which the Teegardners have bullied and threatened and pillaged for millennia. They will have to fight all the allied races we made contact with using their own star bridges, once we understood how they worked.
I can't sleep. I can't wait. I'm looking forward to the end of the hundred-year problem. It's not what the Teegardeners wanted, but it's what they're going to get. The Aries Terror ends here, on Earth, tomorrow. The Coalition will be waiting for them.
| Me, and my brothers sit in some forgotten bar room basement, the structure of which sits itself on top of a heap of crumbled wood and broken glass. The wind howls through the top of it, but we feel somewhat secure here. We light a oil lamp, and cook up some canned food on several bunson burners that we always carry. Today it consists of red beans, sardines and rice (which you have to cook in water, which makes it kind of a pain in the ass.)
At some point, someone, I think it was John, inquired about what month it was.
There was some conjecture, we have this discussion, everyone in the world today has this discussion a lot because it's difficult to tell. EMT bombs of various magnitudes had been set and detonated by the world's countries. One Russia or China, as us kids were told that they were called, detonated a really big one that fucked up anything that could mark time reliably.
The seasons no longer come and go, as they used to, or so we were told that they used to. We joke about it now, "Hey, don't worry about saving those beans, we'll just grow them this summer". Laughs all around.
Then the question, the big big question comes up, which is probably the most exhaustingly argued topic known to any of us. What year it is.
Generally most people believe it to be either early 2097, early 2098 or late 2095. After the EMT bombs destroyed everything, and fallout killed off most of the population no one really had time to try to even try and count the years. They were too busy surviving. However, several things were found, "indicators" of what the year might actually be, but there were multiple, and most of the people who find them died a long time ago.
So it goes.
John D, points to his usual argument, Derrick Gould (a legend among all of us) said he found the Caesium Clock running when he ventured to the the west side of the country, and said it said 2066 (which would make it 2098 now), however, Benjamin, the tall skinny fuck to my left shivering, points out that a group of planters found a running excel spreadsheet that kept track of time during the war. That was more recent, so people tend to argue for it.
We argue.
Either we are going to die in three and a half years, four and a half years or six years. Or another amount of time because everyone was wrong to begin with. What we are certain of is something our father's father's talked about, a great extinction that they would never get to see.
They called them Aliens. | 2016-01-01T19:30:06 | 2016-01-01T16:56:11 | 34 | 13 |
[WP] You are secretly the richest person in the world. But to avoid suspicion of having so much money, you decide to work a normal office job. One day, your boss fires you. But what he didn't realise... Was how incredibly petty you are, and the lengths you will go to get back at him.
Damn, I came up with this idea while I was waking my dog this morning, wrote it down, then went to school and forgot all about it, I cant believe this post blew up the way it did, and I am very thankful for everyone who commented and especially for giving gold 👍 | “You’re fired.”
The words burned my ears as they turned red with embarrassment. Of course I didn’t need this job, but it really hits you right in the pride to be fired from a stupid office position. And for something as trivial as “taking too much time for lunch”, which I only did because some asshole caused a pile up right down the street last Tuesday. It was on the news and everything, but Jim, my boss, still blamed me. Apparently I should have just left my car in traffic and walked back to the office or something.
I think he’s had it out for me since the beginning. That sleazeball tried to put the moves on me my first day, but I just ignored him without trying to be overly rude. After he realized he wasn’t getting anywhere, he had been trying to find an excuse to get me out of here. The whole office was filled with women and spineless men and he wasn’t a fan of people who didn’t kiss his ass. I mostly just kept the job because it was easy.
What Jim doesn’t doesn’t know is I’ve had it out for him too. As I packed up my stuff from my desk, my phone buzzed. It was Emilio, my PI on retainer. He watched my back for the people who wanted to steal my money. Nobody knew -I- had it, but they did know about Marceline Jovovich. That’s the name I use when I wanted to purchase anything that might arouse suspicion of nice, mousy Jane McFarlin. That’s not my real name either, but it’s what everyone here knows me as. Marceline was also the face that made me the money I have today. It’s not exactly legal, what I do, but it sure it fun.
Emilio’s text read, “I found something you might want to see.” Underneath was a picture of a first draft of a news article. It wasn’t in a newspaper, just on the design layout. It read:
LOCAL MAN ACCUSED OF SEXUAL HARASSMENT ON MULTIPLE EMPLOYEES FOUND GUILTY, FINED $5000
I chuckled to myself. Bingo. We had been trying to find dirt on Jim for a while now and this seems like it was buried pretty deep. No doubt he paid more to get it covered up so his business didn’t go down the drain. I never saw it on the local news, so I guess it didn’t get any further than this draft. I don’t think Jim is the violent type, but I do wonder what happened to the person who was writing this article.
I finished packing up my stuff and walked down to my car, giving Jim the nastiest glare I could muster on the way out. The rest of my coworkers were giving me pity looks, but I just smiled and got out of there as fast as possible. When I got to my busted up VW bug, I put the box in the front seat and texted Emilio back.
“Send it.”
When I woke up the next morning, I turned on the TV to find Jim’s face plastered all over the news. Emilio had even located his victims and convinced them to talk. We could pay them more than Jim ever could. As I watched the news unfold, I decided that maybe this would be as good a time as any to take a vacation.
Karma is delicious.
| There are some things that money can’t buy . . . like manners, or morals, or integrity . . . good thing I have a fucking sweet mansion though!
When I secretly became the richest man in the world, I didn’t think my life would be so vanilla. I mean, I have everything I could ever want and more, but I can’t let anyone know that it’s mine. What’s the point of getting limited edition, carbon fiber, diamond encrusted Heelys if no one is around to see me use them!?
Before I became a billionaire, I was working a shitty little office job. Long, boring hours. Lazy co-workers. And one hard-ass boss. God, I hated that guy. Always yelling and screaming. Making me be his errand boy. Getting pissy whenever the coffee I made him wasn’t the “right temperature.”
The moment I made my fortune, I promised myself I’d never do that trivial nonsense ever again. But there I was, back in that same tiny cubicle. My management team told me it would be better if I took my old job back. No one would suspect that the guy who begged for his office gig back could secretly be able to buy a small country.
I know what you’re thinking. “You’re being ridiculous. A wonderful, rich dude like you shouldn’t need to hide his lifestyle.” Well, I’ll tell ya what. A lot of people want you dead when they realize you have money. After my first cohort of “friends” pooled their money together to put a hit on me; I learned it’s better to keep your circle small. And by the way, I paid that hitman ten times what they were going for. Whoever said actions speak louder than words have never spoken to my man Ben Franklin.
Now, let’s talk business. Word around the street is you have a dog. And that you care an awful lot about it. Am I correct? With my contacts and resources, I can make your canine companion practically immortal.
I’m no stranger to revenge myself, but I figure it would be better to consult an expert.
So, Mr. Wick, what do you think would be the best course of action to make that asshole regret the day he fired me!?
| 2019-03-04T09:05:16 | 2019-03-04T08:04:24 | 133 | 50 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | Great pregnancy foods
How to make wife happier during pregnancy
Are cats okay to be around pregnant women?
Local shelters
Price of spay/neuter in area
Best hospitals for delivery in area
Cost of child birth
Cheapest hospitals for delivery in area
Do men have to do anything during the birth
Keeping placenta?
Baby is crying and won't stop
Is it okay for a cat to sleep with a baby
When do babies start walking
Are stink bugs poisonous
Are crickets poisonous
How to stop child from eating bugs
Local dog shelters
Small dog beds
How big do shepherd mixes get
Large dog beds
List for first day of school
Parks in area
Nature walks
Poison ivy treatments
Romantic spots for valentines day
Babysitter in area
Preparing child for middle school
Should young kids have phones?
Cell phone contracts
Cheap cell phone contracts
Great projects for science fairs
Potato batteries
Why doesn't potato battery work
Potato battery not lighting up
Play-Dough battery
Play-Dough battery not working
Great projects for science fairs
Tips for The Talk
How long do cats live?
How to get your pre-teen to talk to you
Awesome hiking trips
Hiking gear
Treatment for tick bites
High school algebra tutorial
Algebra worksheet
Prom dresses
Great local colleges
Graduation gifts
Things you wish you brought to college with you
Empty nest syndrome
What to do with a spare room
Library remodel plans
| I used DuckDuckGo for mine.
"How hard is it to become an indie game dev in your spare time"
"Free C++ compiler"
"How to make a game with SDL"
"OpenGL extension wrangler"
"How to load a 3D model in OpenGL"
"OpenGL shaders"
"3D animation"
"game jam"
"early onset alzheimers"
"my computer has a virus called mingw compiler"
"can alzheimers be cured"
"google.com"
"yahoo.com" | 2015-02-04T18:24:30 | 2015-02-04T17:45:09 | 672 | 49 |
[WP] God gave humanity Earth and filled it with marvels and wonders of many kinds. This was not done as a gift, but a distraction. To distract them from exploring the stars, and to protect them from the horrors that lurked out in the dark. | We thought it strange, at first, that with every new light that twinkled in the night, with every step we took towards the stars, another oh-so-interesting novelty appeared upon Earth. For every oh-so-promising exoplanet, twenty new pockets of new life or beauty were found upon Earth.
But humanity's attention was not so easily led astray.
We put three people on Mars in 2039. They died there, and the rusty sands greedily gnawed their bones to nothing.
As if they were alive.
Every mission to Mars ended much the same; the surface seemed cursed. Nothing but machines could live there.
So we turned our curious eye to Venus. We put cities in her skies, and they held. The Red Curse hadn't followed us here. And, with time, we built machines to settle her surface.
From the first explorer, we heard only screaming. An hour after contact was lost with the surface team, something burst from beneath the acid clouds of Venus. The sky cities stopped transmitting soon after that.
Every world in Sol was the same. No human could touch the surface and return. The Red Curse became the Surface Curse. For a moment, humanity nearly lost its will to reach the stars.
Nearly.
Earth remained our only world, but we built great space stations above the worlds we could never touch. Automated drones explored them and different drones consumed them. Venus was left, but no other world went unmarred by our hunger.
Then, as was standard, a prisoner slated for death was sent to the surface of Charon. We expected his suit to suffer sudden and total failure, a creature to manifest and destroy him, contact loss... any of the horrors we had faced before. Pluto had borne the Curse, and we had no reason to suspect different of Charon.
The prisoner was tossed from the airlock by depressurization, and the exploration team waited in abject boredom for the screaming.
It didn't come.
The whole species' attention turned to the desolate moon of Charon. What could be so special about a tiny ball of ice barely worthy of the title "moon?" Nothing seemed to fit. The presence of H2O was the only correlation, and not even a relevant one.
Nobody can recall whose idea it was to drill into Charon's core. They'd be lauded as a hero.
For deep within the ice, we found an ancient starship.
---
Continue?
\>Y
\>N | The darkness had a name. A name that only the first children on Earth were taught and which was lost throughout the years. There were clues about this name, left behind by those who had anticipated that one day we would need to call upon the ancient pact made between humans and the dark again. And that this pact, if used at the right time, would allow us to live on, as if the things in the dark didn't exist. As if they didn't pose a threat to our existence.
But darkness waited. It watched while humans forgot their concern, growing so accustomed to the light that they cast aside that deep instinctive fear burned inside of our ancestors.
When man had reached its peak, a time when things like the fight for world peace and the battle for hunger no longer existed, when our only worry was waking and falling asleep, darkness decided it was time.
On the first night, all light disappeared.
During the second, darkness snuffed out the Sun.
And on the third, it sent forth its horrors -ancient creatures born from nightmares.
Man prepared for extinction. But little did they know, a small group of individuals, hardly big enough to be called a society, with a name as old as the darkness itself, was not ready to give up.
While the world readied for death, these individuals prepared for war.
And during a time that books were closed and writers were forgotten. The most important story in history took place. | 2018-01-01T20:13:08 | 2018-01-01T19:06:14 | 45 | 31 |
[WP] Evolution (of human beings) speeds up (starting with you)
Evolution takes thousands to millions of years. Due to some cause (you don't really have to explain, unless you want to) the whole process for humans was reduced to just a few days to weeks. YOU were the first one to see the changes happening to your body.
What did you gain? What did you lose? How do you think you'll end up? | >a rough first draft of what could be an opener.
I wasn’t so much as conceived as I was *engineered*. Gene therapy they called it; *playing god*. This well intended pavement slab on the road to hell, it began as a means to cure disease and make the world a better place. Once the corporations got wind of this technology, however, they wanted it.
Obviously there were protesters in their millions against it, calling for a ban against the heresy of genetic manipulation. These protests were silenced, and the technology was perfected.
From the colour of the child’s eyes, skin and hair to their final height, all aspects and genes were able to be changed. For this, entire families drove themselves to bankruptcy, selling everything they had for the extortionate service of the Gene Therapists. The world saw a population explosion and a new generation of perfect babies were born and humanity rejoiced at the prospects of their future.
And I? What did my parents select for me? Did I have high cheekbones and make girls swoon as I made my way onstage at a concert? Was I powerful and muscular, charging down a field with a football like so many of my peers were destined?
No.
I was part of a batch of 6 babies born in secret as part of the military project dubbed “Darwin.”
The aim of Darwin was to create a breed of soldier that could adapt to their environment rapidly and survive under extreme conditions that would otherwise kill a person. Growing up; our capabilities were tested to their limits, like rats in a cage.
At the age 7 of we were dropped into freezing tundra and abandoned for a week with no supplies; the first day as spent huddled together in agony as we began to freeze to death. After a night of suffering the morning found us with a layer of thick white hair covering our bodies and we found the temperature to be more tolerable. Hungry and tired we searched for food and by the 3rd day had broken through ice and began to dive for fish. When the helicopters returned to collect us, they found a group of white furred mammals devouring live fish in burrows dug into the snow.
The success of this experiment spurred the researched on, pushing us into whatever scenario they could dream of. Their challenge was then to find an environment that *could* kill one of us, and found our limit. It took 4 years of experimentation before they succeeded.
| I've never been a social person, but somehow I always believed that that aspect of me would change over time. But now, I'm sure. I'm definitively fucked. I would have never have believed that some other aspects would change, so... drasticly.
At first, my changes were a blessing. You see, evolution is actually a really funny but treacherous ordeal. You develop traits that are beneficial to the situation you are in.
For example, I've always liked to run. I ran almost every day to be precise. And because of that my entire body started to grow stronger rapidly. I could run forever. But over time my legs, my arms... even my face just somehow changed. To be honest, I somehow started to look more like a ferrari as time went on. My nose changed for the worst, it was completely aerodynamic... and ugly at that.
With my already low self-esteem I came up with the brilliant plan to just stop running and be lazy instead. My body would de-evolute and everything went back to basic. But after lying in bed for 2 days my body simply adepted to lying in bed. I don't know how else to explain it. I have the absolute perfect body and anatomy to lie in bed. It's the most comferting and energysufficient way to live. Now all I do is reddit.
| 2014-01-20T08:19:02 | 2014-01-20T08:08:18 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold. | People used to dream. Adventures and nightmares, jumbled scenes and impossible events. I remember dreaming about just talking to my friend - he's been gone a long time, but I cherish that dream. Crazy, right? People used to study dreams - when they would happen, why some people could remember dreams and others could not, why they existed at all. They don't do that anymore. Maybe they shouldn't have stopped. A couple scientists were getting close to the answer, but then the ol' nap in a gelcap came out, and they didn't have any more dreams to study. Funny how a drug perfect for people who stay up all night lost them their jobs. Ironic.
My friend told me a story once, about dreams. He said that long, long ago, back when gods and monsters wandered the earth, back before history got written down, that a great a terrible demon tormented mankind. All of the universe, really. The animals and the plants and the humans were terrified, but nobody could trap the horrible thing. Finally, humanity stepped up. They volunteered. They trapped the demon in a dream, and they each took that dream. When someone had a nightmare, it's because they were the one dreaming the demon's cage that night. All of humanity took that burden, and each generation strengthened that cage. That demon tainted minds and warped souls, but humanity pushed on. Died early. Fought wars. Stepped off bridges. Cracks in the cage, but every human on earth stepped up and filled the gaps. The perfect jail, inescapable.
Of course, nobody sleeps, now. Nobody dreams. Life goes on, work gets done, but nobody holds up their end of the bargain anymore. It took a long time - research, money, technology, oh the technology! Thousands of years before we had plastic! Ten thousand years before certain chemicals even existed! Lifetimes of following dreams. Heh. It's funny, that word. Dream. People say, "Follow your dreams!" but not every dream is a *good* dream to follow. How many people woke up with a new idea that could change the world? The guy that invented the first plow saved the world lifetimes of work, paving the way for farms that delivered more food than ever before. He got the idea from a dream. Who do you think gave him the dream?
The cage wasn't always a nightmare. Dreams *were* the cage. All of them. So the inmate talked to the jailers. It happens. A little push here, a little nudge there. But now... Now, no one dreams any more.
There's a handful left, you know. The last dreamers. The last locks on the cage. It's taken a long time, but I get to see it happen. Not much longer now. When you wake up...
I get to see my friend again. | Our school has the highest drug use in our county. The drug is called Somnus. It is a pill that you swallow in the morning to mimic the effects of 8 hours of sleep. This allows you to go to class and concentrate on your studies.
The consequences are that your memory is reduced and your brain is not as efficient. This results in an increase in depression and other mood disorders. The worst part is that this drug is still very popular.
After you have taken the pill, you will feel like you have just been up for 8 hours. This makes you more tired and less able to concentrate. It also makes you think that you have a hangover. The hangover lasts for 2 to 3 days. You will feel tired and more depressed than usual. The worst part is that you have to take the pill everyday. You will not be able to sleep without it.
The Somnus is the best pill for college students. You can get the pill from a doctor or from your school. It is only available in the morning and you are not allowed to take it more than 2 days in a row. It is very difficult to get off of the drug.
After the 2 days, your memory will be back to normal. However, the depression will last longer than the 2 days.
You should have your doctor check your brain to see if it is ok. You will need to take the pill for 2 weeks before the doctor can tell if your brain is ok.
If your brain is not ok, then the Somnus will not work anymore. This means that you will not be able to sleep anymore. You will not be able to get up in the morning without it. | 2022-03-18T11:16:31 | 2022-03-18T07:24:03 | 97 | 14 |
[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. | Perched at the top of a thirty story building, legs dangling over the edge, I was gazing down at the streets below. At the ants, crawling about the streets, going about their day to day lives.
They are nothing.
A car horn blares below for a moment, as an obnoxiously large SUV cuts through a red light.
“Well hello there”, I mutter to myself. A moment later, in my mind, I’m inside his engine, gleefully eyeing all the toys at my disposal. *I could cut his brakes… no, a bit harsh. I could drain his windscreen wiper fluid? Pfft, he’d barely notice. Pop his tyres? No, he’d screw up and crash, probably kill someone.*
*He doesn’t need these though...* I unscrew the valve caps on his tyres. I disconnect the rear left power window. I unscrew the bolt on the spare tyre in the trunk, leaving it to rattle about. Cut all of the cables in the obnoxiously large subwoofer.
I snap back to my body, back to the roof. It’s not much, but it makes my endless existing mildly entertaining. The SUV drives on, none the wiser. I take a breath, scanning for my next target. There’s a woman struggling with groceries, attempting to juggle four bags and retrieve her keys. She swears profusely as I tear a hole in one of the bags and the contents pour onto the pavement. There’s a group of teenagers loitering near a fountain, flicking skateboards about. I tear the wheels off one of the boards just before the kid lands, and he tumbles to the ground. The others cackle in laughter at his failure. A policeman on a horse waits a set of lights to cross, and I sting the horse enough for it to thrash backwards, throwing him to the ground.
“You’re not supposed to be up here,” a voice calls from behind me. I continue looking downward, having scanned him already. A security guard. Someone had heard maniacal laughter on the roof, and he’d waddled his way up. Too much reliance on the elevator, too long in his seat, had left him fat. Couldn’t secure much. The short trip up the stairs from the top floor had left him panting and lightly sweating. “Hey, are you listening?” He calls again.
I shrug. Swing my legs up to my side, rolling into a slightly suggestive pose, my arm propping my head up as I lay on my side.
I stare at him. I can feel his unease.
“What are you doing on the edge?” There’s about three metres, and a mesh fence, between us. He has his hand on a radio on his belt.
I continue staring. He starts sweating harder.
“Do… do you speak english?” He calls. Increasingly unsure of himself. I roll my eyes visibly, becoming increasingly bored with this distraction.
I spring to my feet, balancing perfectly on the edge of the roof. A gust of wind rolls through, and I feign a loss of balance, wobbling over the edge, appearing to recover at the last second. The fat man nearly has a heart attack.
“Come on, get down and come inside, otherwise I’ll call the police.”
I’m bored with this now.
“No need,” I shout, as I spread my arms wide and let myself fall backwards. He screams and leaps forward, as I disappear into a cloud of dust. He’s left staring, dumbfounded, on the roof, as I reappear in the lobby, take his wallet from the security booth, and stroll out the front door. | As I walked along with Thomas we talked not with words, but with thoughts. Thomas can read minds and communicate with thoughts. I would guess he's in his mid thirties.
He's been my mentor for almost a year now, soon it'll be my 19th birthday and it'll be assessed whether I'll be officially classified as a superhero.
*Let's grab a bite to eat* , he projects to me, as we turn into a fast food restaurant.
We join the long queue. Suddenly a young man dressed in black storms through and walks straight towards the counter.
*He's queue cutting, I'm going to challenge him!* I think.
*Don't. We don't do small things, remember?* I hear a stern reply.
*Due to the risk of our identities being exposed. I've been to the school. I'm a shape shifter* I reply.
*That's not the real reason* I hear a thought.
Suddenly I find myself floating in the middle of space. I can see thousands of stars. I've been here before, once. This isn't real.
*Deviant* says Thomas, showing an image of a young man. To start with the appearance was that of the queue cutter, but then his face and appearance kept changing.
A shape shifter villain, perhaps destined to be my archnemises.
*No. You must never challenge Deviant*
Suddenly the scene sifted to two men in a desert, thousands of years ago. One Immortalis the immortal, the other Deviant.
*An Immortal?*
Suddenly Immortalis spoke and the view point shifted to him looking at Deviant, first person. This was a memory Immortalis had shared with Thomas.
"We have fought for many years and there have been casualties on both sides of various hero's and villians. I wish to put an end to this war. I wish to negotiate... My surrender" said Immortalis.
"Finally." Deviant smirked.
"You know, I never wanted to cause real trouble. Just little bits here and there. Being immortal is no fun if I don't get what I want. You started this war. My terms are simple. No-one will ever challenge me again and in return, my misdemeanours will only be minor things you won't really care about" he smiled. The two men shook hands.
*The Great war, I'd only heard stories. The origins of the Nemises agreement and no kill agreement... How powerful is he?*
"Unspeakable" said the voice.
Suddenly we were back in the queue. Only a second had passed.
The young man, Deviant, walked past me with his drink and meal bag. I turned my head away in fear. | 2017-05-16T06:12:44 | 2017-05-16T03:26:29 | 1,586 | 378 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.