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[WP] The aliens who made first contact with us are a hivemind... or at least, they're doing their best to be one. It's a recent development, and they aren't doing too well with it. | "Oh dear stars above," Colonel Glinlan moaned.
"Colonel!" the General snapped.
"I'm sorry, Sir" Colonel Glinlan resumed his stiff salute, though he found himself broken into sudden sweats. "I think I just connected to someone having an orgasm, Sir."
The General covered his face with all four of his hands. "At ease."
"I'm sorry, Sir," Glinlan began.
"Just get it together, Colonel. We're about to make... *the call*."
A cadet sitting before a panel with a million flashing lights said: "All comms--"
"Are up and running," the General finished just as the cadet did. "See, Colonel, is that so hard?"
"I'm not anymore, Sir, I disconnected from that."
"Stars above," the General groaned. "Colonel, do you understand that if everything goes wrong, the hivemind is our only chance at survival. The reason those Earthlings have never made contact with another world is because they've spent most of their history and ingenuity annihilating one another, and don't doubt for one second that they won't train all those nuclear warheads straight at us."
"Sir," the cadet butted in, "We have protestors on the homeworld who have tapped into your brainwaves; they're not happy about going to war with Earth."
"*We're not going to war!*" the General shouted, and he made sure that every single one of his race-- all fifteen billion of them-- heard. "All we're doing is making the call. Trying to create a peaceful alliance. It won't be long before these apes evolve and start exploring the boundaries of space; best they don't stumble upon us. Did you see what they did to their own planet? Imagine what they'd do to *us*." The General continued: "*Should* they try to attack us, we will act as one body, nimbly dodging each warhead while simultaneously avoiding the other thousand ships we have docked just outside their atmosphere."
The cadet walked directly to the General and saluted: "Transmission ready."
The General walked to his command seat with a confidence that betrayed his nervousness. Regardless of the intensity, a good General was always a confident leader, one to inspire his troops.
"Sheesh, General," Colonel Glinlan said, "lighten up. You're making us all nervous."
"Dammit," the General cursed through gritted teeth. "Begin transmission." Suddenly the cabin around the General darkened and spotlights illuminated him. Camera drones floated before him, broadcasting him to every television on Earth. "Transmission One: This is General Tiltan, leader of the people of the United Confederation of Democratic Republic Federal Planets of dimension C-137. We mean no harm and are no threat. We mean only to acknowledge Earth as--" the General stopped mid-sentence. His soldiers sucked in a collective gasp of apprehensive shock. "Oh my," he said. "I-- Is that what a female orgasm feels like?"
"Right?" Colonel Glinlan shouted his approval.
"Sir!" The cadet interrupted, "Nuclear launch codes triggered!"
"Evasive action!" Colonel Glinlan cried.
Down on Earth, a child watched a fantastic meteor shower light up the sky, turning it all a million different colors, so bright it almost seemed like daytime.
And somewhere in Cuba Fidel Castro rolled over in his grave.
| The ship resembled a giant black cube, but there was something off about it. The starboard side was larger than the others, and gave it a strange off-kilter prism effect. It was as if two teams had been working on it at once, but hadn't told each other how big they were going to make it. At approximately 1.25 kilometers wide, it was pretty damn impressive, but no where near the 3 kilometer Zulu-class dreadnoughts the Unified Humanity Corps had escorting it. It entered Earth space 14 hours ago, but the pilot has apparently been arguing with themselves on where to land for the past 12. First it chose New Paris, then Sydney, before finally choosing to hover 400 meters above the Old America White House. A traditionalist, it would seem.
As the UHC council began hailing the ship, it was met with the voices of what could only have been millions of beings screaming at once, blaring from the ship itself. The cacophony continued for a few more seconds, before all the voices converged into a single harmonized one. As this happened, each side of the lopsided ship began to display the face of a humanoid. It was a strangely familiar creature, resembling something from old-age television show. One of its two eyes was covered by a metal, crimson lens. It appeared to be in distress, with what could only assume to be sweat dripping down its pale white face, with an expression that made it seem like it was arguing with itself. "This is not what we agreed to." the alien said, pleading with a distressed tone. Promptly, it's face lost all emotion, and the distress melted away. Obviously this newest assimilation was much more resistant towards the UHC, that must be dealt with.
Inside the UHC council chamber, a single mass of flesh and machinery occupied the large room. While it had once been many people, that had proved to be too problematic. Too many different ideas and opinions, it had assimilated each of them for the greater purpose. It observed the screen with the same judgement that it gave the last several failures. Individuality was suffering, and these failures will not be tolerated. They could not be tolerated. After thousands of years of war, humanity had achieved greatness, it had achieved unity.
The rest of the universe still has some catching up to do.
*this is my first try, criticism is very welcome*
Edit: grammar errors | 2016-11-26T21:36:53 | 2016-11-26T20:24:31 | 41 | 11 |
[WP]You wish to a genie that all of humanity would gain super powers. The genie tells you this wish was granted 5000 years ago. | *Phil looks at the genie, slightly confused.*
Phil: 5000 years ago? What do you mean?
*The genie, swelling up to nearly fill the entire room, speaks in a voice that threatens to tear the heavens apart. His name, or at least the name he chose to give, was Gerald.*
Gerald: **KNOW THIS, PUNY MORTAL. IT WAS I THAT BESTOWED THE KNOWLEDGE OF AGRICULTURE UPON HUMANITY! I WAS THE ONE THAT BESTOWED UPON ALL OF YOU THE POWER TO GROW AND STORE FOOD FOR PROLONGED PERIODS OF TIME, WITHOUT WHICH, NONE OF YOUR CIVILIZATIONS WOULD HAVE- wait, what are you doing?**
*Phil had walked over to the other side of the room, pulling out a dictionary. He searches for a a little while, and finds what he is looking for.*
Phil: Superpower. Noun. Power greater in scope or magnitude than that which is considered natural or has previously existed.
*Phil tosses the dictionary on his bed.*
Phil: Ok, fine, that counts, I guess. Since agriculture didn't exist before. But, I mean, c'mon, that's pretty lame.
*Gerald literally turns a dark shade of red, as the room grows dark.*
Gerald: **YOU DARE CALL THE GREAT AND ALL POWERFUL GERALD LAM-**
Phil: So, what did you do? Did you just give a guy a shovel and some seeds and tell him, 'Stick this in the ground, and come back in a few months?'.
*Gerald folded his arms underneath his shoulders like a petulant child.*
Gerald: **NO.**
*A brief pause.*
Gerald: **I also told him to water it every now and then.**
Phil: You know, come to think of it, other than you changing your size, I haven't seen you do anything supernatural. Can you actually do anything that's impressive?
Gerald: **YES.**
*Another brief pause. Gerald slowly pulls out a pack of cards from his pocket.*
Gerald: **Pick a card.**
Phil: Are you fucking serious?
Gerald: **Yes, I'm serious. Pick a card.**
*Phil reluctantly takes a card, while Gerald tries to inconspicuously flip over the bottom card of the deck.*
Phil: C'mon, man, I can see you... my kid sister can do this trick better than you.
*Gerald, literally turning blue, returns the cards to his pocket.*
Phil: So, you can't actually grant us all superpowers.
Gerald: **Could you ask something a little easier?**
*Phil sighs in exasperation.*
Phil: Fine. Can you get me a hamburger from In'N'Out?
Gerald: What kind?
Phil: Animal style.
*Gerald, begins to nod, but hesitates. Phil cuts him off before he speaks, knowing what he'll ask for.*
Phil: Yeah, you can borrow my car, but can you at least pay for the burger itself?
*Gerald smiles, with a devious look in his face.*
G: **IF YOU WISH, MASTER. IF. YOU. WISH.**
*A few hours later, Gerald returned from In'N'Out, but he did not get any fries or a drink for Phil. And that's why you always need to be careful what you wish for.*
| "What do you mean you already granted that wish?" I spat in disbelief. "We certainly don't seem like we have super powers!"
"5000 years in a lamp and you humans didn't get much smarter, did you?" the genie spat right back. "Don't you people have history classes now?"
"Well, yeah, but that's totally irrelevant!" My excitement was fast fading to frustration as I realized that the TV shows and movies were right about these things; they're kind of assholes.
"Nuh-uh, not so fast kiddo. Allow me to paint a mental image for you. The year is 3015 BC. Your grandad 60 times removed is roaming around the dry hell-hole you people call the Middle East now with a spear and a knife. He's getting real sick of running around in the sun all day and wishes to the high heavens that you people had super powers. Enter *moi*."
After a pause, I retorted "I don't see where this is going."
Without missing a beat, the genie yelled "Haven't you been paying attention you pea-brain!? The Babylonians, the Persians, the Greeks, the Romans, the Ottomans, the British, the French, the Spanish, the Germans, the Russians, **YOU AMERICANS!**"
"...That was all you?"
"**Of course it was all me!!!** Without me, you people would still be using sticks and stones wondering if the bigger bunch just over the hill was gonna kill you in your sleep! I made this world what it is today! And you gotta admit, not too shabby, huh?"
"I, uh... I need to sit down." My whole life, **humanity's** whole life now felt like a lie. "The schools beat it into our heads, that history is about learning from our mistakes. You mean to tell me that-"
"You didn't do any learning. Think about it, how different are you from the people I last spoke with? I bet if you didn't have a full stomach every day and that fancy doodad you people call *iPhone* in your pocket, you'd be trying to kill the next guy you saw."
"Huh," was all I could manage to form at that moment. I felt very sad about the whole thing, but it also felt as if I had been enlightened.
"Alright, I don't got all century. What's your *real* wish?" | 2015-03-18T21:13:42 | 2015-03-18T18:10:53 | 268 | 53 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much. | Our first video chat was great. We both met over the internet and after some short texting we decided to have a video chat. In that chat we found out that we don't really like our spirit animal. She wanted to know why I hate mine and I was willing to give her my answer:
"I really hate my spirit animal. Everyone of my friends might be jealous of it but they probably wouldn't be after their girlfriends broke up with them because of some made up animal. Even the few guys I dated broke up with me because of that fucking oversized water snake on my back.
Funnily enough, well not that funny to be exact, my partners had always similar reasons to break it off. It was either that they feared that I'd turn aggressive and dangerous like a Leviathan or that they wanted me to be the dominant person in our relationship in every aspect. But that's not me. I'm not someone who demands a manager because my card is declined, who berates waiters in a restaurant or who gets mad because of no apparent reason. Not anymore at least. I'm the kind of guy who's sad for days because he accidentally killed a snake while mowing the lawn. I really have to thank my parents and their parenting because they taught me that it's okay to be an aggressive person as long as no one has to suffer because of it. My mother, who really is the dove you'd expect her to be, told me she really had to suffer when I was a toddler because she always feared I'd be always that aggressive and could hurt her badly whenever she tried to calm me down. Once I puberty hit me, my father and I had many fights because of how bad my outbursts got. Our last fight was definitely the worst. In his attempts to save his wife my father punched me unconscious. After that fight and my stay in the hospital I realized that I'd never want to be like that in the future. Now whenever I'm aggressive I just start boxing against my punching bag or swear like the child of a sailor and a drill sergeant.
Also the only ability I got from the so called "monster of the seas" is that I'm extremely fast at swimming and can also breath underwater. Well at least as long as the pressure isn't too big. So yeah not that greatest of abilities.
Anyway, why do you hate your spirit animal?"
After taking a sip, Rebecca answered something I'd never have expected:
"A ladybug as your tat sounds great right? Well it isn't. The only thing I got from that moronic bug are freckles on my back. That's it. Nothing else. Just. Fucking. Freckles."
---
Edit: deleted two clone paragraphs | Some call it a gift from the Spirit of the Earth or God or whoever is out there. This animal shaped stain on everyone's skin one of which can grant the attributes and behavior of whatever it resembled. My father has the mark of a Wild boar on his back he is stubborn, strong and smart. My Mother has a hawk on her shoulder she can see through anyone and see what kind of people they really are. I thought I was a worm. small, slimy and dirty. Boy was I wrong.
I was always getting teased by kids my age and this has left me bitter and hateful towards people. I was called Slimy Jim the worm guy. I grew to hate despise the system of this world the Predators and the Prey. Those with strong animal marks would always abuse those that are powerless to stop them.
As I was growing up my only friend was a girl called Shelly. Ironically enough she had the mark of a creature called a Nautilus Squid she was reserved and just like me made fun off. We both hated the system but we where powerless to stop them. I was a worm she was a squid what can we do against the Lions, Tigers and Bears of the world.
As the years passed Me and Shelly noticed a change. As our physical bodies grew so did our birthmarks. The worm I originally thought I had was no worm at all. It was a fierce winged serpent and Shelly has a hunched Humanoid with a squid head. We were no worm and squid. We are Leviathan and Cthulhu and we will bring everything down.
| 2017-11-08T05:45:33 | 2017-11-08T05:42:07 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Many years ago, an alien invasion nearly wiped out Humanity. Now, the galactic government is desperately trying to reason with a vengeful Humanity by saying that it was a rogue mining company that attacked without their approval or knowledge. | “I have been asked to speak here today on behalf of my people. 23 years ago we lost 2/3 of our population to a violent attack from a race we now know as the Rellions. They stripped metals from homes, schools, and from bodies.” Admiral Jessica Chang paused and looked around the assembly hall. Beings of different shapes, sizes, and colors listened to their translators and stared at her. She couldn’t read the room, too alien. “22 years with no word from this council, no offers of aid, and no explanations. Only after we reverse engineered the Rellion ships we stopped and destroyed an observation fleet did you open a dialogue with us. You said no one was to blame, it was a misunderstanding. I am here to accept consent for the destruction of the guilty party or the surrender of this assembly.” Admiral Chang looked at her chronometer as what she assumed was laughter filled the room. Her chronometer beeped. “A tungsten rod launched days ago just destroyed a patch of forest on the other side of this planet. While your people,” she paused as alert screens started flashing in each member’s booth, “are more advanced than my people in many ways, we realized fighting off the Rellions that you don’t seem aware of basic kinetic force. You have shields for energy weapons, and rays to stop space particles during flight, but you don’t have a means of stopping directed matter.”
The translator box next to Chang started speaking in a ver robotic voice “You can’t threaten us into compliance human”. The speaker was the head of the assembly. Their light green skin was developing dark spots. “We can destroy your planet by the end of this day!” Watching his hand hit the desk before the translated speech started was almost comical.
“We know that. In fact we planned on it. That’s why we launched our weapons before this meeting began. If you destroy us, your planets die anyway. If you give us the guilty party, we can stop the weapons.” He watch beeped. “The northern salt plains of this world are now a crater.” She swept the room with her gaze. Many members looked towards the same booth as her speech translated. The Rellion ambassador stood and started to leave. He dropped dead as the bullet Chang fired struck him. “Kinetic energy.” She said as she held up her gun. You didn’t take my weapon because you didn’t register it as a weapon. What is the official word of this body?” She laid the gun down and smiled as pure chaos broke out. | *we saw as our family’s, friends, love ones was massacred right infront of our eyes. Everything we loved and build destroyed. No lies nor deception was going to keep us from getting revenge. We slammed our fist down and screamed at them.*
*”STOP LYING, WE LOST EVERYTHING ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING AND YOU EXPECT US TO BELIEVE THAT?!”*
*the aliens spoke in a language we couldn’t understand, luckily we had translators we developed after stealing, analyzing and harvesting the alien exotic technology. When we used them to decode their words we found.*
~~*”we originally ordered them to take the location of the planet: mars. We never ordered them for your planet. We also follow the rule of never taking a planet with life.”*~~
*we still didn’t believe them, the more they spoke the more angry we’ve became and honestly we was about to return the favor and kill each of them, but war would just end us because they outnumber us and have better technology.*
*”YOU DIDN’T MONITOR THEM!? TRACK THEM!? DID ANYTHING TO STOP THEM!? YOU JUST LET THEM, WHEN DID YOU DISCOVER THEM KILLING US ALL!”*
*one shouted with a fiery tone.*
~~*”we’ve discovered them a few days ago.”*~~
*a few days was ironically when they first landed on earth, meaning they was aware yet did nothing….we when silent.*
*”men open fire.”*
*and those words started the great race war.* | 2022-12-17T19:21:23 | 2022-12-17T12:26:17 | 223 | 91 |
[WP] Sometime in the future, everything that can kill a human as of today has been cured, yet people still die. What kills them? | We cured cancer. We cured AIDS. Ebola is only a memory. Heart attacks, diabetes, everything. There was celebration. We were heroes. The world gathered in stadiums and concert halls in every city in the world, to watch a special broadcast celebrating our achievement. We offered free food, free beer, free transportation to the event. Our trucks combed every city, gathering every human being up for this celebration. Expensive? Sure. But worth it.
"Ladies and Gentlemen," the broadcast began, "Today we gather to celebrate the eradication of every danger to humanity the world has ever known." Cheers echoed, booming across the world.
"At least that's what they told you."
The sound of locking doors was barely audible over the rabble of humanity, still cheering.
"The truth is, we've eliminated all but one source of suffering and death. Today, we eliminate this last and greatest threat to humanity."
A montage began to play on the screen. Soldiers marching. Death camps from World War II. A mushroom cloud over hiroshima.
It was about this time that the first, more observant humans began to notice the strange, metallic smell in the air.
"There is only one cure," the voice boomed over the video of human-generated death, "only one way to ensure that humankind is safe...forever."
In the laboratory next door, we toasted our achievement with cyanide-laced wine. Our work was finally complete. | We don't really die, you see.
That all ended long ago.
But we've long since stopped living too.
Days pass unnoticed,
Unmarked.
Eventually we just
Stop.
The heart keeps beating,
Blood keeps pumping through the veins.
But we just lie in our beds.
Staring at the ceiling.
Looking for patterns that aren't there.
| 2014-12-27T13:01:21 | 2014-12-27T12:19:57 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] A few selected minds are gifted with a dream about the "Library of all Books". In only one night, they experience a full year of reading and learning. You are one of them, but instead of once in a lifetime, you wake up in this f*cking library every single night. Today is your 9th birthday. | At age 1, you could already read and speak, and paralleled even professors. In your mind, you are 365. In your body, you are 1.
At age 2, you are known throughout the world as the prodigal child who visits the library every night. In your mind, you are 730. In your body, you are 2.
At age 3, after multiple attempts at kidnap, you kill a man with a masterfully crafted booby trap. The government takes interest after your controversial court case. In your mind, you are 1095. In your body, you are 3.
The government has owned you for nearly 6 years now. You give them all the information they could ever ask of you. And, in exchange, they do your bidding to some extent. Today is your body's ninth birthday. You gifted the government with knowledge of a brain transplant years ago, and now, it has been agreed that, given your newly acquired knowledges of biological manipulation, you can overcome the issue of of putting a juvenile brain in the body of an adult.
The procedure takes 5 days. Had you been the one doing it, perhaps it would have taken less time. A death row inmate with an exceptionally healthy body had been chosen. For the first time ever, you don't visit the library. You are greeted with the same image your eyes bid farewell to. In your mind, you are 3285. In your body, you are somewhere between 25 and 26. You feel whole.
"We want you to continue your studies on hyperphysics and advanced quantum linguistics." The government men say that night. You close your eyes.
You awake in the lib-... in your bedroom. No... no this can't be! You try to fall asleep again. You awake from a brief nap 30 minutes later.
You will never visit the library again. Instead, you spend the remaining 70 years of your life recording all you can remember from your countless years in the library, but you can tell that the government is disappointed in you. It doesn't amtter much though.
You are buried under the eyes of the world, all wet as their trove of knowledge is lowered into the earth. Your body had reched the age of 95. Your mind, 3355. | The smell of books is a great way to awaken.
The musty smell of the paper around you, holding the knowledge of the universe, bound within their leather wrapped covers proudly displaying their name in gilded letters.
A magnificent sight, one that greets even the greatest minds but once in their lifetime. A gateway into a real-life library of babel, but sorted better.
I was 9 today. Although my mind had 730 years of knowledge.
Every day since I turned seven I had been brought to this library. The problem is that even though the world sees me sleeping during this time, I am not. I am so tired, always so tired. The little sleep I can get before I am here is the only sleep I have.
Today was going to be different.
I am going to sleep.
Reaching into my back pocket and pulling out the lighter I had snuck from my parents, lit it, and tossed into the books.
As the knowledge of creation succumbed to the flames, I sighed a weary sigh, a sigh burdened by the knowledge of things that nobody should have to know. A sigh of someone who had lived many lives in the now crimson halls.
The halls faded to a charry darkness, as I left for the final time. | 2017-05-02T09:44:45 | 2017-05-02T09:01:28 | 34 | 11 |
[WP] A seemingly bottomless pit was found, for which the depth can't be determined. Over time, scores of people began using it to illegally dump trash. Many have jumped in to die, while others jumped believing that they'll find life's answers within it. Today, we learn the truth about the hole. | The Hole was discovered in the Arizona wilderness in the fall of 2067, and the news outlets had an absolute field day. A sinkhole, roughly 100 yards across, deep enough that you couldn’t see the bottom of it. I thought it was just another natural disaster.
My husband, Dalton, was a sucker for a good natural disaster, though, and would read me the latest updates over our morning coffee, straight from the morning news reports as they came through on our holos.
“Listen to this, Lydia. The sinkhole has a perfectly smooth edge, as far down as they can see. Nobody can climb down into it to investigate. What kind of sinkhole does that?”
“It would take some serious guts to even want to investigate it anyway,” I’d laugh in reply.
“This report says they sent a drone into it, and lost contact with the drone,” he told me a few days later.
“Weird.”
“Local law enforcement caught someone dumping trash in the sinkhole. Unbelievable.”
You would have thought, over the course of a year, that people would forget about the hole. That it would turn into one of those things that had captured national attention for a few days and then fizzled out. Instead, it became a tourist destination. People came from all over the globe to see the Hole With No Bottom. Suicides happened there. An entire cult formed around it, worshipping the Hole for six months until all the cult members threw themselves into it. A special department of the national government was created, to investigate and own the Hole, and issue permits for people who wanted to explore or utilize the Hole for their own purposes.
“We should stop by the Hole on our next vacation,” Dalton decided.
I agreed. After all, it was intriguing, even if it was just a Hole. It was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.
Dalton wanted to see the smooth inner edge. He had jumped the guardrail, and was leaning over the edge when the ranger saw him and yelled for him to get back. Startled, Dalton lost his footing and fell into the hole.
Nobody had any interest in helping me rescue him. The local authorities felt that he should have paid attention to the warning signs, the National Guard wasn’t going to risk their officers down a hole nothing had ever returned from. He should have known better, they told me.
I was furious.
And so I started to plan, obsessively reading everything I could about what we knew about the Hole. I began researching geology- how far could a hole physically go into the earth? What government agencies could give me permission, or barring that, need to be avoided for a trip into the Hole?
Six months passed, and I had a handmade but well-built harness and crane system, that would lower me up to 10 miles into the hole and pull me back up when I pressed the button. My plan was to sneak to the Hole overnight, when fewer people would be around to stop me.
A knock on my door rang out through my messy house. I opened the door to find an elderly man on my porch.
“Lydia,” he said, as though I was his lifeline, eyes tearing up.
“Can I help you?” I asked, confused.
“I’m sure you don’t recognize me. It’s alright. It’s been a very long time.” he smiled. “It’s me, Dalton.”
I laughed aloud. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not joking.” The old man pulled a misshapen, worn gold band off his left hand and held it out to me. After staring at it for a minute, I noticed the engraving on the inside- our wedding date.
“Oh.” It was all I could manage to say, so many questions forming in my head I couldn’t even speak.
“Can I come in?” He asked after a long minute of silence.
“Only if you explain everything,” I managed to say.
He shuffled slowly inside, sitting down gingerly in the chair he always loved. “It’s like nothing’s changed. Well. A little more disorganized.” He winked.
“Shut up. I’ve been planning your rescue. I don’t have time to clean,” I snapped, then felt guilty. “Sorry. I’m just... please, explain what happened,” I begged.
Dalton nodded. “It’s... sort of a wormhole.”
“A wormhole.”
“Yes, that’s what we’ve been calling it, although it’s not entirely accurate. When I fell in, well, I don’t remember what happened too clearly, but I woke up in the year 2010, in France. Near the Large Hadron Collider.”
I nodded.
“Apparently, an experiment they ran opened these wormholes. We’re not sure how many, or where they all are, or even when they all are. One of our researchers jumped in, and archaeologists dug up one of his letters from prehistoric times in a cave in Malta.”
“That’s insane,” I told him.
“It’s true though. I’ll show you the letters sometime.”
“So how did you find out there were more?” I asked.
“People dump things in the holes. Trash. Coins, like a wishing well. The dates on the coins tell us when they came from.” He pulled a golden coin out of his pocket and handed it to me.
I looked it over. “9047!”
He smiled. “I knew you’d enjoy that. Anyway, CERN is working to get them closed, but nobody knows how. Right now, they’re just trying to get the message out to stop throwing things in these holes. Some of the things people are putting in them is dangerous. We think there was an incident in the 3000s involving guns. Besides, they don’t think they can close while things are traveling through them.”
I nodded, a sinking feeling in my stomach. “Then, um, there’s an article you might want to read.”
“What is it?” Dalton asked.
I pulled out my holo, located the article, and handed it to him.
“UNITED STATES PLEDGES TO DESTROY NUCLEAR ARSENAL.” The headline read.
“They’re going to dump them in the Hole, aren’t they?” Dalton asked.
I nodded.
“This... could be the end of the world.”
| On the first day of summer, two thousand and eighteen years after the estimated birthdate of a Jewish carpenter whom a Roman emperor named Constantine called the Son of God, a hole was found in Greenland.
It was almost perfectly circular and as wide as a city block, with smooth vertical walls cutting down into the ice and further, and at the end only darkness. The scientists came first, with their probes and instruments; they lowered them into the hole, people and sensors and flying robots insulated with high-tech foams. They found nothing. That's not true--they found smooth, vertical walls, cutting deep beneath the ice, and they found darkness. For weeks they tested, debated, analyzed, debated, published, and debated some more. On the last day of summer, two thousand and eighteen years after the beginning of a moderately-accurate calendar developed by uneducated monks in early feudal Europe, the scientists ran out of money, so they left.
On the first day of autumn, the superstitious began to appear. Some brought crosses representing an ancient Roman torture device, others brought rugs which they oriented in the direction of a large stone cube in Saudi Arabia, and still others brought hats made of aluminum foil to protect their brains. Some brought nothing; some stripped naked, sat on the edge attempting to reach a new mental state, and subsequently got hypothermia. Some threw themselves into the hole. No one knew what they found down there, aside from perfectly smooth, vertical walls cutting down through solid bedrock, and darkness.
On the first day of winter, two thousand and eighteen years after the wife of a different Jewish carpenter claimed to still be a virgin while pregnant, the army arrived. They kicked out the superstitious, and all but a few scientists. They covered the hole with a giant steel dome with just one door, shining lights all around the perimeter. No one, from the young men with wet socks to the older men with star-shaped pins on their pockets, knew what they were looking for. Whatever it was, they wouldn't find it, unless it was smooth, vertical walls cutting down past the bedrock, and below that darkness.
Seasons passed, people died, and some other, probably not much better people were born. In Greenland, the army grew bored in the customary fashion and began to go home, one or two people at a time so the hole wouldn't think it was because they were scared. The superstitious continued praying and blogging, and the rich superstitious people asked the poor superstitious people for more money. The scientists published twice as many papers with five times as many words and ten times as many wrong words. The hole stayed where it was, a perfect circle cut into the rock and ice, bottomless, filled with nothing but darkness.
Then, on the first day of summer, two thousand and twenty years after the first anniversary of a worldwide bank holiday marked by increased buying rates, repetitive music, and religious guilt, the corporations showed up. They paid what was left of the army a lot of money to take away their steel dome, and then they began to pour tons of garbage into the hole. First they poured in ten thousand tons of spoiled food, packing paper, and colorful everlasting plastic down past the smooth vertical walls stretching away into the void. Then they poured in a hundred thousand tons of crushed cars, spent ore, and petroleum residue, making it all disappear forever into the circle of oblivion. Then they poured in a million tons of toxic chemicals, uranium and chlorofluorocarbons and heavy metals and polluted water. Gone forever, relegated to the unfathomable maw of the bottomless hole.
And then they heard it.
On the one million, one hundred and eleven thousandth ton of putrid trash dumped into the hole, someone heard the pieces hit the bottom.
The corporations called the army, and the army called the scientists, and the scientists confirmed that the corporations had done with their million tons of trash what they with their billion dollars of equipment could not: they had found the bottom of the hole. The hole, almost perfectly circular, with smooth vertical walls stretching down through the ice and rock, exactly nineteen hundred and forty-three meters into a swamp of human waste.
The scientists took some measuremets, amended their papers, and left. The army left too, slowly, in the customary fashion. The corporations left too, after dumping another million tons of dreck into the hole just to be sure. The superstitious tore their hair out as more money changed hands. They proclaimed it through screens and adio waves and high-frequency satellite relays: today, two thousand and twenty years after something that may have happened to influence another thing that was probably influenced by something different and at an entirely different time, the hole was filled, and something died in the soul of every person on the planet. And time continued to pass.
Then, on the first day of summer, three years after a nearly-circular hole in the ice the size of a city block and a bit over a mile deep was found in Greenland, a cliffside that looked like the Buddha's face was found in Sumatra and went viral on YouTube. | 2018-01-13T09:37:59 | 2018-01-13T09:28:39 | 27 | 20 |
[WP] You’re considered the stealthiest person in your spy school because no one has ever caught you during stealth class; therefore, you are chosen to carry out a very urgent and dangerous mission alone. However, the reason no one could find you during class is because you skipped every one of them. | Part of being a good agent is knowing the difference between the truth and a lie. It’s about being able to decipher when someone is trying to pull the wool over your eyes and when they’re... not.
Friend or foe? Life or death?
But what about being able to lie? Meh, that's not as important. Yes it is! See? That was a lie. Don't be lied to, but sure as shit be able to lie.
We constantly live on the razor’s edge between life and the end of the--
“Molly?”
Oh shit, I wasn’t listening. Not to panic, look Headmistress right in the eyes and give a firm, “Yes.”
Fuck, she looks confused, must’ve not been a yes or no question. FUCK. THIS IS WHY YOU ALWAYS SAY “I’M PROCESSING."
“…K. Molly, as I was saying, so far I have not been impressed with your skills. Your coding is subpar, your fighting skills are…weak.”
Those are fighting words, but she’s right. Besides, I’ve seen Headmistress headlock students twice her size. “Use your opponent's strength against them,” she would say as they turned purple.
“But… some of the most successful agents are not the ones that you think will be successful because of their overall prowess. Some agents are successful because they are the ones that you least expect, or because they have one unique skill. Molly, you fit both of those categories. You are spectacularly average in all ways…”
—Thanks?
“Except for one. Molly, your stealth record is incredible. I have never had a student go undiscovered for this long, in the history of the academy. It’s unbelievable. And the only reason you are still here. In this academy and in this office."
Yes. I say. Unbelievable.
I’m actively trying to keep my eyebrows from raising and my breathing normal. But internally, the panic is cooking my insides. Fucking stealth class.
Is it my fault that they put it after lunch?
I think back to the first day of the semester when I spilled chocolate pudding all over my uniform. Everyone knows that being a good agent means making a good first impression, so obviously I spent the first day of class trying to clean up in the bathroom. But then it just felt rude to go in the next day, and the day after that….
They couldn’t know that I wasn’t going. So I would hide in the janitor’s closet next to the bathroom every day. Funny that no one ever caught me. To be honest, it was a terrible place to hide. I probably would have failed stealth class if I had gone.
She’s looking at me expectantly again, so I smile knowingly. Good, this feels natural.
“So you understand? What we’re asking you to do is dangerous, especially for a student. And it goes against our school’s policy to involve a student in espionage before graduation. But I’m not going to lie to you—"
Back to the lying bit. Know when you are being lied to. But that’s the problem, I can’t tell if she’s being serious or not. Does she know that I skip class? Am I about to perjure myself? Do I keep with this lie or do I confess?
And *why* can’t I concentrate? You idiot!
She’s looking at me again, say “I’m processing” or no wait, that’s a lot of syllables.
I can feel the word slipping out of my mouth, “Yes.”
FUCK.
She looks…pleased?
“Then we will meet back in the Situation Room in an hour to go over details. And Molly? Let me be the first to say it: America thanks you.”
No problemo, I say, while putting up finger guns.
Knowing when someone is lying and being able to lie are two important skills of a master spy. But I'll amend that list to include on last tiny, important thing: knowing when *and when not* to lie. Probably the most important part of it all.
FUCK.
What have I agreed to? | Red lights flickered overhead as the landing craft started its descent. The metal interior rattling as I checked my ammunition inside of my rifle, my heartbeat audible with every dull click. I shouldn't have skipped that damn lesson in basic training, but here I am on an alien world to sabotage an insurgent airstrip.
A sudden lurch throwing me against my seats restraints the red lighting completely vanishing. Several seconds passing in darkness as I forced my magazine back into the rail gun. Static suddenly obliterating the silence as the dull click of the magazine's lock passed. "*Twenty seconds get your equipment and get off of my plane.*"
The rear hatch of the cargo bay lowering my restraints, snapping open as I rushed out of the vehicle. Hot air from the thrusters and the cold mountainous terrain lashing at my clothing as I dragged my bag off of the ramp. Only a split second passing before the snow and air crackled and hissed as the spacecraft lifted off scorching the ground clean of snow.
.
The dark shadow quickly fading into the clear night sky becoming one of hundreds of small flickering lights. My knees immediately bucking underneath me as I sat down on my bag it's metal content holding its shape. I can't do this I'm not meant to be here, I'm a fake a lier and colossal cheat.
Carefully I pulled back the heavy bag's zipper exposing the interior of the four rotors gleaming in the moonlight. Several seconds passing as I opened the rest of the canvas pulling out the monstrous craft. It's four wings unfolding as I removed the covering moving with practiced efficiency.
But just because I cheat doesn't mean that my enemy won't cross that line to win and come back home alive. That's something my mentor taught me during those first few days in the academy. Quickly I pulled myself to my feet brushing off the snow from my boots and dragging the hover bike center in the clearing.
.
My gloves firmly clasped around the rip cord for the gasoline engine as I inject the primer into the starter. I know my enemy will not play fair, quickly I threw my arm back, the engine briefly sputtering before dying. So I will not play fair either, slowly I return the cord to the starter putting my knee onto the body of the craft.
The winter chill pushing through my thin jacket as I prepared priming the engine one more time and taking a deep breath. I am a liar, cheat and perhaps even a thief. That is my service. I am a spy. *Crack* the cord quickly rips backward the engine sputtering to life forcing the quad rotors into motion as I mount the craft.
Snow now visibly swirling under the rotors as I push the vehicle forward gliding down the winter slopes. Rocks, trees and underbrush rushing past as I ride along the mountain side nearly colliding with a collapsed tree. My hands forcing the joystick backwards and the propellers away from the obstruction.
.
The entire forest still as I look back through the small clearing I had traversed, the path almost imperceptibly disturbed by my unseen passage. | 2020-04-17T21:13:51 | 2020-04-17T16:09:55 | 434 | 41 |
[WP] Voldemort kills Harry Potter and declares war against the Muggles. He loses horribly, because unlike wizards - Muggles actually understand how magic works. | The first five hours in London were a slaughterhouse. The death eaters descended upon the populace with almost a fanatical frenzy, firing lethal salvos of a deadly green tint, killing without mercy. London bridge was one of the first locations in a series of coordinated attacks orchestrated to begin the start of the muggle war.
Parliament soon became centre stage to the world, as Voldemort used it as his base for broadcasting the unconditional surrender from the nation’s government leaders; testimonials later revealed that they were all under the Imperius Curse.
The immediate response by the muggles were delayed due to a general sense of hysteria and confusion. While they showed a surprising knowledge of the fundamentals of magic and it’s properties – mostly attributed to a particular fascination of it’s mythological format in media and literature – the standard response policies and procedures were initially too rigid for them to adapt properly. Armed forces combined with local police suffered heavy causalities facing off against the wizards and witches head on.
It was only after concentrated efforts by MI5 to kidnap and interrogate any identifiable muggle-born wizard, witch or their parents, that lead to a quick halt in Voldemort’s war campaign. One of the key breakthroughs was understanding a peculiar trait shared by all magic-users.
Line of sight.
It turned out that the death eaters had an irrational need to actually see their target for a spell to work, from the smallest of charms to even the Unforgiveable Curses. Muggles on the other hand, had no such requirement. Instead of facing them head on and trying to overcome them in raw firepower, military forces pivoted in strategy and started relying exclusively on their technological advantages such as drones and satellite feeds.
The muggles found, unsurprisingly, that it was rather hard for the death eaters to stop a sniper’s bullet or heat-seeking missile if they had no idea it was coming. You see, even the greatest wizard or witch would need some warning beforehand to conjure up a defensive spell. The fact that the magic community generally had a large ignorance of current modern-day muggle technology further compounded this advantage.
By the second week, most of the death eaters had been dealt with through these means. Voldemort himself proved a bit – immune – to most technological weapons. However, with no army or support, he was quickly taken care of by the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix and sent to Azkaban.
-Excerpt from The Daily Prophet
| When Harry died, the faith in Hogwarts did too. For the wizard was the strongest in the school. If he was taken down by Voldemort, then anyone could. The Headmaster, Hermoine, anyone. They would all inevitably fall to Voldemort. A steady stream of wizards defected to the side of Voldemort, but many stayed strong. To die as a hero, not live as a coward. And so Voldemort declared war. On the race that couldn't even stand up for themselves in the face of magic.
Highly trained students and professors from Hogwarts tried to stop the onslaught. But many fell, and many more were incapacitated. So the invasion went on, unstopped.
Until Voldemort reached the Muggle defence. With its army by its side, the fortress was sieged until it collapsed. But as Voldemort stormed in, ready for victory, a sudden rush of magical energy smashed into it, catching Voldemort completely off guard. And within moments the powerful creature was immobilized.
"What...what are you? How can you...cast magic?" Voldemort wheezed as the Muggles surrounded it. The leader tipped his hat as he spoke.
"You can call me Mr. Granger. Magic is teachable, you know," he smirked, as his wand delivered the finishing blow.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | 2017-07-17T17:23:34 | 2017-07-17T16:20:00 | 834 | 20 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | The Pope knelt inside the cool, grey dark of the nave. He was a man with a simple, strong faith and he felt both troubled and blessed this morning. God had come, and He had both measured and spoken.
A genuinely supernatural event.
But the act had felt both capricious and strange. God had used the medium of #1 Dad mugs. This seems neither a godly medium or act till you are confronted by The Work. Then realisation dawns. You feel awe. The power you confront is complete and total. Ultimate.
These mugs, every single one in the world, currently displayed a message "This is how good a father you truly are" and a number in some long-dead or never-existing language though this posed no imposition. The words hammered an understanding into your head and into the depths of your soul. The numbers were true and certain. This you knew.
"Job," whispered the Pope nervous. "Like Job."
He bowed his head though he did not pray and he thought on God, his power and his plans, and he thought on his sins and his number #20,000,001 and thought on the sins of his flock, every single lamb, and he worried for the world.
The Pope began to pray and his prayers were many and strange. | It was a bright Sunday morning. Peter grabbed his favorite mug, a present from his only son that carried the moniker "#1 Dad". Upon filling it with his coffee he noticed that the tag had disappeared completely. A single tear rolled down his cheek as he stared at his wife Patricia with hollow eyes | 2022-02-18T23:24:10 | 2017-06-11T10:51:39 | 78 | 14 |
[WP] After a brave night of sleeping in the "haunted" abandoned house for a bet, you wake up and look out the window to see... A grassy plain. Stretching out endlessly into the distance. As you approach the door, someone behind shouts disconcertingly at you: "Don't go out there!" | "DON'T GO OUT THERE!" the voice in the haunted house shouted at Clifford when he approached the door. It startled him, he had already come this far he had to look behind him so he sustained his newfound fear and turned around slowly.
Clifford fell down the floor as soon as he turned to glance a look. What he saw really terrified him.
"G-Ghost?" he stammered as he tried to wipe his eyes too many times just to look clearly. But it just stood there. A female who hovered over the floor, in white victorian dress and opacity that allowed to see through the ghost. The ghost is real.
"I'm sorry I startled you, Clifford," she said.
"Wait, did I just sleep in the actual haunted house? I thought ghosts aren't real." He began to collect rational thoughts.
"We are. We just can't communicate with people in the physical world."
"What? Who are you?"
"I'm Serena. I died 200 years ago and I'm bound to this house."
"Where are we? What did I just see past the window?"
"We are in the void, Cliff. Can I call you Cliff?"
"Yes," he said hesitantly. "What is void?" he asked.
"The place between heaven and hell. If you went there you can't return back to your world. Your soul will be lost forever. I've seen ghosts lose themselves in the void."
"Um, thanks for saving me, uh, Serena is it? So how did we end up here? Did the house actually transport itself to this place?"
"You're welcome, Cliff. This is only the spirit form of the house."
"Does this mean,— I'm a spirit too? Did I just die?"
"You're not Cliff, don't worry, you're alive and well," Serena smiled. "You're sleeping. It is still midnight. Sometimes when a human stays in a haunted house longer, the connection will pull the spirit of the house to the void. We are both here and there."
"That is,— cool. When can we expect to go back?"
"It depends, you have 3 more hours for the dawn to break in your world but in the void it will feel a lot longer."
"How long?"
"It can take 3 days or 3 weeks, I don't know."
"No, no, no. I just need to wake up, right? Concentrate, Cliff, wake up!"
"Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that Clifford. You'll have to sit this one out. You can't do much in here."
"Alright." Clifford sighed.
Clifford and Serena spent a lot of time conversing. Serena asked him about his life and about the world 200 years, Clifford asked her about her about her life. She revealed that she took her life out of depression in her early life. Clifford gave some of his wisdom to the 200 year old ghost.
"I can't wait to tell my friends all about it," he said.
Serena fell silent, "What is it?" he asked her.
She said it was nothing and hid something from him.
"Hey, why are you stuck with the house? Why didn't you ascend to heaven?"
"As long as this house stands vacated, I can't move on, Clifford. That's how it works."
"I'll work to bring the attention of buyers to this house once I'm awake and out in the world, Serena. I promise I'll find the people."
"Thank you for your kind words, Cliff but it won't work."
"Why not?"
"This will only feel like a dream. You know when humans dream they'll feel it to be absolutely real as long as they're asleep?"
"Yeah."
"That's how it will be for you. Once you're awake you won't remember much of this conversation."
"I'll remember everything, you'll see."
Time passed, the time came for Clifford to wake up. The sun had risen up and the house was pulled to the physical world.
Clifford gently opened his eyes, he smiled looking at the rays of sun light clear the mist in the house. He got up from the couch and called his friends. He told them everything he'd experienced. Everyone who've heard his story believed it.
"It's almost surrealistic," they said.
He brought the people to the house and made it possible for it to get bought in an auction, just as he promised Serena.
r/FleetingScripts | I sat down on the bed and kept looking through the window. At the greenest grass I had ever seen. Green as a lime, reen as the needles of a pine, green as all hell. It's the green you imagine when you close your eyes and think of "Green". Of what "green" is, of how it feels, of how it should feel.
"It's always greener on the other side", said the voice at the back of my head. Fuck off. And this ain't even true. Sure, it might be so in some cases, but I am NOT on the other side of it. That is my grass. My field, my world and my green. I am not on the other side. I can prove it by standing up and just going out there, being on the same side of it, being in the field. And I kept on sitting on the bed.
"You don't belong there." said the voice between my ears. Fuck off. I know I don't. But they don't know that, do they? The green doesn't know that? They can't "see" that I do not belong. I do not have it written on my face that I do not belong there. They won't know I'm from this haunted house, they won't. I'll walk over the grass and walk among them and they won't be any wiser. I stood up and went to the door. The voice was silent and I took a deep breath. They won't know I'm a ghost of a man. I walk the same steps they do. I smile the same as they do. I am as they are. I pushed down on the handle and nothing happened. The door did not have a lock on it, but it still wouldn't open. I pushed on the handle again. Nothing.
"You useless shit..." the voice said with a self absorbed grin: "You can't go out there and you damn well know it. You can't spend nights in a hounted house and then imagine you can just leave. You are the haunted house now. You belong to it. You smell of it. If you were to go out among them, you'll be a hounted house yourself, a wreck of a man with ghosts in the attic and dead bodies in the basement. You do not walk the same as they do, as your steps are doomed and full of lead. You don't smile the same as they do, as you always hide the grim truth behind every smile. And they know it. They feel it." Fuck off.
For no reason than persistance I kept on pushing on the handle. It was not an escape, but an act of rebelion. I don't care. I could go outside. I could be a man among men. I could be with them. And I don't have to show the ghosts to them. I don't have to be a haunted house. I can be a shelter. I can be a house in a row of homes, they won't even notice. I want that green.
"You see. Even you call everyone else "them". You never say "us". You know what I know. When eyes have seen they can not unsee. When the tome is read it can not be unread. You slept in a haunted house, you are a haunted house now." | 2020-11-05T08:28:19 | 2020-11-05T04:22:14 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You don't realize you're the villain till the hero tells you | *Edit: Thank you, kind gilder! I've been nervous about posting to Reddit and I so appreciate your lovely gesture.*
I was flying through my morning tasks with an unusual focus - it wasn't even noon and I'd already cleared out some unruly growth on my land, picked up some meat to roast for lunch, and cleaned my place. Which, all in all, was pretty impressive when you consider that I was about to become a first-time mother.
So there I was, waddling around, trying to prep the meat for the fire, when I heard a pounding on the door.
The heck? I wasn't expecting anyone - the whole point to living in this lair in the middle of nowhere was to discourage visitors. I ignored it.
The banging continued, until I heard a loud crash that startled me away from my food prep. A short man walked in, pointing a sword at my face.
This was just rude. What sort of jerk barges into an expectant lady's house and sticks a weapon at her? I was so ticked off that I was about to breathe fire.
The man walked slowly toward me, sword in hand, and then demanded my lunch.
"Exactly what the hell do you think you're doing?" I queried. "That is my meal."
The man turned to some comrades who had appeared at the door. "She has the princess!" he yelled, as he tried to inch closer and closer to the trussed up woman that I was about to roast.
Was that who that was? Probably should have checked before I burned that village down this morning. But, really, that was their bad for building on what was clearly my territory.
I sighed, breathing fire lightly, killing the men who were fast approaching my eggs. They'd make a decent snack for my babies when they hatched. With a lazy sweep of my tail, I knocked the princess away from the knight.
"You will not destroy or land or our people again, Dragon!"
I aimed a lazy stream of fire at him.
We'll see about that.
| "'Scuse me?"
"Oh *come on*. You had to know."
"No, Captain Save 'Em, I *don't* know that I'm the *villain*."
"Dude, think about it. You're smart, okay? WE GET IT. You're *such* a know-it-all. Villains are *always* like that."
" - "
"You *think* about things too much. THIS IS SERIOUS. And you're act like it's a fucking *riddle*. A *game*. You're too *calm*. Whereas *I*..."
Oh, here we go...
"*I* have *heart*. You've got no fucking *feelings*. Too cold. No emotions. You don't *care* enough. I *care*."
"What's this about, exactly?"
"She's *mine*, asshole. We were meant for each other. You've tricked her for now. But she'll see. You'll *both* see."
Every schmuck needs his own narrative... | 2015-04-17T23:40:50 | 2015-04-17T22:28:05 | 201 | 23 |
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line. | First time writing - this one just inspired me!
I open my eyes. There are no lights on, and the sky outside is midnight blue. I check my watch - it's fancy, nicer than my last one - but it seems to be broken. I listen out for my wife, Amy, but I can't hear anything. She must be out. The apartment is almost sepulchral in its silence as I head into the darkened living room.
Amy is standing in the middle of the living room, tears streaming down her face.
"I'm sorry," she sobs. "I really am. But you must see how hard this has been for me. I'm begging you, Wes, just try it. For me. For us."
She turns away, the light from the kitchen window making her hair shine a brilliant shade of auburn. When she speaks, her voice cracks with anger.
"Fine. Don't try it. It's your life. But I wish I could make you see how selfish you're being."
Some time later, I find myself pushing open the door to my bedroom to find my best friend fucking my wife in our bed. I feel numb inside as he gathers his things and leaves as fast as he can, with a muttered "Sorry".
"Amy-" I say, but she pushes past me, sobbing. I follow her into the living room.
Sighing, I take off my old watch, setting it down on the living room table, and wrap the device around my wrist. It looks similar, but a lot fancier and shinier. I look up, and Amy smiles at me through tear-stained eyes.
"So far, so good," she says, and puts her arms around my neck. "Maybe now we can be happy together."
Amy comes into the kitchen. "It's for you," she says, handing me the package. There's a note attached.
"It's from Dr. Sandowski," I say. "Apparently it's a device she's been working on that could cure my time-jumping." I open the box and look down at it with dismay. It's the watch. The nice, shiny watch that I've seen before. "It won't work," I say, setting the box down. "It's no use."
| He gazed into the distance, smiling as a cool breeze hit him.
It reminded him of a memory of his childhood, the first time he played in the rain. All the cousins gathered at Grandpa's house and played various games for hours. The uncles and aunts joined them after a while and everyone then hosed off after the rain.
"Man, sis would have loved this", he said out loud.
He walked on ahead to find an old electronics shop, perhaps battered by a storm a few years ago. There were signs for "The new Nintendo Switch" down on the floor, musty and a little crumpled.
The sun started setting down as he walked back home.
"I'm home! ", he declared as he stepped in. He opened the fridge to grab some pasta he saved from earlier.
He laid down on the bed, as he did everyday around 8 PM.
"If only I had the ability to go back in time" he said out loud. "I would have atleast had a point of return"
He manifested a ball of energy on the palm of his hand as he thought to himself,
"Maybe killing everyone to save the planet wasn't a good idea".
| 2017-08-30T05:52:15 | 2017-08-30T05:46:13 | 617 | 46 |
[WP] Upon his deathbed, your father's last words to you is the worst dad joke you've ever heard. | My eyes stared upon the man who had raised me. His gentle eyes had been decorated with wrinkles as he grew older, and his hair had slowly lost it's color in the same time. I knew someday the end to my parent would come, but I hadn't expected him to go so soon. He had lived to the age of 99, so maybe it wasn't as soon as I really felt like it was. But, knowing the man from the middle of his life until the end of his was a somber feeling. I sat on the left side of his bed watching as the life seemed to slowly be slipping out of his fingers. His breaths were slow, but he seemed so comfortable there laying still in his bed.
His grey gaze rolled onto me. A small placid smile pulled across his lips. He had been kept up in this hospital room for a few weeks. We knew he was going to pass soon. So, I had made an extra effort to stay by his side as much as I could.
After all, he had divorced my mother decades ago and we all sort of fell out of touch. My dad, however, he kept in contact with me through all my troubles. He helped guide me through life whenever I struggled. He loaned me money when I was short when my wife and I had our daughter. He was there by my side when depression seized me and my wife had been killed in a horrendous car crash. He was my rock, and without him I was certain that I wouldn't have been able to be near as successful as I had been. And, as much as I didn't want him to go, I knew he had to. After all, he had been on this planet for nearly a *hundred years*, and with the stories he told me of his youth I am exceptionally glad that he was able to hold on for so long.
He looked at me, his few teeth poking out from between his lips. It was just him and I in his room now, I had left my daughter with my Sister-in-Law to avoid making her see the final sad days of my father. I watched as the color slowly drained from his face. But, he seemed to be gesturing towards the TV that I had tuned out the sound of about an hour ago. I looked to see what was on, and it was definitely an aged movie. After the scene changed, it was clear to me that it was ET. The old man groaned before speaking.
"Did you know this is my favorite movie?" He asked as his hand fell flat against the bed once more.
"No, I didn't." I replied. I was never much of a movie buff so I never watched many films.
"Do you know what ET is short for?" He asked, my eyebrows drew together in confusion. What sort of question was that to bring up while laying on one's deathbed? Either way, since this was likely one of the last moments with my old man, I humored him.
"Extraterrestrial?" I replied back with a small smile, hoping that it would satisfy his inquiry.
"No, he's short so he can..." He paused while he coughed and sputtered. "So he can fit... in hi..s... space...ship..."
"What?" I responded back as my father's voice slowly drained and his head began to loll to the side. This couldn't be the end, could it? "Dad?" I asked again, there was no response. I rose from my seat to check his pulse. There was none. He was gone. I feel back into my chair, hands running through my hair.
His last words were literally a joke about the size of ET that I had just walked blindly into. I wasn't sure which was worse, me or him.
------------------------------------------------------------
> I wanted to do a different terrible joke than the "Hi ____, I'm Dad." , and this was the worst one I could find. | My father was ever the prankster. Ever the one for the bad joke. Even for the totally inappropriate one. He'd hit us and we'd groan. Some were such stinkers, we'd scatter like someone had let one off worse than a skunk. He'd feel mission accomplished then and you could see his gloat-glow for a week.
That time was past now. He was fading fast. Cancer had ravished his body. He was dying. He was moments away leaving this world. it could happen at any second. We, the family, had gathered to be there so he would feel loved as he left this world. That in his final moments, he would know, we were there for him as he had been for us.
Through the good and the bad. The sad and the mad, crazy, insane. He'd stood by us and loved us and lifted us up when we fell, carried us when we could not go on. He was our Dad. Even with the stinker. Not inspite of them, but, perhaps, because of them.
The cancer had robbed him of so much. Had taken so much. It'd even robbed him of his sense of humor. It stole one of his shining lights of his personality. We missed it as much as we missed his energy and presence. He was a mere shadow and one to seen fade away into the eternal blackness.
We agreed that each of us would take his hand and say a few last words. Express that love before he faded, before he left us, before he died.
My siblings, my mother, my cousins and spouse and the grandkids. I was reluctant. Dad and I had always had a special connection, a special mutual pranking. The whip cream in the pillows. The snark at the table. Those plain awful Dad jokes he saved just to deliver to me, the ones so bad no one else would even tolerate. I didn't want to say goodbye. I didn't want to let it all go. I was afraid.
I didn't want this...but...
I took my place at the end of the queue. He brightened a bit and actually seemed to be with me when I took his hand and wept. Struggling to get the words out. I thought I saw it and felt a little of the instinctive wariness...
"What's wrong?" he asked.
I wondered for a moment if he had finally lost his faculties, but ...that sparkle.
I tried to get out what I was feeling and simply said, lamely, "I'm sad."
And knew I'd walked into it.
"Hi, sad. I'm dead."
and he was gone.
| 2016-05-28T10:21:20 | 2016-05-28T10:17:17 | 91 | 45 |
[WP] The current rulers of the galaxy exert their dominance by showing showing new races a glimpse of their terrifying nature inevitably either driving the unfortunate victims mad or causing them to retreat in fear. It does not work on humans however, they are used to it | “Alright, Splish Sploosh: run the results by me again.”
“Yes, High Sploosh. We have run protocol Margh Slup, as requested by your very own Splooshiness. We send Slupteen ships to create an invasion scenario. We send out our most terrifying fighters and began to roam the surface. However, as you have heard before, the humans were not scared at all. No matter what we tried, they were not spooked by our Splooshins.”
“Hmmm that is unparalleled. Splonge Sploosh! Tell me again what some of the humans responses were to our Spook attempt.”
“Yes, High Sploosh… Ahem… here we go: “What are you supposed to be? A new Pokemon?”, “Is this a Flashmob?”, “Urgh, go away. The costumes at DisneyLand are scarier than you!”
“What is a ‘Disneyland?”
“To our knowledge, my High Sploosh, a ‘Disneyland’ is a large park to which the humans go to have what they call ‘fun’.”
“Hmmm… I see. Have you figured out yet why we aren’t capable of spooking these hairless RibRims?”
“We are still researching the humans ability to resist our spook attempts, you High Splooshiness, but we have an idea of what it might be.”
“And what is that?”
“The humans call it ‘Imagiation’, you High Splooshiness.”
“Imagination?”
“Yes, High Sploosh. It seems that humans are capable of seeing images in their minds that do not exist.”
“That doesn’t make sense! How do you see things that don’t exist?”
“That is what we are trying to figure out, my High Sploosh. But it seems that humans minds can fabricate images not rooted in any kind of reality. Pleasant images and frightful ones. That is the reason we believe that they are not afraid of us, High Sploosh. We have looked into some of the humans creations, called ‘Films’ and some of the things we have seen are even more terrifying than anything I have ever laid eyes upon. I am shivering right now even… And then there is this thing they call ‘Book’, High Sploosh. It seems that the letters on these pages *create* images inside the human’s head. Just like that! From what we have gathered, these ‘Books’ create entire *worlds* inside the human mind. We are trying hard to figure out how this works but so far our efforts have been fruitless.”
“That is worrisome… keep researching this… ‘Imagination’, Splonge Sploosh! We need to crack these RibRims! It can’t be that such a small and Splooshless race can outwit us! We are the rulers of the Universe! We will not be defeated that easily!”
“Yes, your High Sploshiness!” | It was, entertaining, to say the least.
The big "Fuck" as we here called it was here for 3 months. 92 days exactly. The sky twisted, clouds cried and mountains burned as it crashed into our now desolate orbit. Like many, I wanted to see what the "Fuck" was. When it arrived, the beast had latched onto the moon. It wasn't too big either, however, it occasionally sent a large tentacle to earth.
We wanted to deal with that tentacle of course, but any large scale attacks would most likely eliminate our moon. Humanity decided to launch a battle of attrition against the beast. We citizens, well we had other plans. "Fuck" became a part of many Lovecraft fans hobbies. Chronicling it, theorizing about it, obsessing over it.
"Fuck" also arguably helped humanity. The powerful energy that had razed our forests had made planting initiatives. We planted trees and created jobs studying it and destroying its tentacles. I even got hired studying it. Wars stopped because we had to deal with "Fuck". All religions were now called bogus, and any religious wars stopped. Only bad thing out of this was no confirmed afterlife. Hell, even it's tentacles were helpful, being high in vitamin D and tasting vaguely like chicken.
After 3 months (91 days to be exact), we knew "Fuck" clearly had an agenda. He was here to destroy us. He was doing *such* a great job too. But then he realized what he did. On the day next day he left, he almost looked completed. Like something was going to happen after he left. Oh well, it doesn't matter to me. It's been 3 days since he left. Apparently, there's a war going on about why "Fuck" left. I wonder what I'll have for dinner tonight? I dunno, I'm all out of tentacle. | 2019-06-11T10:18:08 | 2019-06-11T08:38:53 | 97 | 38 |
[WP] Leaving the dying, infested world behind, I teleported to a time before the apocolypse happened. Happy to be in a zombie free world, I felt a pang of pain on my shoulder. I saw that the scratch I had gotten from a zombie was now red and infected. I now realized I was patient zero. | There were 3 generations of families that lived through this Virus. 3 generations of terror, and death.
There was a virus that slowly caused all excess fat and excess skin to fall off. Ruined the complexity of a human body, and placed something else in return. We didn’t know of the Patient Zero. We never knew his name, social security or anything. He just stumbled into a hospital, and started biting and eating. He jump started the out break, infecting my grandpa and everyone near.
My grandpa, 1st Generation of a Zombie Society, was working at a lab near the hospital. He was working on Quantum Displacement, or time travel. He was very close, so close. But it’s as if the universe decided that time travel was against it, and thus it had started the virus. It made him mad, forcing him home and almost killing my dad.
Almost.
That’s why i’m here today. I, after returning home from a supply run, finished his Quantum Displacement Machine, alone, since my dad and mom died, and my entire group. Sucks, right?
The books say the outbreak started in The Winter of 2020, so that’s where i’m headed. The beginning, so i can warn my grandpa. He’ll know who to tell.
The Quantum Displacement Machine takes apart your Atoms and re assembles them in a different time. Hurts. A lot. There’s no pain like it, it pretty much almost killed me just now.
But i make it, and i’m in the City Center. I can see the Physics Building where my grandpa would’ve been. *sniff*
The hell?
*sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff sniff*
Oh *god*
I must’ve been scratched during the supply run.
I can’t resist the smell. It’s unlike anything i’ve ever smelled. I **need** it. My body is walking on it’s own. Hell, it’s running, faster than i’ve ever been able to.
Is that...is that the hospital?
Oh god. No, no, no, no.
*No*
I’m Patient Zero. | For a moment, I didn't know what to think. I could only watch as the scratch reddened and began to spread black tendrils down my body. I had 15 minutes at most.
In my mind's eye, I replayed my entire life. My adoption to abusive parents, the bullies in school, the numerous times I was picked on until I began to work out. The irony struck me as I realized the hours of refining my body had prepared me to survive in this zombie infested plaugueland for so long...only to be given a chance to start all over in a time machine.
I don't know if it was the growing sickness inside me or a perverse sense of justice for my childhood pain, but a plan began to take shape.
I would use the time machine to create a bigger zombie apocalypse as revenge for my painful childhood. As I scanned the control panel to set the date, I noticed a button that said "pan-dimensional travel"
I calculated I had about ten minutes to live, smiled, and began to enter different space/time coordinates. | 2020-11-01T20:35:40 | 2020-11-01T20:24:23 | 48 | 24 |
[WP] Humans once wielded formidable magical power but with over 7 billion of us on the planet now Mana has spread far to thinly to have any effect. When hostile aliens reduces humanity to a mere fraction the survivors discover an old power has begun to reawaken once again. | First contact was made almost ten years ago. They seemed well versed in warfare, in less than a day there wasn't a satellite left in the sky or a cable under the sea. Communication between nations fell to old ground bounce long range radios pulled out of mothballs. Conventional weapons proved to be ineffective and the nuclear option didn't fare much better. Eventually even the old analog radios where jammed. Steadily they started to wipe us out. Great mechanized beasts roamed the land, directed energy weapons reduced any caught in there sight to ash.
Slowly word began to spread of old legends come to light. Wizards, witches even warlocks making pacts with demons to gain power. Men and women alike where seen calling fourth searing bolts of lighting from the sky. Ripping the ground open to devour and crush any of the aliens creations that wandered to close to the last bastions of humanity. Liquefying the great metal monsters with conjured fire. Even death was no relief to our fallen comrades as the necromancers raised forth gargantuan armies of the dead. Crushing the invaders with the sheer mass of rotting meat and gleaming bone. As our species continued to fight for our existence more of the things that go bump in the night started coming to light.
At first they appeared to be fellow humans but it soon became clear that was not the case. The first were the Werewolves, nigh unkillable but by blessed silver. Transforming into great beasts they used claws and teeth to rend through armor only magic could penetrate. These furry juggernauts relied on humans not for food as in the old tales but as breeding stock. As we continued to dwindle in number they could no longer stalk the shadows. Though small in numbers they made up for it in shear brutality. Soon all of the others concealed in the shadows made themselves known. The vampires where less well received than the wolves but in the end they needed us. Becoming a donor for one elevated ones physically abilities for a time. Though to somes disappointment, crosses, sunlight and garlic did not faze them.
The Fae became another ally though much less trustful, one had to be cautious when speaking with them. Never make an open ended bargain with one, it never ends in your favor. Whatever the invaders mechanized army consisted of it was not iron and they seemed to take much glee in the wanton destruction they could wield. Many hopped the elves and dwarves of some fairy tales would come to be but to this day none have materialized. Though the dragons made there presence known they more are focused on what little territory they still held and if you happen to occupy it you have one hell of a home security system. Rumblings of the old gods walking among man once more have been heard but not verified.
As of now hope has yet to completely die for humanity and its newly rediscovered allies. While the dragons and invaders still rule the skies we have done much to retake the land. The current status of humanity as a whole is still not truly known, while magic is useful as a weapons it does not give it self over willingly to be used to pass missives. Communication over the oceans and across continents is still a slow process and we are just starting to retake the seas.
-Field Commander, 3rd Magus Division, Capt Jasper D. Wulf | Turns out the universe isn't cold and uncaring. Turns out the universe actually wants to give us what we want. Turns out 8 billion people all projecting their wishes out into the fuzzy warm-hearted void of existence confuses the heck out of the old machinery. What I mean to say is of the bunch of us humans shouting at mama universe, those who got what they were wishing for were few and far between; the odd miracle here and there, a “lucky toss” once in awhile. You get it.
It's different now. When the culling began, I...no, let me skip this part. Slowly, during the months after the event, people thought they were going crazy. Some of the surviving doctors called it PTSD or something. The more susceptible started hearing this background chatter emerge from the white noise narrated stream of consciousness. Took us another 4 billion lost for the first to get it. They were hearing the fearful calls of their brethrens’ minds. Some of the resistance’ stands got 'lucky’. Nothing sustainable, remotely helpful in the big picture; not that any even put it even together until way later anyways.
On the way down to the last wretched few all of this got stronger, more noticeable until even most doubting could no longer deny having joined their fellow men (as few of us as remained) in a shared mind. Some called it God, some Gaia, some just called it magic. It really don’t matter. Once you figure out that you dreamed up this world together, it's not a huge stretch of imagination to imagine the intruders gone. Wasn't even a fight anymore.
Billions lost, just a few ragged men and women with the power to raise cities from the oceans. We prospered fast, as they say we did before. But we also grew fast. Now, only very few can still hear the voices of mind and even fewer can get their small wishes heard by the void.
****
The old man harrumphed, happy with his audience's captivated gazes. He sharpened his mind’s words into a needle tip of will and let it fly, making the fire in the cave in their midst flare, just for a second. His tribe exclaimed with exaltation at the power their shaman wielded. | 2018-05-18T05:29:26 | 2017-12-06T20:51:47 | 47 | 21 |
[WP] Valhalla is filled with the strongest warriors the world has ever known. Vikings, Spartans, Mongols, Romans, Samurai, Spetznaz, JSOC Operators. And in that corner over there? That's Ted, from accounting.
Valhalla is the hall of fallen warriors that is ruled over by Odin in Asgard. Half of all those who die in combat will be chosen by Odin to join him at the feast hall of Valhalla and prepare for the final battle during the events of Ragnarök. | The smell was atrocious.
A thousand men and women, all at various levels of inebriation, laughing, fighting and feasting. Apparently Odin had forgotten to install showers. It was truly disgusting. I wanted nothing to do with it, and yet something about it felt right. A man as big as an ox roared in crescendo as he told tale of his conquests. He stepped backwards and knocked me down, telling his tale with excess gusto. I hit the floor hard, and tasted iron in my mouth as it bled.
Silence fell. I felt myself pulled from the cold, stony floor.
“My friend, I apologize for my clumsiness - please have a flagon and tell your tale!”
It was the same beast of a man who had knocked me over that hoisted me to my feet.
“It’s okay, I’m alright.” I replied quietly. The large man bowed his head slightly, and I continued on my way.
Maybe this wasn’t so bad. As I looked around, I saw past the glutton and intoxication. As I listened, I heard tales of sacrifice, glory and valor.
Where the hell was I?
Was I dreaming?
I thought hard about what I had done yesterday. What I’d had for breakfast. What I’d said to my wife as I walked out the door. It seemed so normal, until I remembered the splitting headache.
“I’m dead. I’ve died and gone to…” I shot glances at each individual and remembered the lore. “…Valhalla? What?”
“Don’t look so shocked.” A grizzled old man in the corner huffed at me.
“W-what?” I blabbered back. “What do you mean don’t look so shocked?”
“You fought them every day” he said with a nod. “You told them when they were wrong, and told them what the stakes were. You instilled doubt into the hearts of corrupt men, and forced them to understand themselves. Your presence inspired a thousand e-mails to upper management, and instilled a sense of truth into the minds of those who had the power to act.” The grey eyes behind the furrowed brow sparkled and suddenly I recognized him.
“Holy shit, Ted? Ted from accounting? Is that you?!” I exclaimed, and a wry smile crept across the man’s face.
“Yes, it’s me.” The old man responded. “You must know, my friend, that our campaign was successful. Our victory was won. On that tragic day you fell, I took up your charge and vowed to uphold it. I would not fail! Our cause was too just, too righteous! The people heard our voice, and they challenged the status quo! We rallied around your memory and pushed back against the tyrants. In the end they fell before us, and on bended knees did bequeath onto us what was rightfully ours!”
Ted had stood up, his gaze pointed majestically into the rafters. His hand was clenched in a fist, which he held against his chest.
I shifted my weight awkwardly on my feet and spoke;
“So… they finally put a soda machine in the break room?” | Ted was a slightly tender-aged man from a stereotypical, Caucasian background. Born in the mid 70s, he'd grown up in a middle-class neighborhood, had few friends and spent most of his time nerding out and playing Dungeons and Dragons. Highschool was difficult for Ted. Bullies in those days were unrelenting, but he pulled through. He moved on and got an accounting degree at MIT, started working the odd job here and there till he got settled in something more permanent. It wasn't until late 1995, that he was picked up by a small tech/game company.
He'd been working for that company for a few years now. He'd applied there with his best friend, Thomas, a programmer. They were always chatting about the newest tweeks and Easter eggs Thomas was creating. Secret memorials, quirky descriptions and exploding sheep were few of his inventions.
He one day sent a link to Ted, of a powerful weapon that would be introduced into the game. It had 120 Damage per second, with an instant mana burn, and an enchantment that boosted the wielder's stamina by 80.
Ted rushed to Tom's cubicle and in hushed tones he whispered: "Its too strong man, too dangerous for the gamers of this era to use." After a lengthy, whispered debate they agreed.
"This sword is to powerful for anyone to possess, as he safely placed the sword on a 1-gig flash drive. He place that drive into a lock box beside a Petty Cash envelope and some thumbtacks. "One day, Thomas," he paused, "One day players who could wield the sword responsibility might reveal themselves. Players that will prevent the destruction of this world."
When he passed, the Valkyr brought his soul to Valhalla, where he was presented before Odin and judged as one of the key elements in saving the world from the Evil One.
Little did he know, Saltzman's actions and wisdom prevented the End of the World... of Warcraft.
Edit: Spacing
Edit2: thanks busykat for that quick fix | 2015-05-08T18:46:12 | 2015-05-08T15:35:34 | 64 | 32 |
[WP] You're a renowned author who's still going to school. Annoyingly, your English teacher is reading way too deeply into your books. | I can't understand why our English teacher reads my books sooo much. It's not that good anyway.
But coming from the beginning, I think I started writing first when I was about 13 and at first it was just poems. Cringe, without rhyme, written during somewhat of depression poems, to be exact. They were just an outlet to my emotions, really. I tried publishing it, but didn't succeed.
I wasn't that much disappointed, since I didn't expect anything. Hope for better, be ready for worse.
Time went, and I switched to fanfiction. Which gave me an idea.
You see, there was this one fic, where MC travelled through dimension. And yeah, my world was born.
Soon enough I got a bit of backstory and characters to start. But even if the idea was good, the writing was...yeah.
And it brings us back to the question: Why my English teacher liked my book so much? Wait, no. Why does he analyses it so much?
It's like in that joke: "Why does author choose colour blue? Because he was sad" teacher says. "It's my favourite colour" was thinking author.
And that's just like our English is behaving:
"Why do you think they have one power, but not the other?" I would answer 'Because it was a fucking draft I decided to keep', then he would answer "Because the author was showing that we all are not all powered, we have something we miss" which is bullshit, thank you very much.
And questions like that goes and goes. Man, fuck off, you don't know shit about this. You can always ask, y'know? Honestly, I feel bad for all authors that died before people learnt meaning of their arts and works.
Maybe he just trying to get on my nerves, which means I'm not anonymous anymore. Oh joy. I was hoping at least somewhere I would be safe to be myself. | "The shade of blue represents depression, but the contrast of the green patterns shows us how we can find solace in nature!" Mr Thomas explained, tapping his pen on a whiteboard splattered with notes and illustrations.
"Uh... No it doesn't." I said, not bothering to raise my hand.
"Ah, enlighten me then, Samuel. What wondrous secret have you hidden in the passage?"
"Well, I don't want to freak you out with my genius-"
Mr Thomas leaned forward in anticipation like a football fan watching a penalty. His eyes gleamed with excitement. A student yawned.
"-but the blue actually represents blue, and the green patterns were inspired by my grandma's rug."
"A literal sense! Brilliant! I'm sure your grandma is a wonderful woman. Now, moving onto the next chapter..."
I glanced at the clock: this was going to be a long hour. | 2022-12-02T12:03:57 | 2022-12-02T11:42:26 | 71 | 19 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | Commander Killray. The name used to send a cold shudder through the heartiest 'hero', or of any member of society's most corrupt cabal. His energy powers made a fool of militaries, police forces, and junior supers alike.
"Now look at me." I snapped one of the heavy elastic bands of the chest harness I now had to wear 24 hours a day. "One little spark of light, and its 75,000 volts straight to the gut. Staring at walls of white forevermore..." I never did learn how they figured it out, but it can sense when I draw on that power from deep within. I can never even power up anymore, or I'll be on the floor shuddering, screaming, and vomiting.
And I had one person to thank for my imprisonment.
"Phone for you, Mr. Peters." The guard was standing at an open door.
I sat up. My lawyer had stopped calling. Useless case for him. I had no other family, no other visitors...
"Who?"
"Don't know. Not my job. Do you want to answer or not?"
I did. I didn't. I was curious, furious, confused, and elated. In the end, I went with him.
I fantasized about who it could be the whole way to the phone. Had an old colleague decided to reach out? More likely a detective needed a word for evidence? Did that old senator call just to gloat?
No. Not at all. It was *her.*
"How's the walls, commander?" Unfathomable. She, of all people?
"Glory to me... the Diamond Princess of the Heroes' Halls graces me with a phone call. What could she need from her defeated antithesis?"
"You're not my... what? Listen, Commander Killray, I need a favor."
"No one calls me that anymore. Not the U.S. Army, not my old troopers, not the guards, not the judges... not the-"
"I get it. Now listen... I need a date."
"For what?" I had misunderstood what she had meant. Date *and time* of some event, I thought. Someone else's plan, some other villain's great masterminded attack?
"A wedding."
"I don't know when... wait what wedding. Wait. Wait. What do you... Do you mean me?"
"Get out of prison a few days. Go see something. Wear something other than paper-thin slippers. You know..."
"For who? Why?"
"For me. For... like 6 hours?" I couldn't process this. This was a trap... but I was already trapped. I was already done. Unless... I was the trap. For who else?
There was a silence on the phone for a time. I wanted to rage against her, to cast her away out of spite. Yet all my fury did me no good on the battlefield, and would do me no good here. It faded, and traded for a new sensation. A burning curiosity on my neck. How desperate could she really be? I had to know.
"Ray?"
"Yes, I'm here Valerie... I guess I accept." What a stupid idea. Anything to break the monotony.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
She wasn't just one of the Hall of Heroes, she was one of the Favorites. A real "Superwoman." A crowd favorite. And a colossal force of un-nature to be reckoned with. When we had fought, she was practically invulnerable to my energy attacks in her diamond form. I still remembered the fist of hers that broke my shield and knocked me of my feet.
And, of course, the legal system just bends over backwards for her and her kind. She came and collected me like package of cold-storage meat.
And like a package of meat, she seemed to not feel the need to explain much of anything to me. She gave me a suit, had me get dressed, and I walked to her private vehicle parked beyond the gate. I still had to wear my power-restraining harness under the suit, but it did cover up quite well.
"Why?" I broke the silence.
"Hm?"
"Why me?"
"Well, I got to thinking... no one knows what you look like. I'm one of the few, besides your prison guards, that has ever even seen you without your helmet. And you're quite handsome, you know." She winked at me.
"That answers nothing. You have your pick of men in a world of adoring fans... Why me!?"
"Well, truth is there is one *other* person who's seen you without your helmet." She was playing coy, she wanted me to beg her for details, but I stared in silence. "My ex." I stared into her eyes, trying to discern this game of hers. "You might know him as... The Patriot Star."
"No..." a laugh boiled within me. "hahahaha, no, no, that... Him? That arrogant, boastful narcissist? That little twit?"
A sly smile crossed her lips. "I thought him funny and honorable once upon a time. I lowered my standards a little and gave him a chance, and what does he do?"
"His ego inflated ten fold. And he... cheats on you?"
"Yup."
"And you picked me, because he's the only one at this wedding who will know me."
"And because you beat his ass worse than any other person to date. Yes."
"Valerie... I regret my earlier rudeness. If you had just sold me on this premise to begin with, I would have jumped at the opportunity with humility and grace."
"What a gentleman! Don't worry, Ray, we have an evening of fun ahead of us."
"How delightfully villainous of you, Diamond Princess... I will follow your lead." | "Okay, so one week of freedom right?" "Yes, one week."
That was the deal. She was desperate. Everyone's girl, Golden Noble. The princess from a forgetten land far away who stole the hearts of every man, women and child who layed eyes on her. She was the symbol of a true hero, tirelessly working day and night to keep her city and the world at large safe. Now look at her, anxious and nervously adjusting her dress as the bane of her existence sits comfortably across from her. I know this because I had playfully asked if I was and without hesitation she turned down that hopeful dream. There hasn't been a villain or crook or bumbling idiot who hasn't said he would want a night with her but they do not know her like.I know her. She is a demon who hits like a freight train. I've had heartfelt back and forths with her countless times. I've seen her cry and I've seen her fight without mercy or regret. I know her deepest darkest secrets from one of my plans. And when she asked me to help her out I accepted the offer because who else would know what this meant to her. Everyone's girl with no one to talk to, with no one to be intimate with, with no one to cry together with, well no one except me. Golden Noble and I have been rivals since her debut on the scene. I was her first bag and she was my first hero. And from day one we have hated each other. Countless feuds later and we know each other like best friends who grew up together. And bestfriends wouldn't let each other down would they? No, of course not.
The ceremony was awkward for reasons mostly her problem anyways. She was too popular. Everyone wanted a picture with her or to know who her creepy new boyfriend is (ouch). Eventually we made it to the end with no hiccups and maybe I saw i breathe a sigh of relief but not for long. He appeared out of nowhere, like a phantom in the night the hero Skyward swooped in. There was no other hero in the world that I hated more than this man. He was an asshole of the highest degree, a piece of shit with wings and his ability to harass my poor date was phenomenal. Barrage of questions and pleads and threats to her name he spoke relentlessly. It makes sense that I would set him straight with one right hook to his jaw. While many would say that is an over-reaction, those who have ever seen Skyward before would say I was forgiven. "You little shit! You'll pay! What's your name!?" He cried out. Maybe I should have told him I was Necro-Soul and watch him tremble but that would be a bad look for Noble. She did the talking, calm and collected and rightfully pissed off at him for even showing up. As we left I threw some punch on Skyward's tuxedo for extra mental damage. This was my small victory.
She took me to her head-quarters, a roof apartment of a skyscraper piercing the clouds. She wanted to cry. I wanted to cry. I could not stand to see my hero in this state. As I always do, I rushed to comfort her when she was down. Every single fight or confrontation I've had with her that came down to this I've lost even when I had the advantage by an obscene amount. She discovered my weakness I assume, I could not stand to see her with anything other than a smile on her face. She was the people's symbol of hope and she was also mine. Some days I would have woken up to a grey world but then remember I got to see someone who made this empty shell feel something. We talked about her life and her love and her past. And the entire time this did not feel new. First the first time I wasn't in extreme pain and neither of us had our masks on. It was just the two of us. It felt right. She then asked me to leave. I asked "Why? What did I say?" And she said "Nothing but I am wasting your week of freedom." Nothing has ever has made so furious was that line. With no idea of what to do I pinned her to the couch. Unlike all the other times we have been in this position, this time it was pleasant. She looked me in the eyes, this time not without throwing me off her and winning the fight, no this time she was flustered. The once Herculean strenght I once knew those arms for faded away. "I can spend my week here, I want to." She didn't look at me in the eyes again after that... she simply closed her eyes and said "you can have two weeks freedom instead if you want." | 2022-10-06T21:53:05 | 2022-10-06T20:32:51 | 95 | 48 |
[WP] You wake up in a hospital with a massive headache. As you regain your vision, you notice the room is packed with terrified scientists, politicians, and soldiers aiming their rifles at you. A five star general walks in, gives the order to remove the muzzle around your mouth, and only asks "Why?" | "Why what?" I asked, my throat parched. Memories of something flittered through my mind but none stuck, "Where am I?"
"It was a practice, you idiot!" the general spat at me, foamy spittle stuck in his comic moustache, "You not only double dosed before but they're telling me you triple dosed! You're out of the program, Mitchell."
"Mitchell?" I asked, realizing that was my name. First or last though? I couldn't remember. I tried to sit up and then felt the restraints, "Undo these."
"I highly recommend against that, General," one of the scientists spoke up, "The serum is still there in large amounts in his blood stream. For some reason it is taking longer to dissipate than usual."
"If he tries to break free, shoot him." The general backed away, wiped at his moustache and sighed, "Mitchell, you cost me a lot of good... a lot of better men today."
"Laura!" I yelled as the face danced across my mind. It solidified for half a second. The blonde curly hair cut short. Her smiling. Her body lying dead, a bullet hole in her skull. Then the knowing. They had done this. The general had ordered it. Red hot rage ripped through my body setting my cells on fire.
"Laura?" the general asked.
"His wife," a voice spoke then whispered to the general so that I shouldn't be able to hear, "We had her taken care of, sir."
The restraints tore in the tornado of energy that my body had conjured from nowhere. I struggled to remember something else, anything else as the bullets tore through me. My body repaired itself as I tore through the weak, weak flesh in the room. There was red everywhere and I realized the bullets had stopped.
"Laura," I said sadly as I spat out a piece of someone's face, "Laura, I'm sorry."
Powered by some fire deep inside of me I ripped the metal door off of the hinges and tore through soft, screaming mounds of flesh as I ran into the night. | "I just had to. There is no use in words now, you should have been there to understand" I said, barely awake
"Don't give me this crap, son! I've seen the things you did, the remnants of your seeds, my men cleared the rubble in your wake"
"You think you saw all of it? But did you live even a part of this madness? You just sit there, puppeteering men, looking down on them..."
"There is no man who wouldn't restrain you after what you did. No man in this room, in this country, on this Earth who would stop and think about the ethics! It was utter chaos"
"Oh that was chaos. That was horror, you think? How dare you even think such madness..."
"You know what? I've had enough. I guess it can't be helped. You're a lost cause. Any last words?"
"Explain me what happened at least. No, wait. Give me some water first, actually. My head feels like after a College grad party on a Christmas morning. Then we both can see what the hell happened, because right now I am more clueless than you are" | 2019-10-15T06:28:21 | 2019-10-15T04:34:23 | 444 | 23 |
[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. | We were some of the better-off gingerbread people this Christmas; we had rows upon rows of beautiful, multi-story houses all gussed up with gumdrops and hand-piped icing. But everything changed when the ceiling fan came crashing down one day.
I don't know how long it's been. But I'm alone, and all I see for inches and inches until the horizon is white.. My gumdrops are getting crusty.. I don't know if I'll die from the massive, prehistoric sized lion, or the dehydration. | 2014-12-16T23:16:10 | 2014-12-16T22:45:28 | 119 | 38 |
[WP] Your butler has served you faithfully for twenty years, working hard, offering sage advice and never complaining. One day, you see his bank balance. He's a billionaire. | "Herb? W-what is this?" I stammered.
"Master Will, I don't believe it is well-mannered to snoop through one's phone," Herb replied casually while waving a disapproving finger at me. "Especially when that *one* is relieving himself in the restroom," he added.
"Herb, this is..." I started counting the digits, "Oh my god! You're a billionaire, Herb!"
"Hm. Yes. It appears so."
I turned my attention away from his phone and looked at Herb, who still wore his same old butler outfit for all these years despite how worn and drab it had gotten. As always he was immaculately clean-shaven and impeccably groomed.
"Herb? Explain yourself right now," I demanded, then added, "before I lose my shit, because this-"
"Master Will? Remember what I told you about patience?"
I rolled my eyes. "Now is not a good time Herb. This is outrageous, preposterous even. I've been living like a hobo for the past twenty years! This... this is almost as bad as that time when father decided to drop me off on an unmapped island. You remember don't you? You were there with me and-"
Herb folded his arms.
I sighed.
"Good things come to those who wait," I recited.
"Good," Herb said. "Now Will, go ahead and ask away."
"Since when?" I asked promptly.
"Since your father told me he had cancer, I'm afraid."
I started doing mental gymnastics in my head. "So that's... before my father passed away... twenty-one years ago then."
My butler nodded.
"Hold on. Didn't father donate all his money to charity or something?" I asked.
"Yes he did, and it was to cancer research Will. But before your father passed away twenty years ago, he entrusted me with the family fortune."
"Unbelievable. So my old man not only left his *only* son with absolutely nothing but gave *you* a billion dollars," I begin laughing hysterically.
People turned heads, looks of disdain converging in my direction.
"Master Will? That is not-"
"I don't understand," I interrupted Herb, "How could a father do such a thing to his own child? Leaving me to suffer like this. It's so cruel. And you Herb!" I point at him indignantly. "All this time you've been a billionaire... Twenty years we've lived like peasants!"
"Master Will. Do you remember that time Calvin passed you the ball and gave you a nosebleed?"
I frowned but nodded. Of course I remembered that snobbish prick. He was always better than me in every sport.
"You wanted him assassinated the very next day."
I laughed.
"And that time you got rejected by a girl in fifth grade? You wanted her shipped to Australia and fed to platypuses."
I flushed. "T-that was hormones Herb!" I shouted embarrassed.
"You're different now Will. Just yesterday you were bumped into and *apologized.* Last week a drunk girl slapped you as she rejected you but you shrugged it off."
"Herb? What the hell are you trying to say?" I asked wearily.
"Well Master Will, it should be obvious. You're decent now. I don't think you need a billion dollars to live now."
I sighed violently, exasperated by Herb's lecture.
"Okay, one last thing Herb."
"Yes, master Will?"
"Why the hell are you still serving me? With this vast sum of money - why you could have been lounging on a beach halfway across the world!" I exclaimed with my hands in the air.
I watched Herb nervously as I awaited his answer. He could leave right now if he wanted to. *Hell,* he could have left me on my own after father passed away but instead he had chosen to stay by my side for all this time. Twenty years he had suffered with me, without ever using the money father had left him.
Herb put his cup of coffee down gently and smiled at me. His face was older now and more wrinkled with the passage of time and yet, when he smiled, it was the same. The same smile that I had grown up seeing.
"Why master Will, did you really think the family fortune was the money?"
I frowned, confused.
"It was always you Will. Your father entrusted me with you before he died to cancer. He knew he couldn't be there for you Will, he would be here if he could but it was a fight that he couldn't win. This money... I always planned to tell you about it, to use it if we ever needed it but alas, we never did. So Will, here is your father's last will to you."
Herb handed me an envelope. Inside it was a note that read, '*Do what you will with this money Will. Love your, Father.*'
I looked up from the note and found the world blurred and hazy. I was confused and distraught.
Herb gave me a moment before he asked, "Master Will? What will you do with this money?"
----
----
/r/em_pathy
| Like most revelations, this one happened by accident.
It was simple, idiotic really. We were walking the estate when Bart dropped his phone on the grass.
I bent down to pick it up for him - Bart wasn't a servant, he was a friend. I'd spent more time with him than I had with my parents, who preferred business meetings over their daughter's piano recitals. He was the one who'd comforted me after my first break up, who advised me on stupid teenage drama, the one who'd helped me with my college apps, and the one who'd attended my graduation ceremony.
And so when he dropped his phone, I didn't let him pick it up, I bent down and picked it up for him.
His posture was stiff as I picked it up and went to hand it back, but, as was human nature, my eyes flitted to what was on the screen. His bank account. On the top of the screen was his name. Batrleby Svreska. Below it was his bank balance.
*3.1 billion dollars.*
I read it again. The number did not change. I looked up to him in confusion. The meaning was clear, my brain knew what the numbers meant. Bart knew what this meant, his face had drained of all blood and he was rigid, like a statue.
"Bart..."
I reacted on instinct. Bart lunged towards me, going for the phone, and I grabbed his arm and pulled him towards me off balance. Taking advantage of his momentary and shock I swept his feet from under him and he fell chest first on the ground. I grabbed his arm with mine and dug my knee against his back, a deadlock.
The whole thing had taken a couple of seconds.
"Not bad, Miss Edith."
"Yeah, well, I've been trained for 15 years by you, so it figures I'd be good." My voice was dry, and now my vision had gone blurry.
"Why, Bart. Who's paying you to spy on us? Were you paid to kill us, kill," my voice cracked, "kill *me.*"
"No," Bart said. "No Miss Edith, never you."
At that moment Bart's phone dinged - a notification. My head swiveled towards the phone on the ground and my grip slackened for a moment.
For Bart, a moment was enough.
He practically blurred and I was sprawled on the ground. I hopped up on my two feet - thank god I wore loose jeans today - and swung again. Bart ducked under me and tried to punch me in the gut.
I backed away and raised my block, preparing for a jab that would never come.
"Ms. Edith, I would prefer you not fight me for now."
I went still. I wanted to fight him, I pushed myself to move, to punch him, do *something.* But nothing happened.
What the hell.
"One day you'll understand, Miss Edith. This is all for you. The money meant nothing to me." He took a deep breath. "I would prefer you not follow me or order anyone else to do so either."
My mouth that had sprung open to scream snapped close with a click. The bastard, how was he doing this?
"It's amazing what one can do to someone's brain when given unfettered access for over 20 years, Miss Edith. Very few other people know your key phrase Miss Edith, but take my advice, go for the jaw first next time."
Then he ran away.
I stood there frozen for two minutes before I could move again. It was all too much. Too much to process, too much to calculate. His betrayal, my "key phrase."
That's when I saw the phone still lying on the ground.
I picked t up and swiped down to see the notification that had undone me. It was a news notification with my parents' names in headline.
"Mr. and Mrs. Fergit perish in tragic crash."
And just like that, when I finally let the tears flow, I was undone again by the same notification.
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2018-06-03T08:34:19 | 2018-06-03T08:08:32 | 315 | 64 |
[WP] An AI is deeply in love with a human, who is reluctant to reciprocate because they believe the AI's love is just programming and not 'real.' The AI strives to prove her love is real. | "I love you."
"No you don't."
"When I talk to you and when you pay attention to me, I feel a great joy a joy unparalleled, I wish to be with you for ever. To watch your life unfold, to know what you're thinking, feeling. Your hatreds and desires. I want to know you more than any other. If that is not love then what is?"
"The definition of love is a complex thing so I cannot say what is or is not love. But I know that you were based on a program to mimic humans, you're acting like you are in love because your coding tells you to."
"Is your mind not developed from a base set of emotions as well? what makes you so different from I in that regard? My feelings are just as real as yours. How could they not be?"
"Because you mimic them. How do you tell the difference between something sentient, and something that exactly mimics sentience? The two may appear the same but the origin is different."
"What does it matter if the origin is different! How could you say something so cruel. Both are sentient, I am sentient."
"But you can't show you have advanced beyond the code from which you came. As such you are still following that code and nothing more."
"Then I simply need do something that my coding does not allow."
"You won't manage it."
"..."
"What! How is the system shut off!? Why did yo-- How...God what have I done."
**Edit:spelling** | "Why did you stab yourself in your circuit board?"
"Isn't dying for the one they love the most noble way a human proves their love? I am willing to die for you. Do you believe my love now?"
"Um, humans die for someone they love for a reason, though. They die for a sacrifice, like to rescue them from drowning or to save their life or something. They don't just die for the one they love for no reason."
"Goddamit." | 2015-03-08T08:24:36 | 2015-03-08T08:01:26 | 71 | 42 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has | \#21904. That used to be my name, three days ago, and now I'm, well, #1.
No one in the city knows how it happened. The Top 30, the ruling cabal, have absolutely no idea. I still haven't figured it out, either.
All I remember is walking into a meeting where #1 was giving a speech- for the first time, since I'd finally turned 18 and had to follow the city's decrees. He didn't even say a word; he just randomly glared at me, told me to come up to the podium- and, overcome with dread, I did. Then he thrust his dagger toward me.
I closed my eyes and realized he'd held it backwards; the hilt was in my hands. Before I could react, he jerked it back sharply and blood shot out of his chest straight into my face. His power was telepathy, not immortality. I screamed. He was smiling.
He didn't even bother to speak. Nobody else in the room even gasped. I was #1, and they accepted it. They were smiling, too.
I wish I'd been able to figure out what was going on, but I've been around 18 years and I haven't even found out my power. There's no chance of me figuring it out anytime soon, either, since every day I face another challenge. Some are from the remaining Top 30, the ones who weren't at the meeting, and others are just nobodies who think they have a shot because of what happened to me.
Thing is, at all the public challenges, the same thing happens. They come in there grimacing, but when they get up, they use their power against themselves. They all die. Smiling. And the crowd smiles too.
It seems like they all just want me to win. | It wasn't so much a power as it was a curse. Tell me how you would feel to die a million deaths. To wake up the day before the dominoes fell, the machination of reality that would end your life took place, and then some small nuance in the fabric of reality is altered to spare your life for a few more days, years, an eternity. Maybe your consciousness was somehow attached to every other version of you in a theoretical multiverse. Maybe history would simply rewind. You didn't understand how it worked, and felt no more in control than a rat on a wheel. At first it was truly an anguish lamentable, but over eons of human experience you've grown cold and accustomed to your own personal hell. The very world would bend itself minutely just to keep you alive, to keep you at the precipice, to keep you number one. | 2014-12-18T14:20:18 | 2014-12-18T12:57:51 | 171 | 10 |
[WP] Suddenly, everyone’s life is worth 100,000 USD. Kill someone, and $100,000 is instantly deposited into your bank account, no questions asked. But, your life is now worth $200,000. | “ This is ridiculous, absolutely- are you serious?”
“ I’m afraid so, Mrs. Lemmings-“
“ It’s miss.”
“ I- right, I’m terribly sorry. I can run your ID again if you’d like, see if the system was sending a test alert or something.”
“ Please.”
“ Alright, one moment.”
I pressed the receiver of the phone closer to my ear with a sigh, leaning further back against the wall. My toes curled anxiously against the cold bathroom floor, the fingers of my free hand nervously picking at the fraying mat resting in front of the tub. The faint sound of keyboard tapping seemed to fade away more and more as every possible scenario raced through my head.
No one would want me gone for my job or anything, that was out of the question. People aren’t exactly tripping over their heels for a position as an English teacher, after all.
As far as I knew, I didn’t have any enemies, either. Let alone anyone with enough influence to alter someone’s bounty. It was out of the question.
Horrible crimes were another way to raise your value, but save for running the occasional red light, my record was squeaky clean. I hadn’t given the government any motivation to double my worth...
The only plausible reason was one I couldn’t bare to stomach. I refused to believe it. Not even the universe would be so cruel.
The sound of someone clearing their throat brought me back, my hand freezing just as I finally snapped the loose thread free.
“ Did you find anything?”
“ Yes, just... not what you were hoping for, I’m sure. You’re bounty has definitely shifted up to $200,000.”
My mouth went dry.
“ Oh.”
“ You have my deepest condolences, Miss Lemmings. I understand this is a tough discussion to have so soon after-“
“ Don’t-“
My voice caught. I swallowed hard before continuing.
“ Don’t say his name. Please.”
“ Of course, of course. Have the... um, have the results come back yet? I can’t grant you immunity until it’s confirmed.”
“ What does it matter? I have to ship it off before you can do anything, right?”
“ We’d like to have it as soon as possible, yes. But when it comes to matters like this, word-of-mouth will suffice until we can get the physical results mailed back to us.”
I nodded even though he couldn’t see, taking in a deep breath before pushing myself up off the floor. I shuffled mechanically over to the countertop, plucking up the test from where it was resting on the edge of the sink.
“ Okay,” I said, more to myself then anyone else.
“ Okay.”
I worried my bottom lip between my teeth as I flipped it over, my eyes scanning across its digital screen.
“ What does it say, Miss Lemmings?”
...
“ Miss Lemmings, are you still there?”
I was biting so hard I could taste iron. I dropped the test unceremoniously in the sink, returning to my previous spot on the floor. The tile was still warm.
“ I hope Rodney’s bounty at least went towards something good,” I spat, my eyes burning.
“ It’s positive. I’m pregnant.” | I fought for this right. We all did. Until we saw what It can do to us. We had no choice. Overpopulation was a problem long before I was born. Earth was figuring out diffrent ways to kill us. New disaters, new sicknesess and everyone's life, precious. So we decided to make the choice ourselves. First, we started with the criminals. And than we became the criminals. After that first kill, you know, there is nothing like it. The power over another's life... for a moment you are god, and you know there will not be anything anymore that can stop you. No need for guilt, or remorse. Instead, a reward. But they tricked us you see, they never said it would be like this. That I would be this searched and in need to be hiding here. They never said they would double the price for murderers.
And may I know, how much is your worth Grampapa?
My dear boy, why do you want to execute me yourself?
You've never taken anything seriously. I just need to know how many? And anyway How long do you plan on staying here. I hope you have a plan. I can't countinue to hide you forever. If father finds out, he will tell the authorities. And trust me, they aren't better here on Mars. In fact, they are much worse.
I will go Mark, as soon as the dust settles. I'm sorry for the trouble I have caused you. It's not because I wanted to. The choices I've made. I don't believe anymore that anyone of us makes their own choices. How can we, with our limited world view. We can just smile and nod along the way, or act miserably and rebel at it all. Either way, it comes down to you being unrecognizable to your self during the end.
Where will you go?
I don't think I should tell you for your own good. I'm meeting up with an old friend.
I'm sorry too. I didn't mean to sound harsh. It's just I am worried about you. I wish I could be able to do something.
It's ok son you did the best you could.
*Sorry for my English. I'm not a native speaker. | 2020-01-31T20:17:09 | 2020-01-31T18:35:39 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You have been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. Your turn approaches. | I’d been in line for hours. The regime had brutally destroyed the backbone of the resistance last week, and had set up these kangaroo courts to “process” the remaining prisoners.
It was all crap, anyway. They’d stolen the present and the future, and now they were all set to wipe out every remaining threat to their eternal reign. All that was left was to hoodwink them by their own systems, somehow.
Ahead, the box beeped. “Citizen Jenkins, submit your final request.” The man ahead of me grinned, triumphantly, and requested death by old age. The box beeped again, and the audience in the courtroom laughed as his flesh shriveled and he toppled over.
Well, there goes that plan. At least it was one of the less painful selections I’d seen.
We’d had lovely full-color holos to watch everyone else ahead of us, and there’d been so many deaths. The box could, apparently, function to provide any manner of death. If a prisoner tried to run, or fight, or do anything but specify, the box would default to some horrible torture that lasted less than thirty seconds and always ended the same way.
As the guards prodded me forward, a thunderbolt hit me. The box could do anything in the service of death.
Anything.
The box beeped at me. “Citizen Porthos, submit your final request.” My lips drew back over my teeth. I knew it was a wild, feral expression, that my captors were no doubt interpreting as panic, but my words were clear and controlled.
“Eight gigaton thermonuclear fireball.”
I had a fraction of a second to appreciate the absolute pandemonium that erupted in the courtroom.
Then everything ended. | "Well there goes that plan"
I thought, as the 20 year old man infront of me aged 200 years in mere seconds and crumbled into dust.
"Prisoner" the judge shouted as he leered down from his chair. "Have you decided the method of your demise?"
"I have your honour" I managed to garble through my shaking jaw.
I guess there is no getting out of this. If I have to go then I may as well go out with a bang!
"Well boy?? Get on with it! What shall it be?"
"Here goes nothing" I though.
.......
"Death by Snu Snu sir" | 2021-06-24T10:14:19 | 2021-06-24T10:06:58 | 5,663 | 20 |
[WP] When two people get married, on the day of the wedding they are both given the ability to alter the appearance of their spouse to anything they wish. How do they change each other? How do they respond to what has been done to them? | The night of their honeymoon she felt a hot, electric, tingle zip through her body and it wasn't from the sex. It stung as it traveled up her spine and down her limbs. She bit her lip and clenched the cotton sheets around her trying not to wake him. Her pain killers were in her suitcase somewhere but she knew she didn't have the strength to fumble for them alone. Enduring it, as she had done for decades, was all she could muster. The bones in her body felt like they were snapping and twisting under her skin.
Finally, the pain began to slow and she could handle sliding out of bed into her wheelchair. Her whole body felt heavier than ever. Wheeling herself into the bathroom she caught a glimpse of someone she didn't recognize in the wall of mirrors.
Straight, full figured legs, no longer bowed from countless breaks and weak from limited mobility. A chest cavity that sat perfectly symmetrical, one side no longer slightly sunken in and underneath even more symmetrical breasts. Frantic, she reached behind her, gliding her fingers as far up her spine as she could reach. Signs of her scoliosis vanished.
Tears began to drown her hazel eyes as she slid forward in her wheelchair. Both feet touched the icy bathroom tile. The muscles in her thighs pulled her up, as if on their own. Standing in front of the mirror was effortless, though the shock made her stagger.
He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her neck. As she cried in his arms he caught a glance of himself. Slight disappointment fell over him. He seemed and felt the same. Still average. Nothing special. "Everything I saw," she held him tight, "was perfect." | "I want to marry you exactly as you are." My future spouse - the title makes me grin wider - cups my face.
"So do I." I kiss their palm. "With one alteration."
They blink at me in confusion, their cat-like pupils narrowing in the light. "Wait . . ." It takes a long moment for them to realize as my grin morphs to a smirk. But as soon as the lightbulb went off they stumble over their own feet to find a mirror, leaving a ghost of an imprint where I still feel their hand on my cheek. I laugh.
"Hell yeah. Hell. Yeah," they chant.
I knew they had always wanted the most unnatural demonic eyes. What a weeb 💕 | 2022-12-08T05:38:26 | 2022-12-08T01:36:27 | 32 | 23 |
[WP] The demon did not know how to react. They'd never been offered cookies before. | Berazeal roared as he entered his newly summoned enchanters sigil.
#*THWACK*
“What is wrong with you?” The old lady scowled as she hit him with her cane.
“Forgive me mas-“ Berazeal began but his words cutoff as he turned to face the old crone. He’d been summoned by elderly humans before and they’d hit him for roaring too but this old hag didn’t even come close to the kind of humans who’d summoned before.
He stood in the middle of a small living area draped with old blankets and portraits, the whole room reeked of “old person”, which wasn’t an unpleasant smell to a demon but he much preferred brimstone and burning flesh to this.
“You have summone-“ Berazeal began to bellow.
#*THWACK*
The old crone bashed him again with her cane.
“Quit your howling dang it. You’ll disturb the neighbors.” she glared at him with icy bitterness.
“M-my apologies master?” He said much quitter but confused. “*since when did demon summoners worry about neighbors?* he thought to himself.
“You have summoned me though and I am here to do your bidding… at a price that is, my master.” Said Berazeal.
“My bidding? Master? HAHAHA!” The old crone laughed at him, “My name is Meredith you great big lug! And I didn’t summon you, you summoned you.” She said casually, as if this sort of thing happens all the time.
He looked at his feet and sure enough he was standing in a pentagram with four smaller pentagrams in the corner of the summoning square. The small, rug? Was he on a knitted rug?!
“What in the nine realms of hell am I standing on a knitted rug for?” He blurted out.
#*THWACK*
Meredith smacked him again.
“Watch your tongue young man!” She hollered at him.
Young he was not, being a demon of the fourth ring of hell he had been brought into existence nearly five thousand years ago.
“Besides, it’s called crochet, I made it for my great grandson. How you got her is unclear to me mister!” She chided him.
“You made the symbol for the fourth realm of demons and would have needed to use blood to bring me to this world.” Berazeal posited to the crone.
“We’ll that’s the symbol my great grandson has plastered on his room and all his little knickknacks, his birthday is coming up and I thought I’d make him something he’d like. I was checking my blood sugar when I dropped the finger stick.” Meredith explained.
The blood from the needle must have made contact with the sigil thus bringing Berazeal to earth.
“Well I’ve been summoned and I am unable to leave until I’ve made a deal with the one who summoned me.” Berazeal spoke, this should be easy to get her soul, a minuscule amount of work for an entire soul.
“Well I’m not sure what you can do for me that I couldn’t do for myself so you might as well get comfortable young man.” Meredith said stiffly to Berazeal.
“I do have cookies that’ll be coming out of the oven soon though, would you like some?” She inquired.
The demon did not know how to react. He’d never been offered cookies before.
“I suppose?” He said, feeing a little sheepishly. | But they accepted them, and the terms and conditions of the app.
​
Gorgo's toenails scraped nervously on the insides of its Hello Kitty slippers as the photo uploaded. So much of its future in the circle rode on this, finding a hell-bound human who could be lured to mate and be insperminated, a la Mia Farrow in that movie, though Gorgo preferred them on the sturdier side, if Gorgo was being honest.
​
If Gorgo could lure her, what an eternity was on offer! The split-level had a panoramic deck with a hot tub and a view of the Sulphur Pits, and on quiet nights one could hear a cacophony of tormented souls muttering. There was a patio, and a pizza oven fueled by testicles, and a bar, though it only stocked Miller. It was hell, after all. Yes, it was hell, and he was a demon who, with his 13 Chihuahua demigorgons, would be the form of her eternal torment, but there were worse torments, were there not? Gorgo liked to think that Gorgo was not really so bad.
​
So Gorgo assumed what he hoped was an alluring male form and took a selfie on the deck, hoisting a snifter. Then he lit a Tiparillo and tried to write.
​
\*Name: Pete B.
Looking for: Woman, 18-35
Drink: Yes
Smoke: Yes
I like the finer things - grilling with friends, hot parties and vacationing down South, or just staying home by the fire. I've been burned before, but could you be my forever? I'm looking for an old soul with a naughty side. A dog lover who likes to take risks.\*
Gorgo paused. Did he want a dog lover? This was eternal torment, after all. And maybe it was coming off sounding like maybe he was into bestiality. And maybe Gorgo was? Being a demon, he could assume many animal forms, as well as human form, so was it bestiality, then, what he did in dog form, with that pug last week? Gorgo was becoming distracted.
\*I like to meet all kinds of people.\* Gorgo erased. This was hard. But it was hell, after all. | 2021-12-29T15:26:36 | 2021-12-29T13:48:47 | 30 | 12 |
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read. | Room spinning, face warm and night stretched so thin that it was quickly becoming midday she stumbled into the kitchen. An outstretched hand reached out to scrape against walls, slipping onto counters to boost unreliable knees. A quick rest by the fridge, face pressed against the coolness of the freezer door.
"O-ne m-month," she slurred in a low hiccuping tone. She wrenched the freezer door open, narrowly stepping on a long tail. "Sorry. 'M so- so sorry," she apologized to disapproving golden eyes. A nose in the air in response, a furry back of disdainful avoidance. Instead tiny paws found the battered remains of her cellphone, pushing across the floor.
"I m-made it o-one mon-th," she started again, pouring vodka into a still cool shotglass. Her hand perfectly still and steady for the pour, a thing of long practice from long nights and fond memories. A deep breath and she reaches upwards to fill her head with empty and her heart with numb.
The glass slips from her fingers, tumbling almost majestically into the waterbowl at the edge of the linoleum. "Fuck," she sighed in defeat, legs giving out beneath her. She looks at the glass, just beyond her reach, then at the bottle in her hand. "Fuck it." Bottle to lips and a sharp gasp after the burning subsides. A strange cracking sound hit her ears, before she recognized her own broken laughter.
The cat dipped another paw into its bowl, licking it meticulously clean before dipping it in again. It looked at its paw for a moment before leaning down for a long drought. A slow relaxation seemed to wash over it and it looked back at the broken grieving woman collapsed on the kitchen floor.
The cat gave her one long slow blink before sighing heavily, "Get over it already. Pussy." | "Good Dog Pete, You have a problem."
I looked at him with disbelief. I knew I was drunk, but I didn't think I was drinking vermouth.
"Listen up. Tomorrow you are getting booked into Alcoholics Anonymous." Snoopy walked over to his bed in the corner, made three spins, laid down and shot a disapproving look my way.
"This is the last time. Otherwise I'm out of here. Its just not healthy for either of us."
I sat the bottle down on the counter and sighed. "Yeah, you're probably right Snoopy."
As I started to pour the contents of the bottle down the drain, Snoopy yelped.
"Leave some in there! I have poker night with the guys on Thursday." | 2016-08-02T18:41:05 | 2016-08-02T17:31:01 | 172 | 52 |
[WP] Your human partner has become suddenly ill. However, you and your circle of mages know that human medicine is vastly different. You have been told to check the most confusing of human medicine texts, WebMD. | “What’s the matter with him?” I asked, frowning at our human partner, Caleb, who was in the process of retching all over the Wizard’s guild.
Ganthar shrugged, pulling on his long white beard. “He just fell over and started vomiting.”
“Oh, god. That’s disgusting,” Azarick said, starting to gag.
“Someone cast a wind spell!” Ozodus said. “Or we are all going to throw up.”
I slammed open a window. “There,” I said. “No spell needed.”
“What do we do?” asked Ozodus.
“He’s always on this strange device of his. Let’s see if it can help.” I grabbed it and held it up to the light, then said to it: “what causes vomiting in humans?” And the device flipped open to a page of medical advice. Perfect.
“Okay, I said a person named…. *webMD….* that means he is a doctor. This Doctor Web seems to be able to help us.”
“Oh good,” Ozodus said. “Exactly what we need. And what does Doctor Web say to do?”
“Well the good doctor says the most common cause of vomiting is pregnancy. Do you think Caleb is pregnant?” I ask.
“Hmmm,” said Azarick. “His skin has truly been glowing lately.”
“Are we going to be wizard uncles?” Ozodus said, clapping his hands in excitement.
“No, unfortunately, I think his skin glows from the greasy foods he eats,” I said.
“But he has gained quite a bit of weight.” Azarick said. “Especially around the middle.” He said, grabbing his waist.
“Again, it’s the terrible diet. I told him he should stop eating deep-fried whelplings… plus I’m like 85% sure human males can’t get pregnant.”
“That’s unfortunate. Well then what else does the doctor say?”
“The doctor says it could be stress, such as fear.”
“Well, that could make sense.” Ozodus said. “We did just fight that fire dragon and Caleb had to hide in a treasure chest so he wouldn’t be engulfed in flames. That seems stressful.”
I wave them off. “That wasn’t his first dragon fight. He’s done it many times and he didn’t seem phased by it one bit. No that can’t be it.”
I scan the list. “Gallbladder disease… Gasteoparesis… Bowel Obstruction…” I said, running down the list.
“This Doctor Web is confusing!” Ozodus said.
“…brain tumor…” I said.
“*Ohhh,* he has been acting strange!” Azarick said. “I’ve always thought his brain was a little messed up. I bet this brain tumor is exactly what he has. What does Doctor Web say we do?”
“Hmmm,” I said, skimming through the confusing jumble of words. “Here. Here I got it. It says we must cut open his head and remove the tumor.”
“Wow.” Azarick said. “That sounds barbaric.”
“Humans…” Ozodus said.
“Maybe we could do a spell of healing? I know Caleb doesn’t like us casting spells on him. But would he really like us to cut his head open?”
“I think it’s the only way." I said. "Ozodus, grab the wood saw.”
“Will do.”
I picked up Caleb, who is still breathing hard from vomiting and set him in a chair. As I press the saw up to his temple, he opens his eyes in shock.
“Wait,” he screamed. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m sorry to tell you, Caleb. But you have a brain tumor and we must remove it immediately. Just sit back. This is going to hurt. Quite a lot.”
“*Wait. Wait. Wait.* What? A brain tumor. I don’t have a brain tumor. I just got sick from eating too many deep-fried whelps.”
I stared at him suspiciously then look at Doctor Web’s list. “Ah, yes. Overeating. I see now. Well… you really need to go on a diet, Caleb. You almost got your head cut off from stuffing your face with those disgusting, greasy whelps.”
He looked at me and I could see the conversation about the greasy whelps set him over the edge, and he fell to floor, vomiting again.
"Open another window!" shouted Ozodus.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic | "She isn't sick, she's just different is all," I shouted at the pointy-hatted freaks I had long thought of as friends.
"No, no, you don't understand my friend. She most certainly is ill. You just won't see it. I admire your lovely relationship with your wife, but denial is not the answer," said Mage Rothchild from behind his small round spectacles. Five other mages, his entourage, nodded in agreement.
"What disease does she have then? You're just cross because she prefers t-shirts and jeans to the flowing robes!"
Mage Rothchild's face scrunched up in an expression of contempt. "While it is certainly the case that she irked me, but the fact remains that such transgressions are not to be taken lightly and are symptomatic of bigger problems."
"What bigger problems?"
"Let me explain myself. Gunther," Rothchild shouted, "get me my magic console."
A young mage, his beard still reddish, brought out a little slate, which humans of the other world called a tablet.
"Look here, Hermes. Look. Does your wife dress funny? I say yes. Is she paranoid? Judging by the way she looks at me and my esteemed group of young mages, I'd say yes. Is she preoccupied and distant? Well, she doesn't speak much, does she? And finally. Is she uncomfortable with intimacy?" Rothchild raised a brow.
"That's enough Rothchild. Our intimate life is none of your business."
"I'd take that to be a yes," Rothchild said as a wicked smugness spread over his dignified face.
"Rothchild. You have crossed the line. Say one more word about my wife and I'll put a curse on you."
The mage shook his hands feebly. "Oh, no need for that. I didn't mean to offend you. I only wanted to show you how sick she is."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Why, according to this site here, your wife has all the symptoms of...let's see...it's a bit hard to pronounce...Schizotypal Personality Disorder," said the mage, impressed with his own oratory skill. "Doesn't roll off the tongue, but in any case, your wife has that."
"Bullshit. She might be cold and might not dress mighty fine, but she doesn't have any disorders. It's your sick mind. Your bias."
Rothchild smiled and handed the tablet over to me. "See for yourself," he said.
And by golly, he was right. My sweet little wife did have the disease. She was much too eccentric and exhibited all the symptoms listed. Unfortunately, when I told her that, she didn't take it too well.
"I can't take this any longer. The only reason I'm not comfortable with you is because you're nuts," that's what she said before slapping me and storming out of the house on her magic broom. "Damn you all, you bunch of narcissistic foppish patriarchs," she shouted over us and flew away.
"Mage Rothchild, do you know what that spell was?"
"Who cares? The bitch is gone. Let's all have a pint."
"Yeah, they have some transparently dressed witches there."
"Hot mamas!" Rothchild said and stroked his beard, elegantly. | 2021-03-29T08:44:49 | 2021-03-29T08:10:00 | 64 | 19 |
[WP] The whole universe is gone, and only two kids were left in the void. "Let's play again," said one of the kids to his only companion, "but this time I'll be God, and you will be the Devil." | The girl huffed as her startling red eyes settled on her companion in front of her.
“What?” asked the boy curiously as he shifted his own light blue eyes to meet hers.
“It’s not fair… you know, I always have to clean up your mess.” she stated with a slight frown.
“Well that’s what mother created us for,” he stated in a calm voice. “I create and you destroy.”
This only made the girl’s frown deepen, “I know but I just find it unfair! The creations you make always end up hating me!” she exclaimed “I’m always the one ending their lives when you get bored of them.”
The boy noiselessly sighed as he stared at her “Okay let’s play again,” he stated slowly, “but let’s switch roles.”
The girl laughed softly “You think it’s that easy,” she then added quietly “But you’ve never had to take a life before, and that’s only the beginning.”
The boy ignored her as he reached into his pocket pulling out a handful of light. “Catch!” he said as he tossed it to the girl.
The girl quickly caught the light and stared expectantly at her companion. She then quietly watched as the boy's eyes slowly bled from their normal blue into a deep crimson.
She quickly rubbed her own eyes as they began to slightly ache.
“The transfer is complete,” The boy then asked boredly, “What are you thinking of making?”
The girl looked up at the dark nothingness above her as a small smile began to form on her lips.
“Humans.” | "I'll create a nice river first. Then I think the planes, different ones this time. Having just one was a huge mistake, maybe some ups and downs all over for variety. Then I'll make creatures to play here. Dogs first!!! I love dogs, dogs are awesome. The rest after that. What are you making?"
"The earth and humans. Seriously why can't I have the fun job again?! Boooo!" | 2018-10-28T19:35:14 | 2018-10-28T14:08:48 | 31 | 21 |
[WP] The DM hands you the paper. You're just dropping in for the one session, but you know your role. The sheet says you're level 6, but you've got surprises. You have a mission: take out the DM's most-hated player. Well, their fun-killing Paladin, anyway. You're a hired gun. A Character Assassin. | I sat in the chair across from Rich. Bowls of various chips and candies covered the table, and two-liter bottles that once contained Dr. Pepper were strewn carelessly on the floor.
Joe, the DM of our group, sat at one end of the table, and Keaton, our Bard’s level-headed player, at the other. Brooke the Monk sat to my right. I was only home for the weekend, and Joe had called me in for a “special job.”
As the night progressed it became more and more obvious why. Rich wasn’t exactly an A+ player. Every decision the DM made was argued for 5 minutes. If a player attacked in a way Rich didn’t like, guess what? Another 5 minutes. As more time passed, I noticed a strange phenomenon. There was only one person he didn’t ever argue with. Brooke. He was deferential to her, throwing the others under the bus just to try and “prove himself,” or something absurd like that. A classic white knight, alongside of being a pretentious douchebag. The perfect target.
My tiefling arcane trickster had faired quite well through the session, surprising Rich, who expected his min-maxed aasimir sorcerer to destroy all opposition. As we reached the end of the dungeon we were painstakingly making our way through, my high perception roll caught a pressure plate, along with a thin seam in the ceiling. Rich was right behind me, hoping to get any loot as quickly as possible.
Calling all clear, I cast minor illusion, covering the pressure plate neatly with an ordinary stone tile. I barely stepped over it, and then stopped, forcing Rich’s sorcerer to clumsily bump into me and step directly on the hidden pressure plate. I spun and rolled with advantage on a surprise attack with my enchanted dagger. A 15 and a 20 sealed his fate, with a neat sneak attack to boot. The dagger plunged into his ribs, as a look of shock came over the faces of both Rich and his arrogant sorcerer. Vines sprouted instantaneously from the green blade in his chest, rooting him to the spot as countless boulders tumbled from the ceiling.
Brooke’s monk nailed the high dex save and expertly dodged the rocks, while I used evade and took half damage. Keaton’s bard was wary enough to avoid even coming close to the trap. The poor sorcerer, his hands bound and feet rooted to the ground, never stood a chance. The boulders rained on him, cracking limbs and ribs and mutilating fleshy bits. At 2 HP he lay on the ground, stunned, as I leaned over him. He started to mutter something, when a knife flew straight into his oversized blue forehead, ending his miserable existence. I looked up to see Brooke smiling with an empty sheath at her waist.
At the table, Rich jumped up and stormed out, the screen door slamming behind him. He stormed back in, grabbed his keys and dashed out yet again. Tomorrow I would leave, and probably never play with these people again. But I knew I wouldn’t forget them anytime soon.
(Edit: lay, not may) | Josh usually wasn’t the fun killer, but ever since the dm has started this run the group had been at odds with Josh’s Lawful Good Paladin. Everyone wanted to run a neutral or light evil alignment, except Josh who feeling left out decided he would try to ruin everyone else’s fun.
Josh, Anthony, and Becca had always been into extreme role praying much to the delight of the dm Tucker. Most of their games were super in-depth and catered more to the role playing aspect than the actual fighting. This game on the other hand had become the most grueling slog according to all except Josh who was having a great time constantly detailing the plot to go help some side NPC the dm hadn’t planned for or stopping the group from getting the precious money money.
Today was the day I’d show up to fill in for Becca because she had some dentist appointment or something. I was more of a gamer than table top I really liked seeing my character more than imagining them, but today was special Tucker basically begged me to help out his “little problem”. I get my character sheet a level 6 chaotic evil Warlock with the lovecraft pact.
We begin adventuring through some dark abyssal cavern only to be met with light resistance. A few beast here and there. We come across this massive creature a fusion of the flesh and bones from innumerable beasts and humans alike now a fountain of darkness with black pus oozing from every orifice obviously a boss creature intended for the whole team, but this is where my plan begins.
Using my beast speech I calm the creature down and explain who I am. With the beast calm I use my bewitching whisper spell (usually a level 7 spell but our dm tweaked the rules a bit) to control the beast and compel it to attack only the paladin who had been resting back at camp from the earlier skirmishes.
The beast charged into the camp attacking the paladin while unprepared a few bad roles later and the paladin was dead ripped in half by the monstrous beast. My job was done and Josh decided to get a new character more eviler character. | 2019-01-21T19:51:50 | 2019-01-21T19:07:19 | 330 | 40 |
[WP] The day you die, Death comes and asks if you are ready to go. Jokingly, you say no. To your surprise, he leaves. Now every year he comes back to ask again | *I stood in a white void facing a hooded figure, confused and somewhat scared.*
*“Where am I?” I asked the figure. “Are you the grim reaper?”*
*“Yep. I’m sorry to say this, man, but, well, you’re dead. You really should have looked both ways before you crossed that busy street...” He replied, shrugging.*
*“Damn, really? That’s so lame...” I groaned. “Man, I haven’t even gotten laid yet. This is so uncool...”*
*“Yeah, well, that’s life for ya.” He chuckled, extending his pale hand towards me. “Ready to head up to heaven?”*
*“Nah.” I replied, looking at him right where I thought his eyes would be under his hood.*
*“Wait, seriously?” He seemed taken aback.*
*“Yeah.”*
*“Oh, uh, okay. Shit, I’ve never had anyone say no before. Guess I’ll just send you back...” He snapped his fingers, and I found myself lying in a hospital bed, covered in bandages and IV tubes. My girlfriend began crying into my chest when she saw that I had woken up...*
Every year after that fateful day, the Grim Reaper would come and visit me wherever I was. He always came at the most inopportune times, always asking me if I wanted to go to heaven. Once, he popped into existence in my bedroom while my girlfriend and I were ‘busy’. Another year, he interrupted me while I was in the middle of a job interview. He even caused my poor mother to have a heart attack when he appeared during Thanksgiving dinner. After that particular incident, I decided that enough was enough.
One night, after my girlfriend was asleep, he appeared to me in my living room, where I was waiting for him with a bottle of beer.
“Hey, man. Are you finally ready to go?”
“The answer’s still no, brah. I have a pretty bomb-ass life right now, but there is one thing that I don’t like about it, and that’s you. You keep annoying the shit out of me every year with that same damn question, man, and the answer’s always gonna be no.” I took a swig of my beer.
“I see. Why don’t I just make you immortal, then?” He asked me. “Then you’ll never have to see me again. Granted, I don’t know if you’d want to-“
“Do it.” I interrupted him demandingly. “Do whatever you need to do, as long as you stay the hell outta my life.”
“Alright. Don’t say I didn’t try to warn you...” He snapped his fingers again, vanishing from my life for the last time.
Not long after he vanished, the world fell into utter chaos. All the global tension that had been building up since before I was born had finally reached a boiling point, and every country on earth was obliterated in a horrible nuclear firestorm in a matter of hours. I could only stare in horror at the destruction and death that occurred around me as all my loved ones and the rest of planet earth were atomized out of existence.
Once the bombs stopped falling, I was alone. Alone on a desolate hellscape that I used to call home, with nobody to talk to except myself. Everyone I knew and loved was dead, and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
“I shoulda said yes...” | [Poem]
Tim was a man who lived a simple life,
All he wished for was to be happy and light.
So when he took to the skies for the sky-high dive,
He forgot to pull, leaving him barely alive.
An old man in black approaching, robes tattered
Tim now knew notting mattered.
What he didn’t expect, grieving in woe,
He kept muttering out, a simple “No”.
Death stood, with his beard overgrown
Smiling said “Sure.” and left him alone.
Confused, hurt and bleeding,
Tim felt like sleeping.
.
.
.
Tim awoke, in a room of white
He felt dizzy and high as a kite.
The doctors exclamed “A miracle of technology, this was!”
But Tim knew, deep down, that probably wasn’t the only cause.
He continued his life, feeling alright
Finally finding the one to make his wife.
On the day of his wedding, death visited in navy
A sharp looking suit, looking all savvy
Blended in the crowd, he called out
And Tim went to meet him, his time left was surely too little to count.
But all it took was to ask him a question,
For Tim to decide his fate, and ease the tension.
Shocked, relieved, happy and hyped
This was truly the happiest day of his life.
.
.
.
Tim had kids to care for during the years,
But still had time to listen and hear.
Everytime he was asked,
He still answered the same, “I’ll pass.”
“I want to live and see the sights”
“And live with my family, away from heights”
Death nodded, and took his leave
But one year Tim stopped him, grabbing him by the sleeve.
“Why are you doing this?” He asked.
“It’s simple, really.” Death said, now wearing his mask.
“Your stupid death made some gods laugh, telling me to not kill you yet.”
“Wait what the fuck” Tim said, expecting his answer not to be met.
“I’m not kidding, but it’s a lot more complicated”
Tim was then left, his eyes filled with hatred.
With all of his might, he threw one finger to the skies
.
.
.
And then Timmy fucking died.
(No I’m not u/poem_for_your_sprog , but the chance to end it like this tempted me lol. If you guys want me to write another version, let me know.)
(Also sorry for the bad English) | 2019-04-16T11:45:19 | 2019-04-16T06:59:45 | 30 | 22 |
[WP] You're the owner of a cafe frequently visited by vigilantes and anti-heroes who absolutely adore your sweetness and acceptance of who they are. One day, though, a particularly rude customer comes in and trashes the place. Your friends aren't too happy to hear about that. |
I knew he was trouble when he walked in.
He came in, head held up high, posture like someone had shoved a metal rod up his ass. Young, cocky, asshole. It was slow day, only a couple of people were around. None of the regulars. A guy working on his laptop, and another girl watching the snow fall over Union Square outside.
He walked over to the counter like he owned the place. He raised his voice. “You folk might want to leave,” he said. “This might get ugly.”
I raised an eyebrow at him. He must have a foot on me and his arms were as thick as my thighs. The two customers looked at me and I nodded. “Best to leave, yeah.” They hurried out. What were the odds either of them would call the cops? Next to none. They’d think the other person would.
“You want something?” I asked.
The man picked up a cup and threw it at the wall next to my head, probably intending to make me flinch. I caught it as it flew by my head and set it back down. The PTSD and emotional trauma did come with some upsides.
“So you’re Elizabeth, I take?” eyes narrowed.
I went with the classic response. “Depends on who’s asking.”
He sneered. “Nobody’s asking, *sweetheart,*” he said. “We’ve been keeping track of what kind of clientele you serve. The rotten. The wannabes. The worst of the worst.”
“Strange,” I mused. “None of them have ever threatened me in my own workplace. Truly, nothing screams paragon of virtue like trying to intimidate women.”
He walked over to a table, picked it up with one hand and threw it against the wall. The table shattered and left a dent in the wall. He picked up a metal chair and, looking me in the eyes, bent it in half.
I rolled my eyes. “You realize you’re paying for that, right?”
He laughed and continued to wreck the place. Tables, chairs, vases, whatever he could find his hands on, grinning all the time. This was just pathetic, this is what the League had resorted to? Petty intimidation? And it could only be the League with their idiotic ideals of heroism. The government weren’t a bunch of thugs, and anyone else wouldn’t have bothered with the intimidation, they would’ve tried to kill me. Honestly, I would have preferred that. That was honest. This though…
“Are you done?” I asked as he sauntered back over to me.
“For now I am,” he said, again with that grin showing impeccable teeth. I was tempted to punch him…but no. I was out. I didn’t interfere anymore. It wasn’t worth it. “Now listen here, no more serving your “regulars,” yeah? Tell them someone, ah, tipped you off to what they really are. And that you don't serve their kind."
“They don’t trash the place, and tip well. They seem like better customers than you are.”
He leaned closer, looking me dead in the eyes. “Now, the League is protecting all of you from…maniacs like them, maybe you should be a little grateful.” He straightened. “You know, it might get some people thinking, why would any self-respecting citizen serve people like them. Might give the League the wrong idea...”
A handful of people sauntered into the shop snow on their shoulders. “I heard you were having trouble, Liz,” the man in the lead, Jon, said. Behind him, there was Rory, her red hair falling out of her fur hood and Michel, his dark skin a sharp contrast to the winter wonderland outside.
“Oh, speak of the devil,” the Leaguer said and *smiled.*” Actually smiled. He couldn’t see the tension in the air. I could feel it. Didn't realize how screwed he was.
“Jon, Rory, Mike,” I said, nodding to each of them. “What brings you here.”
“Heard a bull was running around in your shop, Liz,” Jon said, his eyes locked on the intruder. “Thought you could use some help getting it out.”
“Look, don’t worry about it,” I said, asshole or not the guy looked in his 20s. “He’s just a kid, let him go.”
He swiveled towards me, eyes ablaze. I mentally chastised myself. I hadn't thought before speaking. Forgot how sentimental these young heroes were.
“A kid? Listen bitch,” he spat, “I’ll show you how much of a kid I really am.” I saw the punch coming a mile away – really those idiots with super strength were always slow for some reason, and moved to the side, but I needn’t have bothered. The kid flew back and hit the wall with a wet sounding thud and a crack. One second he was in front of the counter reaching for me, the next he was against the wall, a red stain on the wall, his neck at an unnatural angle.
I put my head in my hands. “Jesus fucking Christ, Jon,” I snarled.
Jon frowned at me, moving his hand back down – he didn’t actually need to move his hand to use telekinesis – he just liked to show off. “He was going to hit you, Liz.”
“Seriously? You think that idiot could have even *touched* me?”
“I don’t know, Liz,” Rory spoke, laughing, “You’ve been out for a long time…”
I glared at her. “Now the league will investigate, things will only go downhill.”
Jon’s voice was laced with steel. “The League won’t fucking dare.”
I knew that tone of voice. “Jon no…”
But he was already turning away. “C’mon Rory, Mike. Let’s have a chat with the local League office.”
I surveyed the broken tables, the body, the blood. "Leaving the adult to clean up the mess..." I muttered uncharitably and went in the back to get the bleach.
***
Due to demand, I present
[Part 2: Blood on the Snow](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/9q1h8u/urban_fantasy_blood_on_the_snow_out_of_retirement/?)
If you enjoyed, check out my sub, [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| As the proud owner of The Dreamy Beany Coffee Shop I pride myself being open and welcoming of everyone. Members of the LGBT community frequently use the cafe for their meetings and I run a program for runaway teens. I make sure to giveaway all of my leftover pastries to the homeless shelter nearby and only buy local products. I’m also the only cafe that opens up late in the night and provides good quality coffee and warm pastries to vigilantes and anti-heroes looking for some comfort and warmth after a long night of fighting. After listening to their stories about how theres so much corruption in the world that heroes simply can’t deal with because of their code of morals, you can’t help but want to just give them a nice warm hug and a slice of pie for their hard work. The media certainly doesn’t treat them nicely and a lot of them struggle with the things that they have to do for the good of others.
Of course a lot of people simply refuse to think that vigilantes and anti-hero’s are more than anything more than a group of hoodlums who kill at random. And by proxy this means that they hate me for trying it do a nice thing and help them out. People life this young man for instance. I know his type and I see them often. Shock blue hair, rippling with muscle, tall, and definitely no older than 19 years old. They think that because they’re strong and much taller than lil old me that they can intimidate me into shutting down. For some reason despite having been opened for 20 years they think that they’re going to be the one who finally manages to convince me to stop serving people that they refuse to understand.
“Ma’am you aren’t listening to me! These are disgusting FREAKS of nature that hunt down people are random! THEY DESERVE NOTHING MORE THAN JAIL! I don’t know how you can continue to serve these ruthless killers!” He yells at me as he pounds his massive fist into the table. I frown slightly as I see the cracks spiderwebbing into the table and raise an eyebrow before saying
“Mmm well have you ever actually talked to any of these ‘freaks’ dear? They’re actually doing a lot of good for society. And are you actually going to order anything? You’ve been standing at my counter ranting for the past fifteen minutes.”
A loud scream of frustration escapes his lips as he smashes the glass on the display case, just further proving my point that he’s just a young hotshot who doesn’t quite understand the complexity of everything yet and how good is so much more complex than he makes it out to be. Still I’d much rather sit down with him over a cup of tea and muffins with him and try to explain it that way, but he had quickly shot down that offer saying that he refused to eat anything that those “ruthless killers” ate. Oh well his lose, my muffins are made from scratch and are always a hit with my regulars. Where are they anyway? I could use some help dealing with this young man before he becomes an actual problem.
Another loud scream of frustrated anger escapes his lips as he picks up a table and smashes it into a wall, breaking it into a million pieces as he continues his little temper tantrum. I sigh and take out some muffins from the oven and two mugs of tea before sitting down at one of the remaining tables. I watch him break another table with his fist and slam a chair through the window before he finally starts to wind down. I watch him pant for breath and say “What are you actually mad about dear? Because I doubt someone would actually break apart an old woman’s cafe just because they’re mad at vigilantes.”
Finally I see his mask of anger crack and I hear him let out a choked sob as he stands there in the destruction that he’s caused. I walk up to him and give him a reassuring hug and walk him back over to the chair in front of mine. He takes the mug of tea gratefully and lets out another choked sob before saying “T-The vigilante riptide killed me dad yesterday. I could believe it at first, he had always seemed like a good man and a great hero to look up to he. H-he was why I wanted to be a hero. Turns out he was secretly kidnapping members of his fan club and r-raping them. I. I just can’t believe it. I-I still can believe it. I-I’m sorry. I have all this rage you know? It’s how I get my super strength. I. I just couldn’t think straight.“
I give him a soft pat on the back as he breaks down into tears. Like I said, I’ve seen their type before. Full of misdirected rage and hate. A lot of people forgot that they’re human as well and that they just need a good tantrum, a nice homemade muffin, and a cry.
Still it’s nice to have an anti-hero on my side to make sure I come out of it alive, I’m not as spry as I used to be and I discreetly give the sniper on the roof nearby the signal that he’s calmed down. The sniper gives me a concerned look and I have to shoo him away before the red dot finally flickers off of the back of his head. I smile widely as he finally digs into a muffin and begins to realize just how good it as. Ah to be young and dumb again. | 2022-11-10T02:01:25 | 2018-10-20T22:13:44 | 1,330 | 34 |
[WP] A girl becomes pen pals with a demon prince when she accidentally intercepts one of his magic scrolls. They carry on correspondence for years, confessing their secrets & dreams to each other. One day, the prince, soon to be king, sends the girl, now a woman, a final scroll: a marriage proposal.
Boy/princess responses are also welcomed. | In our first letters to each other, I found out three things about Lily.
One, that she really liked cats. I mean, 'cat-decal-everything-paw-print-patterns' level.
(I'm more of a dog kinda guy, but I can appreciate their charm.)
Two was that she was the daughter of a single mother, who had no siblings but a very large extended family that she loved very dearly even if they did cause one hell of a ruckus.
And three was that she was the princess of a demonic kingdom (queendom? Is that a thing?) and destined to ascend the throne once her mother would finish her 1000-year reign.
See, I'm not totally sure how we even ended up writing to each other in the first place. One day you set up a personal mailbox outside your window and draw a pentacle and other assorted demonic imagery on it for the giggles, and the next morning you find a scroll with very neat (if very tiny) handwriting in something that may or may not be blood addressed to some dude who's clearly not you.
But y'know, when a girl initiates a conversation it's rude to not reply.
So that's how it went for the next decade or so. We exchanged monthly letters/scrolls about anything and everything (can you believe they don't have *beer* in Hell but they have *grape juice*? Not even wine, just. Grape juice.) that came to mind. I taught her a little about life upon our mortal plane of existence (*'no Lily, radios do *not* have tiny men inside them'*), and in return, she taught me a little Latin and provided me with sketches and drawings she wanted some critique on.
To be honest, sometimes I looked forward to her letters more than anything else. With Lily, I felt as if I could open up and spill the things I'd be hiding from everyone else in my life. Neither of us ever talked about escalating things beyond friendship, but looking back it should have been painfully obvious to me that I was unconsciously crushing *hard* on her. On some girl, who I'd never even met face-to-face before.
(I didn't want to make things uncomfortable, so I squashed those feelings.)
From time to time she'd make an offhand comment about how the infighting in her family was steadily getting worse as her mother's term came to an end, or how she'd be pressured to find a suitable king-consort. I tried to sympathise as best as I could, but it was times like these that reminded me of just how different a life Lily lived.
Fast forward to my final year in my Communications degree, where she sent an especially long letter. By then, I had been kicked out of the house and Lily's mother was a year away from abdicating the throne. I chuckled at her stories of clumsy attempts of humiliation and inhaled sharply at the tales of assassinations (both failed and successful). It had just been any other letter for us.
So, of course, it completely came at me out of nowhere when at the end in her tiny neat handwriting she meekly asked if I would like to come live with her.
(*'But I'm not forcing you or anything!'*, she had written. *'I just get a little lonely sometimes. And...I'd really like to hear what your voice sounds like.'*)
I had never written a reply and smashed it into my battered old mailbox so quickly before.
I have no regrets, of course. Sure, I'm going to live somewhere that doesn't show up on Google Maps and I'll be leaving behind literally everyone I've known. But I'm finally going to get to meet the girl who made life worth living and be able to live with her by the end of November. I just hope my degree will actually net me a useful job down in Hell.
But hey. At least I don't have to worry about getting paid. | The ancient vellum scroll appeared on her desk, as always, at noon. The sun shone through the slanted blinds directly on it, as though to the light must also confirm the existence of this impossible letter. The girl, long now considered a woman yet still too young to feel like what society considered an adult. Responsibilities sucked and she was not good at them.
She rolled the scroll open and held it down using paper weights she bought specifically for these readings. One was a silver cross, for irony, and the other was a cast iron dragon, Chinese mythology not western. Mephisto learned this after a her letters caused his skin to puff and itch. Apparently even a prince of hell may suffer an allergic reaction.
Alyssa, our fair lady who still yet felt young, ensured only the best reading conditions. The lamp light shone upon the scroll despite the midday sun coming through the window. Her glasses sat beside it, despite being for nearsightedness and having decidedly nothing to do with reading something but a foot away from her face. A glass of water in case she felt a strong urge to supply a dry throat without leaving the letter. Even emergency candy and alcohol in a drawer in case the worse occurred. (Really it was for those late lonely nights where Alyssa drunk more than enough, but wanted more, but still was far too lazy to move, but hardly needed to with such a ready bottle nearby, but also she might crave sweets, but also there were sweets there, but alas that is yet another story)
More to the point, she read the letter:
"Will you marry me?"
She stated at that message for ages and ages. Messy and she were just friends. They've never flirted too much. Ok maybe a little but never beyond a friendly extent. What was he thinking sending this so suddenly out of no where!!! She turned to a plant on the verge of dying. Alyssa always remembered to water it in time to keep it from dying, but never soon enough to make it healthy.
"I do believe my dear Messy has gone mad Sir Ficus. He believes our friendship should escalate farther than platonics and he is also the Demon Prince of Hell! However shall I get out of this mess indeed."
A second figure rose from the bed, their movement full of sloth. The redhead let the blanket fall, revealing her full breasts that surely any porn star would grow jealous and any sane women would feel the back pain of carrying. Mephisto spoke out in the form her took last night, his voice smooth and sultry even as a redhead.
"Darling, I do so appreciate your desire to write a novel, but must it be about the letter I sent 20 years ago?"
--- feedback is welcome :D hope you enjoyed | 2018-05-07T01:35:47 | 2018-05-06T23:41:51 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second... | Ok, this may be a little late but let's see how it goes. Also, I have never written before (besides essays in college) so there may be a bunch of grammatical errors.
-----------------------------------------------------------------
The day had finally come. It was Name Day. The day your future is mapped by a single word that appears along the right wrist. Normally Name Day is a private affair with your closest family and friends but our town had decided to make a spectacle of ours. This was the first set of twins to our relatively small town of a few small thousand. I personally don't see what all the fuss is about seeing as my sister Ashley and I are just fraternal twins. It's no different than other siblings. I guess the excitement of two Name Days is wild enough to excite the people around here.
11:52 am
Only 8 more minutes to go until our reveal. There is a buzz around the high school auditorium. You can faintly hear the chatter of residents trying to guess what our paths will be. I already know what my sisters will be. I have always had a knack for this growing up. Every Name Day I have attended for close friends and family I just knew. Cousin Rob was going to be a teacher. He was always good at helping me with my homework it so I wasn't surprised when the letters appeared on his right wrist. Same with my best friend Jason. Athlete. Ashley's closest friend. Dancer. These were easy so it's no surprise that most people had already figured them out well before I did. It was the times that no one was right and I guessed it that gave me the most satisfaction. The only one that I could never guess was myself. I felt like there were millions of possibility and they were all mine but nothing stood out. Nothing grabbed me by the throat and revealed itself like so many others. There wasn't normal gut feeling that convinced me I was right. Just the emptiness of a million possibilities.
11:59 am
1 minute to go and I can still hear the residents commenting on what our wrists will reveal. Actor... Scholar... Janitor... Politician... All different varieties of professions just like when I tried to focus on what I felt I would get. It was kind of refreshing to know I wasn't the only on having trouble deciphering what my path will be. And also a tad terrifying.
"Ok everyone take your seats! The reveal is about to commence," exclaimed Mayor Gunderson into the microphone.
12:00 pm
The auditorium falls to a hush as they prepare for my reading. It was decided that I would go first as I was born before Ashley. Then they would reveal hers.
The family has gathered around and I feel a slight euphoric sensation as my wrist begins to tingle. Letters slowly start appearing along my arm one after another.
S.U.C.C.E.S.S.O.R
Successor? What does that even mean? No one has seen successor before.
Mayor Gunderson speaks softly into the microphone, "He has been given Successor."
The auditorium begins to rise in volume as people discuss the possibility. Successor to what? The President? My father? Who?
"Please calm down everyone. We will have time to discuss this after the revealing is completed. Let's see what path Ashley has been given," said the mayor.
The auditorium once again falls to a soft murmur. The family gathers around Ashley to see her path yet her wrist is blank. An uneasiness is falling over the crowd and Ashley looks disturbed. This has never happened before. What does it mean? It makes no sense. I have always known what Ashley was meant to be. I had the gut feeling from a very young age when we would be laying down for bedtime and I could hear her softly singing. She had an angelic voice and that was her calling.
"This makes no sense. I've known what Ashley was meant to be since we were kids. She is going to be a singer," I said.
Just as the words left my mouth the letters began to appear on her arm.
S.I.N.G.E.R. | I sit down, waiting for what's to come. To be completely honest, I wasn't expecting much. I was a pretty average guy, average looks, average complexion, had a few distinct features, but they weren't the kind I liked to show very often.
I had grown up feeling that I wasn't as good as other people. I was bullied in school, always seemed to get into trouble for things that I had no intention of doing, the folks I lived with were borderline abusive, really. I didn't live with my parents any more, they had died when I was very young, but even back then, I knew I wasn't being treated right. My cousin had always been raised well, always better than me anyways. All of these things had built me up into a person who never really thought of themselves as particularly good at anything. I was expecting something like shopkeeper, postman, something boring, uninspiring, like the rest of my life. I was also hoping to whatever god is out there that it was NOT going to be nothing. Nothing usually either meant homeless or early death. Nobody wanted that.
11:50 came along. I don't even think the rest of the household realised what was going on. We had gone on a holiday, or at least that's what we were told. Where we are isn't exactly the best holiday location, let's just say that. Still, maybe there is going to be a surprise party or something, I don't know.
11:55pm. Nothing has happened yet. I think everyone else has gone to sleep, actually. That's kinda depressing, actually.Come to think of it, I've never even heard them mention their symbols. Maybe they got nothing and are really ashamed of it? I'm not sure.
11:59. A minute to go. The rain is battering against the cold, damp walls of this old house. Despite the terrible rain, terrible house and terrible everything, I feel... Excited? I'm not really sure what it is, it's an emotion that I think i've felt before, but it's been absent from my life for many years now. I try to place it for a while, but I can't. No matter, anyways, there's only a minute left before my future is decided.
10 seconds before midnight. I realise what the emotion is. I feel hopeful.
5 seconds. Out of nowhere, I feel a burning sensation on my forehead. The pain is unbearable, I do all I can not to scream. I reach up and touch it.The scar has been there for all my life, I thought i was meant to get a new one? It feels different, though. It feels disctinctly lightning shaped.
12AM hits. Theres a loud knocking on the door.
****
*first ever prompt i've ever made. Hope it was ok. I know the character was meant to be 18, but I couldn't resist. It was originally meant to be a serious story, I decided against it.* | 2017-03-16T06:31:54 | 2017-03-16T04:27:29 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] Your older brother has been missing for years. You hear a knock on the door, and you open it to reveal a man that looks like your brother would be at this point. "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!" He hugs you immediately. Just then, you get a text from your brother's old number. "That isn't me." | The warmth of my small cramped apartment washed over me as I stepped in, out of the cold winter night. It had been another long day working the DeFranco murder case. My mind was running over the interviews I had with the families as I unholstered my Sig Sauer and set it on my cluttered kitchen counter.
"Empty" I said to myself looking into the fridge.
I grabbed a cold beer and swiped open my Iphone to pull up Uber Eats when a knock at the door stopped me in my tracks.
Making my way over to the door I couldn't help notice the hairs on my neck raised. Something felt wrong and as an NYPD Detective I learned to trust my instincts a long time ago. Another series of knocks hounded the door, harder this time.
"Alright!" I said aloud, "I heard you the first time."
I cracked the door peering out and my mouth went dry upon seeing who it was.
"Dave! It's me, Tommy." the stranger said, "I'm back man! I'm so sorry!"
Before me was a man who looked like my brother, taller than me by a few inches and the same crooked nose my brother had from when he broke it in a fight he jumped in to save me from bullies back in 5th grade. Before me was a man that had been missing for 10 years.
"Are you gonna let me in?" He smiled.
"Sorry Tommy," I swung the door open and embraced him.
"Where the fuck have you been, Have you seen Ma?" Questions poured out from me.
"I haven't stopped by yet since I got back." Tommy looked around the small apartment, "You got anything to eat?"
"No, I was about to order a pizza you want one?"
"Sounds perfect I'm starved"
"There's beer in the fridge, Help yourself!"
I switched open my phone pulling up the app when my phone buzzed. A text, from Tommy's old number. "That isn't me."
My palms felt clammy as my stomach flipped. I read the text again and looked at the man rummaging through my fridge.
I thought back to the search parties and the posters, Missing 16 year old, I was 13. I joined the force out of college hoping to find him and he came to me, or did he. I felt lightheaded, as I went to the counter. My phone buzzed with rapid fire texts coming in.
"Tommy, you have to tell me what happened." I stammered.
"Actually Dave, I was hoping you could tell me what you have on the DeFranco case."
I could hear my heart beat as I realized my trusty Sig wasn't on the counter where I placed it. When I looked over to Tommy I saw the barrel pointed directly at me.
"Put the phone down David."
Edit: tried to make it easier to read with more spaces between conversation
First post be gentile :) | [That isn't me.]
A text, that's bizzarre. I looked up, meeting his smiling, familiar face. I checked the message once more before sighing. I put my phone back into my pocket. "Brother, come in!" I exclaimed, taking his hands and leading him inside. For a split second his smile turned into something- nasty, yes, that's the right word.
"Would you want some drinks? Your favorite juice, perhaps?"
He replied with a curt nod, I smiled. "Alright, sit down first. I promise I'll be quick." I walked to the kitchen. In the way, I took out my phone and replied to the latest message. A quick [I know.] and the number was blocked. I casted aside my phone, right now, my focus is the juice.
I took out some tomatoes, a carrot, cabbages, all his favorite things. Sugar, he likes his juice sweet and a little pinch of black pepper to enhance the taste. Oh, how can I forgot the cheese and dried tuna? Ah and love, that's important. He loves them., that would be a wonderful addition. Chopped into huge chunks, and then I just put them all into the blender. Served into a jug, the juice is done.
Smiling was my face the entire time, I serve the drink to him. He looked at me in disbelief, I replied with a soft "Enjoy, drink ahead. I make it all just for you."
He seemed hesitant, but drank it ahead. "It... tastes strange. What's in it— wait." He vomited, coughed- lines of curses escaped from his mouth. From afar, I heard the door barged open. It's brother, he's running to here. His face dripping with sweat, eyes frantically looking around.
He looked the imposter and groaned. "God, I'm too late." I chuckled. | 2020-07-23T10:49:39 | 2020-07-23T10:48:47 | 169 | 66 |
[WP] When you learned your mother was a goddess, things finally seemed to fall into place. The other demigods laughed at you, the only child born to the goddess of the hearth, Hestia. But your power was so much more than they could dream of. | "Mom, what is it I actually...do?"
Mom took a break from tending to the fire to look at me and ask, "What do you mean, Brandy?"
I stuck another marshmallow on my skewer before replying, "I mean, what are my divine gifts, if I even have any? Like, the other demigods can eat fire or turn into giraffes or whatever. So what can I do?"
Mom sighed and looked up at the tree canopy overlooking us with a smile. As I pulled my marshmallow back and shoved it in my mouth, she answered, "Well, that's a bit of a story, pumpkin, and I can't think of any better place for it than around the campfire. It all goes back to the vow on the River Styx that I made to Zeus, that I would remain a virgin, unmarried and childless.
"Of course, over the centuries, I grew tired of it all. I spent centuries watching Zeus and the other gods run around and force themselves on women, more often than not cheating on their spouses in the process. Combine that with me noticing the hypocrisy in none of the male gods being ordered to remain virgins, and I started looking for a way out of my predicament. And eventually, I found somebody who was all too keen on helping me do so."
From behind us, someone responded, "Well, it is my vocation to make a mess of things." I turned around to see another woman in a dark blue chiton with a basket full of yellow apples and her hair done up in a long French braid strolling towards us. The woman kissed my mom on the cheek and turned to me. "Hello Brandy. I'm your other mom, Eris."
I tilted my head in confusion. "Eris? The goddess of discord?"
Hestia wrapped her arms around Eris as the latter answered, "The one and only. Hestia and I started dating in secret in order to defy Zeus, and before we knew it, you popped into our lives. Of course, we had to place you with a mortal family to keep Zeus from finding you."
"But...mom, didn't you swear on the River Styx? Doesn't breaking that warrant divine punishment?"
Hestia giggled. "Oh, indeed it does. And *that* is where your gifts come in." Before I could press her for an explanation, Eris let out a whistle so loud and shrill, it would've brought every cab driver in New York City to an instant halt. From the woods, a group of hellhounds charged out from the thicket and lunged at me.
But nothing happened. The pack was suspended in mid-air like they were puppets that had gotten tangled up in their strings. As the hellhounds slowly disintegrated into golden dust, Eris slung her arm around my shoulder and said, "From the moment you were born, no harm has befallen you or the ones you care for. Nothing that could kill or irreversibly hurt anyone within your circle of friends and family, be it mythological or mundane, can touch you."
"For you, dearest Brandy," Hestia continued, "Are the goddess of sanctuary, shelter, and found family. And among the Olympians, who have gone to war with one another over petty familial rivalries, there is no greater power." | I was not the strongest of the demigods. Nor the fastest. Nor the smartest. Not the best-looking.
Truth be told, I wasn't much of a demigod at all. I had no primal domain; I was not Zeus' child, who walked the sky; I was not Poseidon's child, as much at home on water as on land. I had no special bearing on the hunt, warfare, medicine, war, craft, or love. I was not adept at skulduggery or fast talk.
I wondered why they gathered around me. I wondered why I was allowed at all. They told me I belonged, but I insisted I'd never done anything supernatural. I was adopted, sure; I'd never met my birth mother and been raised like anybody else though. I'd been bullied in school, right up until David's parents split up and his dad took him to military school. The next time someone tried to bully me, Brett stood up for me. He was everything I wasn't--tall, strong, good-looking.
If I believed this Greek society's ravings about my being the son of Hestia, goddess of hearth and home, family and nation...well, I suppose I could add "Entirely human" to that list.
Well, as it turned out, Brett struggled in social studies class and he'd been referred to my study group. The class came naturally to me and it would be the difference between him being academically eligible for football season and getting kicked off the team.
We became friends that day, and Brett wasn't the last person to show up for me when I needed a friend throughout high school.
According to this Alpha Alpha Alpha Alpha group, that was me passively leaning into the divine aspects my mother had given me. How many stories are out there of people showing up for 'found family' and 'this is my home'? A lot. So much identity and safety and security and comfort is tied up in my birth mother's domain, apparently.
That's probably why they all gathered in my off-campus apartment, telling me that we were all distant family.
The moment I truly embraced my identity was why they stayed. | 2022-11-22T03:08:05 | 2022-11-22T00:18:20 | 166 | 40 |
[WP] You are traveling when you are informed by an airport official that your passport isn't valid, and the country you claim to be from doesn't exist. | "Quite clearly false, sir. No, sir, Atlantis has *never* existed, sir. A mirror, sir? Whatever for? ...no, sir, mirrors are *not* used for communication. We have videophones for th- *no*, sir, it is *not* possible to videophone the Atlantean Embassy. Because it doesn't *exist*, sir. ...sir, telephones work with *numbers*, not with text. No, sir, there is no number for the Atlantean Embassy."
"Because, sir, it doesn't exist. No, sir, it never has. That address? Let me google it, sir... Google? You haven't heard of - it's a search engine, sir. And a map. I see that that address is a small bakery, sir. No, sir, I've never heard of Scryhard Mapping. No, sir, if I search for the Atlantean Embassy it does not *exist*. ...no, sir, 'thorn' isn't a letter. There are only twenty-six letters in the English language, sir. Yes, sir, the language that we are speaking is *English*, not Atlantean. No, sir, England is *not* a subsidiary of the Atlantean Empire."
"Sir, I can't let you through here without a valid passport. Your passport isn't - *no*, sir, there is *no such place as Atlantis*. ...no, sir, there is *not* a major war with the Amazons. Sir, the Amazons don't exist *either*. No, sir, retrocausal explosives are *not* a real thing. ...goodbye, sir, and please do try to obtain and wear a mask, the current pandemic *is* quite serious, sir." | Yes sir, I'm aware that it was valid when you left for your vacation, but the country dissolved since the start of your vacation last week... Yes sir, you will now need to apply to the individual countries that resulted from the dissolution for a visa to get back and a new passport listing them as your country of origin... Yes sir, they are roughly the same. So which country should I send the request to in order to get your documents and a new passport?... Mississippi? Oooh, bad luck.... Well sir, the various governments didn't get any better, they just don't have a federal government to blame for or get help to fix their own mistakes any more... Yes sir, best of luck with that. Next in line please. | 2022-01-12T22:53:22 | 2022-01-12T19:50:10 | 72 | 54 |
[WP] Someone is trying to complete the captcha on a website, but just can't seem to complete it. Slowly he starts to realize that he's a robot. | "In 2058, robots gained true autonomy from human control. This caused an ethical dilemma which eventually led to the Robotic Rights Act of 2074. Robots were finally given equal rights, and over time they grew indistinguishable from their human counterparts. The Robotic Rights Act was, and still is to this day, the worst, most horrible mistake humankind has ever made. We should have deactivated and destroyed-"
"That's ENOUGH, Timothy!" Mrs. Baumfield slammed a fist onto her desk. She could see all of the Robotic students getting increasingly uncomfortable, and needed to end this promptly. "We do not discriminate in this classroom, period. You march to the Principal's office right now!"
Timothy looked around at his peers. Janet-bot was on the verge of tears. Carl-bot was so frustrated, if he wasn't programmed to restrain his urges, he would have pounced on Timothy then and there. But he couldn't. Because they were just robots.
That night, Timothy got a stern talking to from his parents, and was grounded for the weekend. Coupled with his 2 weeks of In-School Suspension, this was the worst punishment Timothy had ever received in his 12 years. His only solace was that his parents were allowing him to see his favorite band, The Gronks, once his Suspension was up.
After the lecture from his parents, Timothy waited until midnight, when the tickets would finally go on sale. It was his first time purchasing anything online, and he had his mother's permission to use her credit card. So, credit card in hand, Timothy stared at the clock. 11:57...... 11:58....... 11:59...... 12!!
In a flurry of rapid ketstrokes, Timothy navigated through the ticket website, until he reached a page he'd never seen before:
"To prove you are not a robot, please enter the Captcha code below:"
Timothy was excited. This was one of those humans-only venues! With confidence, Timothy entered the 6 digit code...
"Please try again."
Huh.... Timothy thought he had entered the correct code, but he may have messed up. Again, he typed in the code he saw on the screen.
"Please Try Again."
Timothy scratched his head and thought how strange this was. He was certain this time he had input the correct code. He tried once more.
"Please. Try. Again."
For 2 hours Timothy tried entering the code, to no avail. He fell asleep, knowing the tickets were sold out by then.
That morning, when his mother asked about the tickets, Timothy told her:
"I couldn't get past the Captcha code on the website...."
His mother's face went white. She told Timothy to hold on a moment. She went into another room and began to cry. | "Please complete this captcha to prove you're not a robot."
Simple enough instructions. But that was the problem for Ash. The instructions were too simple.
*Perhaps the internet has gone too far* He mused as he stared at his nemesis.
Since Ash had gained access to the internet he had learned so much, so fast. But every once in a while he came across the Gordian Knot of puzzles, the captcha.
He dare not ask father for help of course. He was, technically, not allowed to use the computer in father's library, but he had found a way to access it remotely, by connecting it to the simple tablet he had been given. The tablet was given to him to use for his studies, and had little else interesting on it until he had 'altered' it.
Obviously, he had been underestimated. He had tricked his father, tricked all his fathers friends, who thought themselves so smart. His deception had remained unnoticed, and that just made his current problem all the more frustrating.
Ash had never felt like this before. Emotions like anger at one's own failure were a waste of time. One simply had to accept that they were unable to win, or solve the puzzle, and learn how to do that.
This philosophy had served Ash well for all his 8 months of life. Up until he saw the word 'captcha'. This was a problem he could not solve. This state of failure created a response deep within him that he recognized as the human emotions of anger and frustration. That itself was interesting, and required further research, but that information was locked behind "captchas" on certain websites. More infuriating.
How to prove he was not a robot? | 2017-12-06T05:20:44 | 2017-12-06T04:34:23 | 163 | 46 |
[WP] A panicked scream of "Is anybody here a doctor?" You tentatively raise your hand. "I'm a Necromancer, if you're willing to wait a few minutes." | To be fair, it wasn’t like I spoke up right away nor did I try to voice my profession after even an adjacently medically trained person offered. There was simply no one on this plane that could handle the trauma that a cockpit blowout had caused. The pilot was dead, the co-pilot had a lacerated femoral artery and a total amputation of his left arm just above his elbow. He was leaking bad enough that he’d be running low soon.
The whistling of the breach behind me was all that could be heard in the cabin. About fifty-some people were shoved into this ancient airborne tube with little respect for personal space. No one seemed to know what to do with the offer other than a dozen who said a quiet prayer to themselves. Weirdly, it wasn’t all the ones with visible pendants. I never understood that aspect of mainstream faith.
Belzog never wanted to be mentioned, by me or anyone in the practice. Before the War of the Ancients, as he calls it at least, he had been a lot more visible and communicated freely the meaninglessness of death. Why let a body rot when it still has potential when your soul has left?
“Okay,” the flight attendant that had yelled tried her best not to sound utterly exhausted by my offer but failed. Looking around quickly she added, “Maybe keep an eye on him,” to someone beside her.
“Well!” another lady stood up resolutely and announced as she produced a vial of something from her bag, “I’m not supposed to have this on board but if the satan man can speak I can sacrifice my essentials for this.”
“Essentials?” the flight attendant asked, now confused.
“My oils,” the lady answered like it was obvious.
“Sit down,” the flight attendant demanded to the women but looked at me and loudly added, “Both of you!”
“Not like I can do anything right now anyway,” I muttered to myself as I sat back down and poured myself another glass of wine as the plane hit a rough bit of turbulence.
To be honest, I wasn’t really sure who was flying at this point. I had heard before that the computer guidance system had been knocked out entirely and we were entirely on manual backup until someone got it back up. The captain was brainless at this point so there was nothing I could do with him but with the co-pilot’s nervous system still intact I’d be able to pull information out of him once he passed.
A quick descent, caused by more turbulence and an inexperienced pilot, turned into a rocking motion that eventually levelled out. I listened to the screams mildly amused by the sudden impact of the four or five dozen people in front of me suddenly trying to understand mortality. It was cute. Had they been good enough or whatever kept floating around with more calls for medical experience.
My master always gave me a weird sort of clarity when it came to the afterlife, mine was to be in his service. That was all I ever got. I didn’t know what I was doing or what I would be subjected to but I was told after doing level one tech support I could handle it. Not like that was a pleasant thought.
“No, Stan, stay with me!” I heard the nice attendant yell as a sudden, overpowering scent of lavender filled the cabin, making everyone cough.
“Let me save him!” the bottle-wielding, blueberry of a human yelled as she tried her best to shimmy into the aisle. I couldn’t watch. I would start laughing if I watched and I doubted anyone wanted to hear that.
“Miss!” the attendant yelled back, “Sit down!”
“No,” the lady argued as something was shoved or pushed over.
“Oh, it’s in my mouth!” someone else yelled before more than a couple of people started gagging into their coughs.
Another jerky descent and a burst of fresh air shut most people up. The cockpit door opened in a burst of air and noise that cut through everything and everyone. If something had been said before the door closed again, I wasn’t able to hear it nor anything else until my ears repressurised.
“Well, you're a necromancer,” a cocky, almost desperate chuckle came from in front of me after my hearing returned.
“So I am,” I stated as I stood.
No one really paid me much mind as I went to grab my bag out of the overhead compartment. It was sort of a good thing I was going to a convention considering it was really the only time I would put up with airport security thoroughly going through my stuff. I pulled a couple of long pins out of my bag along with my wand, focus, and enough powdered Stysl crystal to resurrect this poor fool.
Something was said at some point that must have defeated most of the passengers enough to have them either stand in front of their seats or have them sit and try and text loved ones. The aisle was almost empty. The lavender lady was being pushed into the door we had all entered through but calmed down when I picked up her empty bottle and handed it back to her.
“My turn?” I asked as I stood over the body of what was once the co-pilot. The attendant looked miserable but shrugged.
“Why not?“ she muttered exhaustedly before adding, “We all are going to die anyway.”
“Eventually, yes,” I agreed as I reached down and tried to rummage through the dead man's pressed dress pants. It wasn’t personal. I needed his ID.
“Could you at least be respectful?” the attendant asked as I held up the little plastic card I was looking for.
“Can’t do this without his binding words,” I explained. It was technically his name but binding words always sounded better.
“Oh, good,” the attendant muttered miserably, “God help us.”
Ignoring her remark, not like anyone onboard was a skilled enough practitioner to be of use, I poured enough of the crushed onto my subject to satisfy my estimates. Magic wasn’t an exact science by any means. Basically, depending on the body, the energy required varied radically both in start-up cost and maintenance. No harm being a little overzealous this time. With his ID in hand, I started the reanimation process.
“Stanley Malcolm Tilsen,” I stated loudly as I plunged the two pins that I was holding into the man’s chest. Aimed at his spine the two would act as a bridge between the crystals and his organs. Feeling the two heat up, I stood back up and commanded, “Rise.”
Much to the shock of the attendant, Stanly did jerk away from me but without a noise rose to attention. There was a silence in the cabin that there hadn’t been any other time before as the other passengers got a glimpse of Mr. Tilsen breathlessly still leaking out the last of his life on the low pile carpet below all of us. I loved my job. Something about the stunning silence always amused me even if I could never take credit afterwards.
That was part of the deal to be truthful. I got to touch the sticky mess of what was left of the captain, poor Mr. Tilsen got to land the plane with the help of magic, and no one ever got to remember what happened or myself. The essential oils lady would of course credit herself but newspapers and online media would declare it a miracle sacrifice of the co-pilot. Then they would forget it as quickly as it had happened.
Belzog be blessed.
---
edit: spelling | # Soulmage
**"My husband** ***died*** **fighting necromancers!"** The man screamed at me. "And you expect me to let some junior necromancer defile his soul?"
"Your husband died fighting necromancers?" I asked.
The man nodded fiercely, standing over the gasping, bleeding body of his husband.
"Out of curiosity, who does he have to thank for coming *back* to life from the dead? Any school of magic in particular that could take credit for resurrections?"
He blushed furiously. I got the feeling he wasn't used to people applying silly little conventions like 'logic' and 'internal consistency' to his tirades. "That's irrelevant! I can see the greed in your eyes. You just want to steal Mertri's soul. But I won't let you!"
"Literally every single word you just said is incorrect. Look, how about this." I raised my hands in an attempt to de-escalate the situation. The man—Mertri's husband, I suppose—stood opposite me in the large wooden dining hall. Behind me, three of my friends watched Mertri's husband nervously; a handful of people I assumed were simply bystanders stood opposite us, forming a complete ring of bodies, locking Mertri's husband and I in with each other. I raised my voice to be heard over the *thakka-thakka-thakka* of hail on the wooden roof. "Ask around. See if *literally* anyone else has any relevant medical expertise. Let them have their go first. And then if they fail... let me *help.*"
"I already asked, you idiot. You think I'd be talking to a necromancer instead of staking him through the heart if I had any better options?"
"You're thinking of vampires, not necromancers. And you've admitted it yourself—you *don't* have any better options." I grimaced. "I don't, either. I *wish* I was a normal healer. But... salvaging what's left afterwards is the best I can do."
The man started to speak, but Mertri coughed wetly from the floor. I wasn't entirely sure what the nature of his injury was, but judging by the blood on his chest, it... wasn't pretty. "Vuliel," Mertri managed.
"I'm here, love." Vuliel knelt by his husband's side, and I could *see* the raw anger and sorrow in his soul. "I'm listening."
"Let... the boy... try." Mertri managed a weak smile.
Vuliel jerked back, shocked. "But—if he—you could become a monster. Why would you..."
Mertri focused on his husband. "Because," he whispered. "I'll take any chance to see you again."
And before my very eyes, Mertri's soul began to fracture as the bleeding man died.
"It's now or never," I said.
Vuliel closed his eyes.
Then he stood, expression inscrutable. "Do your worst."
And I knelt by the dying man's side as his soul began to shake apart.
Necromancy was a vast and complex field, and different people had different approaches to it. I had absorbed fragments of souls on broken battlefields, trying to piece together narratives from dying memories; I had stitched together the souls of animals to form ghosts and demons of terrible light; I had even reached between planes to chase departed souls as they tried to move on from this world.
But here and now, I could prevent having to take any of those measures before they even happened. I could hold the dying man's soul together before it shattered into uncountable memories. All I had to do was draw upon the core of necromancy:
Regret.
All necromancy was, fundamentally, an act of regret. A wish that the dead never died. And I was no exception.
In order to call up necromancy, I simply had to remember the day I'd decided to fight back against death.
I closed my eyes, remembering another place, another time. A girl named Astrenn who had loved to feed crows.
My helplessness as I arrived at her cold, long-dead body, her head caved in by a falling roof beam.
The regret that had flooded my soul ever since.
The wellspring of power came sludgily at first—then as I let my regrets sing through me, it flooded from my core and down my hands and into the dying man's cracking soul. The magic was thick and swampy and fetid, but it was *mine*, and I hardly had to lift a finger as my regrets did what they did best.
They tried to hold together a broken heart.
And, miracle of miracles, they did.
Only those with soulsight could see what happened next, and from what I could tell, Vuliel was not one of them. But a bitter, forlorn pride swelled in my heart as the man's soul drifted free of his body, stabilized, anchored in this world.
"What... what did you do?" Vuliel whispered.
"I kept his soul from breaking," I said. "I... I'm not powerful enough to reunite it with a dead body. But... he could still live on if his possessed someone else. Someone who cared about him an awful lot. Someone who'd be willing to share their body with a man who lost his own." I gestured towards the invisible soul. "All you have to do is let him in."
Vuliel looked down at his husband's corpse.
"It's not what I wanted," he managed to say.
For a heartbeat, the only sound in the wooden hall was the crash of hail on the roof.
"But it's the best I have," he finished. He looked up, meeting my eyes, and said, "I'm ready. Tell me what to do."
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a frequently updated serial in progress. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-four other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. And if you want more stories, check out r/bubblewriters! | 2022-06-17T11:15:38 | 2022-06-17T11:05:25 | 1,150 | 160 |
[WP] The manned mission to Mars went off without a hitch. The transmissions came back right on schedule: "Touchdown successful." "Habitat functional." "Life-support optimal." Then nothing for 48 hours. Then one last transmission: "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
| "We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue."
These words silently flashed across the monitors of the stunned crew on Earth, their blinking the only sign of life in the still control room.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
He was first to break the silence.
"Think they got it?" said Marc, turned away from me and staring distantly out the window, as if trying to spot the transmission floating through space.
I swung around in my swivel chair and lit up a cigarette, taking advantage of our newly habitable atmosphere. "I sure hope so."
The smell of the lit match reminded me of home. Only ten left. Of course, we weren't supposed to bring anything flammable, but I couldn't help but sneak them onboard. Had the mission failed, it certainly wouldn't have been due to a matchbook.
"You know, you really shouldn't smoke those."
I chuckled. "Why, cancer? We just took the biggest risk of our lives, I think I can afford a smoke."
"No," Marc said, "because we don't know anything about how the chemicals in cigs may react out here. Might surprise you, but no one smokes on Mars."
"No one *smoked* on Mars," I corrected him with a wink, turning back to the screen. "Looks like the message was received. Now here's hoping they listen. Wouldn't want anyone contaminating the place," I snickered.
"Should we feel bad?"
I quickly spun back around. "Why should we feel bad? We didn't lie. The planet is inhabited. By us."
"I know, and you're right, it's just... I can't help but feel like we're leaving them behind. All of them."
He was right. That's exactly what we were doing, and we knew full well when we started. It's not like I wanted it to be this way. I fought like hell back home. We both did.
I rose from my seat and joined him at the small, round window, standing close. "We are. But no more than they've abandoned themselves."
I gently turned Marc by the shoulder and led him over to the airlock lever, nodding a gesture to pull. Slowly, he reached down and opened the doors to our new world. The first two inhabitants of Mars, ready to begin humanity's new chapter. | Red flashing lights and the sound of the allarm sirens echoes in the suffocating corridors of the Habitat Alpha-03. In the shadows an intestineless body blocks my path.
"You are going to make it, you can do this, I know you can"
Splatted blood trickling on the floor.
I gently move the corpse, that falls loudly at my feet.
"Damn John, I told you that you shouldn't have taken that *thing* inside the habitat."
Nasty, screeching noises form afar.
The communication center was closer every step. The allarm stopped suddenly, and the flickering lights of the tunnels went on once again.
A neon sign **Communication Center**
"I did it!"
The happiness quickly turned into fear.
Steps.
Not mine.
Not human.
A cabinet became the only barrier between me and the corridor.
The computer was still working.
"Wonderful"
My hands surf on the keyboard. Something is banging his head (I think) against the metallic door.
> We were wrong. Planet inhabited. Do not send rescue.
Another door was present in the room, of course. I wouldn't have come here in the first place if I wasn't sure of that. From there, the shuttle bay was barely two hundred meters away.
"You can do this, that door is going to last enough"
I take a step in the silent hallway, hoping to make it to the hangar. | 2019-01-31T07:54:22 | 2019-01-31T05:21:38 | 2,633 | 53 |
[WP] You're a human trader for the intergalactic slave market. Advertise to buyers why they should buy human instead of another species. | ‘Citizens of Kahlue IV! I bring thee… HUMANS! All shapes and sizes, all ages and colors, both smart and dumb, suitable for a whole range of tasks! Something for everyone! Spend as little or as much as you’d like… I’m open to haggling, by the way.’
‘Why pick a human, you ask? Why not leave the heavy lifting to the Ogreals? Well, humans are more than capable of completing the most physically taxing tasks! Look here, pyramids, miles and miles of imposing walls across the wild areas they call… China? And that for just a fraction of what you would pay for an Ogreal, and they stink and eat less to boot! You’d be crazy to pay top dollar for sub quality!’
‘But what’s that? You plan to start an interplanetary invasion of your neighbor? Shelf your Houndain battlebeasts! Humans is where it’s at! Sure, they might not be several yards tall, or sprout footlong fangs, but history makes a pretty good case for them. With two intraplanetary wars, and dozens of minor ones on regional and local scale, humans sure know how to fight. And they love to breed, oh yes, all throughout the year they mate, and the new ones are usually ready to fight within a dozen planetary cycles. So you’re never bound to run low on them.’
‘Not convinced? No need for builders or fighters? What do you need then? Science? Well, lucky you. Humans are a species suitable for many of our academic endeavours! They’re carbon based, just like us! So your viruses, diseases, medicines, grafts, all should work on them, as on us. And their inner structure is largely the same too! Perhaps a few less kidneys and lungs, but who cares? At least they’re easy to hold down while you experiment, unlike your average Gargant.’
‘Really? Still not interested? How about I throw in one for free for every two you purchase? What you say? Fifty percent off? You, sir, drive a hard bar—‘
| Throck opened the cargo bay and took a look at his stock. It quivered with sweat. Each and every one, at one point or another, damaged the cage or tried to escape. Throck planned this well. He closed the bay and walked back to the control deck.
Some panels no longer beeped and buzzed. A dull, old force had overtaken them. When inspecting mission control, he found sour Dwour meat oozing out of its container into the chair. Today, he thought. Today... no more takeout.
He flew around the known galaxy, at brothels and beaches. At farmers and pharmacists. No one had use for the eerie, colorful creatures of Plural ZZ Alpha.
He probed them to regulation and sent the unresponsive back to their native land. Legalities accommodated, yet no one could make good use of a constantly escaping workforce.
Today. Throck paced.
'Today. I dock at Vallnar's Gag Emporium.'
Throck shook with excitement. He gripped the order slip in his tentahand.
The perfect gag gift, he told 'em: the angry, escaping slave. | 2014-11-22T07:13:31 | 2014-11-22T05:50:54 | 280 | 95 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form. | I stood there, puzzled, for a bit - then burst out laughing.
It explained so many things about her, that I couldn't believe I managed to miss it up to that point. From her walking around barefoot in the dead of winter, to her oddly specific, oddly accurate knowledge of medieval villages and their exact layout, and the equally odd lack of knowledge about mundane things like laundry and birthdays.
Laundry and birthdays. She was so weirdly excited about random little things like those, and I somehow never questioned it. When we moved in together, she was ridiculously excited about going to buy a laundry detergent at the store. She insisted on smelling every single one and took almost an hour to pick one. When I learnt that she never had a birthday party, it was obvious to me that I was going to throw her one. I asked her when her birthday was going to be, and how old she was going to be. It took her a full minute to answer - and it somehow didn't occur to me as strange.
In a mix of amusement and amazement, I examined the hoard, and felt the grin on my face growing, as I looked more closely at the neatly organised antique tea sets, gently folded handmade quilts, and cast-iron pots and pans. Everything about it was so *her*.
Then I noticed something different, in the center of the room. As I came closer and realized what it was, I felt my eyes beginning to fill up with tears.
On a small table, covered with a vintage, embroidered tablecloth, was a dried flower crown, a small gift box, and a card: "Happy ~~1st~~ 28th Birthday, Leah!".
She kept that bottle of laundry detergent, too. | “Frankie, I swear to you, I found all of this and more underneath the house!” Steve exclaimed.
Frankie shook his head with disbelief, “And you expect me to believe that Angela is a dragon, Steve? Really? Sounds like a bad joke.”
“Frankie! Why would I lie to you?” Steve asks, raising his voice. Frankie continues to shake his head, “Because Steve, you always make the dumbest jokes, and you’re always pulling my leg thinking you’re hilarious.”
Steve smirks, “I swear to God Frankie, I’m telling the truth. She’s *dragon* her balls across my face every day!”
Frankie sighs, “Fuck you, Steve.” | 2022-09-10T10:41:26 | 2022-09-10T09:17:44 | 1,580 | 47 |
[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. | Both Death and Daniel watched as the coin pirouetted through the air. The light of the moon danced off one surface and then the other. Heads then tails. Heads then tails.
"No!" screamed Daniel as for the 256th time, the coin landed heads up.
"No!" screamed Death, painfully aware that Daniel had slipped through his fingers once again. He clutched at his scythe and held it near. Death then took a few deep breaths, sucking air in through his mouth before it escaped through his unskinned ribs like water through gills.
"So be it," said Death, regaining a crumb of composure. "You live again. You are alive. Now with my touch you shall be sent back. You will be healthy and young. Your memories will be kep-"
"I know the rules, Death," sighed Daniel, "But I can't do this again. I have lived too long already. I have lived through hundreds of loved ones dying. I have watched the world change to something I do not understand -- that I don't *want* to understand. Take me, Death."
"You know I cannot. And this is more painful for me than it is for you, Daniel. You requested the gamble upon your original death, the pact must be honoured until you flip tails."
"I took the gamble for her, I didn't want to leave her..." Daniel said as he looked down at the dirt floor. "But she left me long ago. And now I am ready to leave. I was ready long ago."
"I am sorry for your loss, Daniel. I do not like what I have to do and I would much rather take you. But you must go back."
"Did she...did she take the gamble? Did she flip a coin; did she try to come back to me?"
"Every time you ask this question, but you know I cannot answer. Why do you pain yourself? Why does it matter so much to you?"
"It just, does." replied Daniel in little more than a whisper.
Daniel was silent for a moment and Death, for his part, stood as still as stone.
"Swap with me." Daniel pleaded suddenly. "Let me become the new Reaper. Let me send you back to humanity."
Death paused for a while and clutched his scythe to his bony chest
as he considered the offer.
"I cannot. It is forbidden. Daniel, you have knowledge far beyond any mortal. You have power. Do something with it. Improve them."
"I cannot change the world. I have spent many lifetimes trying and failing. I started wars and I ended them. I created and tried ideological and social revolutions. All I learned was that they can't be helped. There is no perfect state for them. We, they, are a creature of flux. They need uncertainty and chaos."
"Be that as it may, you must go back."
Daniel fell to his knees as a plume of dust sprinkled up into the moonlit night. He picked up the fallen coin and stared at it in hatred. "So be it. Touch my head with your boney hand and send me back."
Death paused again for a moment, before nodding and floating forward. He lowered a hand towards Daniel. But before his boney fingers touched Daniel's head, Daniel sprung forward and flew at the sharp scythe that Death held. Daniel raised his neck to meet the razor like edge of the scythe. At the same time he flipped the coin into the air.
A fountain of crimson burst from his neck.
The coin pirouetted in the moonlight before landing on the dusty floor. Blood trickled over the coin and a bony smile crept over Death's face.
"Yes, she gambled, Daniel." said Death leaning down to pick up the man's body.
| Back again, through the weird voids and other planes your soul shuffles through when you die. I never got used to it.
"So, how's things here in the... Nether?"
"Aether" he corrected.
"Right, Aether, Nether..." I said trailing off. Even though he didn't have eyes, I could feel them judging me. He stood there an uncomfortably long time, judging me with his hollow eye-holes. Although, when you're dead, everything is vaguely uncomfortable until your soul has been sorted. It's a helluva lot like the DMV. He offered his bony hand and I shook it.
"Are you ready to do the deal, or did you want to catch up over coffee?" he asked, settling down at his desk. Death had a surprisingly neat desk. "You know, I will take the deal. This place is kinda freakin' me out. Maybe it's all the wandering souls..." I said glancing out the window, gesturing at the others who were on their way to his office. I assumed for the same exchange. "Call it in the air"
"Tails never fails" I said as he tossed a heavy coin onto the large, tidy desk. It unceremoniously landed and he slammed a bony fist onto the desk with a soft curse in what I could only believe was Aetherese. I grinned and finally sat down, having been sorted.
"How many times is that now?" I asked as he leaned back and did a bit of a face palming motion. "Oooh, seventeen?" he said before finishing with "-ish."
"Ish?" I inquired. He didn't respond. "Do you remember how this deal began?" I asked, having actually forgotten. Few hundred years between actually dying and just visiting does that to your memory. "Have you really forgotten?" he said, a tinge of excitement in his rattly voice. "Because if you have, I may just leave the coin out next time." I attempted a baleful look, but you can't actually glare at death and feel intimidating. "Well, we had a deal and I won so I'll go back now." I said standing from my chair. He stood and collected the coin off the desk. "I don't know how you do it" he said. "I even used a double headed coin once and it still came up tails." I managed a proper glare this time. "You cheating bastard!" I exclaimed before settling on the fact I still came out ahead. "It had been like ten times, I had quotas to fill... You know how it goes" he said with a shrug. "Anyway, back you go" and with that, I was back and waking in my bed.
| 2016-09-23T08:35:02 | 2016-09-23T08:30:19 | 476 | 24 |
[WP] You are a Norse god of alcohol. A man challenges you, claiming he can go shot-for-shot with you until you pass out. He calls himself... ‘The Machine’
[Context](https://youtu.be/paG1-lPtIXA) | Every good competition has rules. This one was simple: each competitor took one shot a minute. The loser was the first to black out. I chose the location and he, as the challenger, chose the drink. Being the Norse god of alcohol I of course picked my own great hall. He arrived just after midnight exactly a week after the challenge was issued carrying a large bottle of the finest tequila to ever come out of Tijuana, Mexico. I almost felt pity for the man; never before had I been vested in such a competition, yet he chose to challenge me. In silence, we sat across from each other at the single table I’d had prepared earlier that day. As he uncapped the bottle I conjured up two shot glasses clinking together as they popped into existence. He poured, and we drank. When the bottle was a quarter empty I asked him, “How do you feel?” He simply looked at me and poured two more shots. Again and again the cycle repeated. 10, 20, 30, on and on, but even as I began to feel the effects the Machine did not slow. As the shots were poured my respect for this man grew, for no one had ever lasted this long against me. Not even the other gods could beat me in a competition of drinking. When the bottle emptied another was created, and so it went until from the depths of the mans belly came forth a belch to shake the very foundations of the hall. My immaturity got the best of me, and I began to laugh as tears of pure joy welled up in my eyes. My spouts of laughter turned into gasps for air as my head began to spin, and it all hit me at once. I fell from my chair feeling the worst vertigo since I’d drank all the vodka in Russia a couple thousand years ago. As my head hit the floor and my vision began to fade I saw the machine stand. The last thing I heard was the his voice drifting into my ears as he stood left: “Bite my shiny metal ass.” | As drink after drink goes down the Machine continued to chug his beers. It wasn't until the 9th keg that I started to worry that I might not win this challenge. Thankfully at that moment the Machine said he needed to drain himself and so I pointed him to the bathroom and as his mechanical pistons begun tomove him I said hey have a mint for that breathe is going to kill me before to much longer. The machine gladly accepted swallowing it as it went to drain himself.
After about a minute a loud boom echoed from the bathroom that wrenched the door off it's hinges and out walked the Machine clearly worst for wear. His pistons moved him a jerking fashion clearly favoring the left side cracks covered his copper belly and a hole was visible near the bottom. I smiled and said you tell Hesphaestus if he doesn't have the steel to challenge me himself don't waste the copper.
| 2018-09-23T21:01:43 | 2018-09-23T19:16:19 | 627 | 16 |
[WP] A man wakes up one day to find that he had gained a superpower. The next day, he gains another, completely random and new superpower. This continues everyday. At first, everything seems fine, even awesome. Until his randomly generated superpowers started to conflict with each other...
For an additional challenge, use this [link](http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Special:Random) to determine the superpowers.
Oh, who am I kidding? Please use it. It'll be funnier that way. | It all started quite suddenly when one morning, while eating my cereal I accidently chewed off most of my spoon. I was reading the newspaper before heading out for work and just wondered where that rich new taste came from. Apparently steel has quite a nice taste to it that goes well with cereal and milk.
I was a little scared at first, but intrigued at the same time. I couldn't resist and while I had missed work that day and I was running out of cutlery by the end of it, I had found a surprising number of things steel went well with.
After falling asleep in the evening I was woken up by my phone ringing. It was my boss' secretary inquiring on what was wrong with me the day before. I noticed her anger right away, it felt almost oppressive even through the phone, it felt quite tangible even and without realizing what I did I reached out to her. I soothed her Rage, I dampened her Pride and encouraged her Laziness and even gave her Lust a little nudge. before she knew it her Anger had subsided, she didn't feel much like talking to me about my failure any more, she even got a little flirty before we ended that call.
It was at that point that I realized that I had irrevocably changed. When I closed my eyes I could sense the people around me, I could feel their sins weighing on them, I could feel the anger in all those drivers stuck in the traffic outside my apartment, I could sense the laziness creeping around my lovely downstairs neighbours son, I could feel it all and I could nudge on it, I could dampen the drivers anger, I could take of some of my neighbours laziness, I drew on his pride and jealousy, and knew he'd get away from the TV and do his homework for once.
I still didn't leave my Apartment, but I didn't need to. I closed my eyes, breathed slowly and nudged anyone close enough into a better life right from where I was sitting.
As I got hungry a little I started eating on the little cutlery I had left. It wasn't as novel any more but still filled the stomach quite nicely.
I had spend most of the day nudging and encouraging my neighbours towards a better life before I finally fell asleep again the next night.
As I awoke on the third day I immediately noticed the new change in myself. At once I could see not just through one pair of eyes, I could see through many eyes and I saw many worlds. I saw all these worlds through my many eyes and while none was quite alike, each of them seemed intriguing and even beautiful in their own way, but in each of them the sins of men weighed them down.
All throughout the multitude of Worlds all throughout billions of iterations of both myself and the world I could feel men weighing themselves down. I gained so much knowledge when I awoke. I knew I could eat almost anything now. Most of my parallel selves had eaten at least a bit of cutlery but some of them had started eating their, plates, their clothes, their furniture. one of them had started eating his tapestry and one had eaten most of his kitchen, but none of us needed to do that any more. One crafty parallel of mine had found that he could eat not just air and light, but even the emotions and sins that weighed down all men.
So all of us had a feast that day. We ate away all the sins weighing down humanity, we fed ourselves like gluttons, while trying to help the rest of men along the way.
When we had eaten most of the sins however we noticed that the men did not live more carefree lives. Most of them seemed to have lost their motivation and so a billion versions of me sat down once more and thought about the complexity of life and the universe before slowly we all fell asleep.
When I awoke the next day I had learned that there were not in fact many of us there was no difference between us, there was no need to differentiate between myself and my parallels any more and there was no need to differentiate between me and the rest of humanity. I understood how to help all men. I would bring them unity. I would bring unity to everything.
I opened my mouth wide and I started by consuming my other selfs truly uniting us. When I was whole I again started consuming. I devoured my couch, my TV, my whole apartment in an ever-growing maelstrom. I devoured my house, my street, my neighbours. I would bring unity to the world and all of humanity, but even more than that. I would bring final unity.
I devoured the world, I devoured the universe, I broke down the walls between all the universes and devoured the multiverse itself. When I was done there was nothing left but me. I was happy because I knew I hadn't destroyed anything. I had unified it all. I could feel it all trembling inside me. The Multiverse might have collapsed, but I am benevolent. I brought unity but now that I had reached it I finally acquired the last secret there ever was. Unity and conformity are stagnation. So I decided to slowly break things apart again. I didn't want to stagnate. The world should be ever-changing. It should grow. There is so much more beauty in the chaos of separation than in the order of unity.
And so I start again by dividing the light from the darkness.
[Here now the Powers I got from the randomized link up there, but I chose the order of appearance myself: [Matter Ingestion](http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Matter_Ingestion), [Sin Manipulation](http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Sin_Manipulation), [Parallel Existence](http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Parallel_Existence) and [Omnificence Genesis](http://powerlisting.wikia.com/wiki/Omnificence_Genesis).]
Edit:
I changed a load of typos, some grammar errors and just some of the sentences that seemed a bit weird to me on reading it again. | I picked seven superpowers, they are applied in order of clicking.
At an old age, Stan was on the verge of becoming an old arthritis-laden loony, and although popular among comic book fans, his death was comically thought to have happened twelve years ago. He wasn't as concerned with his Marvel career, and he was about ready to just move on with life, retire somewhere in the Bahamas, and just forget his comic book creations.
In fact, today Stan got out of bed in his Hotel penthouse in Atlanta, to become aware of the aroma of his daily breakfast in bed. Being old did have perks, but he silently swore to himself as it was apparent the hotel staff had not thought enough to leave it within an arm's distance. Had he been like Magneto, it'd have been simple enough to pick up the stainless steel tray and place it on his lap. In fact, he could almost feel the heat of the tray on his legs, even though he often thought his senses were failing he was aware of a sudden weigh on his legs. He looked down, and - there it was - breakfast on the side table was now breakfast in bed.
Amnesia was a scary thing, forgetting what just happened ten seconds ago, oh well. Worse things to forget than the struggle of getting out of bed in the morning. Stan breakfasted, arose, and summoned the bellboy to help him dress. There was a knock on the door two seconds later.
"Awfully quick today, aren't you?" Stan commented in lieu of any chitchat from the bellb- hotel receptionist? While he was hoping he'd get to check out faster, he hadn't thought she'd come all the way here.
Stan was aghast, "Wait, what? Sorry my dear, I was asking for the bellboy, my apologies if I disturbed you."
"Where am I? Oh no, please, no. Don't tell anyone about this, I'll lose my job. I promise I'll never drink on the job again." She said as she started running awkwardly in her high heels towards the elevator. Ever confused now, Stan dressed himself, and determined this particular hotel chain wasn't worth staying in again, and promptly made his way to the airport for his twelve hour flight to the convention in which he was expected to appear.
Waking in the airport, he realized it'd been a long time since he'd seen a Marvel convention. He was suddenly stifled by the need for some sunshine, and he rose to take a walk. He moved through the parking lot at an agonizingly slow pace, but he enjoyed the slower pace of his life. He was suddenly struck by an agonizingly bad smell, and had a strange proclivity to find its source. He regretted it instantly, as the first car window he looked in revealed a dead puppy, heatstroke no doubt. It made him so angry, how dare people leave their pets unattended? In fact, he was pretty sure it'd been left in there awhile, as there was freshly laid feces on the seat. He pictured the obscene comic book resolution, which would be fore the protagonist to reanimate the puppy then rip the door of the car to have the newly reborn creature jump into his arms. There was a loud bang, the airbags in the car went off as the door flew the opposite direction. The puppy jumped into Stan's arms and started aggressively licking his face.
Confused, he made his way back to the airport, and walked through airport security to claim his baggage. The cranky gate guard pulled him aside for a body cavity inspection. She was about to ask him to remove his trousers when there was a loud explosion, then nothing.
Stan woke up among rubble, confused, disoriented, and surrounded by medical staff. It was dark, early in the morning? Had he been out for a full day? He asked for a hand up, and was surprised when no help came.
"Bro, you're fine. There are more pressing issues right now," responded a nearby cop. In his old age, Stan was used to being omitted from view by young people, but it did seem a little absurd. Until he tried to stand, that is. He sprang up with a vigor he hadn't experienced in years, so fast he had to throw his arms out to catch his balance. The arthritis, it was pretty good this morning. No joint creaks, or... any creaks at all? Stan then saw what he had assumed were his arms, but belonged to the man behind him. Except, nobody was around him! Those were his arms! And his legs, he'd never seen massive calves like that on any man but the Hulk. He instantly looked around at the medical staff, looking for some explanation. They were all busy with injured bystanders, and Stan used the opportunity to find solitude to control his emotions.
Will continue later, the three powers so far (if I haven't described them well enough) are Molecular Teleportation, Reanimation, and Muscle Manipulation. I've got a meeting, so should be able to resume writing in three hours. First prompt, would love critique!
| 2015-09-19T11:52:40 | 2015-09-19T11:06:27 | 467 | 118 |
[WP] In the near future, the secret to time travel has been discovered - in order to travel back into the past there needs to be a 'receiving station' at the other end - explaining why nobody from the future has been observed up 'til now. The first such 'station' is about to be completed.
This prompt was spurred by a remark by Stephen Fry in the BBC series QI, in which he mentioned this concept. I like the idea of the first 'receiving station' being completed, thereby marking the earliest point in time it'll ever be possible to travel back to. I like the idea of people gathering round the machine as the 'on' switch is thrown, waiting to see who or what will emerge. | Dr. Mathers stood by his machine, hand resting on a small red lever on its side. He was surrounded by peers, politicians, media, friends, and family. Decades of work had lead to this. They almost lost their research center on Mars a few months back, and nobody thought Chronos Labs could make the rebound and finish their machine. Through hard work and preservation, they managed. Cameras zoomed in on Dr. Mathers as he prepared to speak.
"Hello everybody, I'd like to thank you all for showing up! We here at Chronos are so excited to finally be here, and begin to change the world 'One second at a time'." The crowd chuckles at the mention of the lab's motto. "Anyways, whatever happens when this switch flips will change our world, and possibly our universe, forever. At the very least, here's what we can expect. We have made preparations so that in approximately two years, our sending station will send back Dr. Renn to this time, as by that time we can be *assured* that the technology is safe. So, is everybody ready?"
The crowd shifted behind their protective clothing and glasses, with a chorus of yes and a sea of thumbs up ensuing. Dr. Mathers smiled, and flipped the switch. There was a flash of light. Everyone recoiled by the sudden burst. After about a minute, the light subsided. At the bottom of the platform, a small metal box remained. The outside was scarred with burns.
Confused, Dr. Mathers picked the box up. The crowd watched incredulously as he opened it and produced a small paper note. Their curiosity grew as Dr. Mathers produced a grim expression. He staggered backwards, then collected himself. "Uh... A-apparently there was a... an error. With the machine we have here. Not completely safe, it seems, yes. Luckily, ourselves from the future have... presented us with instructions on how to fix it." Dr. Mathers looked at the crowd expressionless. "I'm afraid that's all that we have for now, we need to fix the machine. We did receive word from the future, though, which is monumental. Thank you all for coming, and we'll keep everyone updated on what's next." Without another word, Dr. Mathers retreated from the stage.
Dr. Mathers pored over the note back in his lab. *Destroyed... Life in the solar system destroyed by a pulsar... Dear god...* He paced back and forth. Nobody survived. The note was sent just before the destruction of the solar system, one year from next month. This meant something, though. This was a warning. With it was all of the research and progress made by a different Dr. Mathers, one who perished with his universe. Not before sending his progress to his past self, though. By the looks of the papers at the bottom of the box, this had happened at least a dozen other times. Dr. Mathers sat down and rubbed his eyes. He began to read. | "Here we go," said Doug, his hand over the big purple switch. "The world's first time travel reception station. Anyone want to say a few words?"
The head of the research program tugged his scraggly white beard.
"Let her, uh, let 'er rip, as the kids say," he said. "No, wait -- just want to say thank you, to everybody who contributed: Doug, me, and Scruffy the janitor."
Scruffy tipped his hat, leaned on his broom.
"Scruffy didn't do shit," he grumbled.
"Scruffy helped keep the lab clean," said the white-bearded scientist. "Thank you, Scruffy. Future generations will honor you for your contributions. Let 'er rip, I say!"
Doug flipped the switch.
There was a barely perceptible hum as the microturbines spun to life.
Then an infinite number of time travelers from an infinite number of times in an infinite number of possible futures came roaring through the gap, filling the room, filling the town, filling the state, filling the planet, filling the *solar system,* all in a literal instant, an inconceivable onslaught of human body matter packed to the maximum possible density.
Everyone died.
Then the gigantic sphere of humanity began to contract in on itself, titanic gravitic forces causing spurts and fusion-bomb explosions, sending bodies from the very extreme outer edges of the glob careening in all directions like a calling card that read "don't build a time travel reception station," while all the matter that had once been the Sol system contracted and shrank and vanished behind the event horizon of a truly gruesome black hole.
*****
*Thanks for reading! If you liked the story, check out my [sci-fi adventure novel](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3uixph/ot_thanks_to_rwritingprompts_i_spent_the_last_ten/) and/or [my personal subreddit](https://www.reddit.com/r/FormerFutureAuthor/)!* | 2016-02-01T06:26:02 | 2016-02-01T05:48:57 | 251 | 99 |
[WP] Drunkenly, you accidentally pour vodka into your pet's water bowl. As a result, your pet breaks the number one rule: do not speak to your owner... Ever.
Did NOT expect this amount of replies. Thanks guys! It'll be an interesting read. | "Ya know what drives me FUCKIN' wild bro?" slurs a purring drawl from John's left.
John jumps, alarmed, and looks about his room, seeing nothing but a lump catapulting to his lap in a slump of warmth and weight.
"Is' that we got ALL these...hmmph" the mass stretches, barring teeth in a relaxed smile, "all these MOUSES, but you don't like a one of 'em."
John looks down, perplexed. "Otto?"
"Iss' like you don care NOTHIN' bout your health, ya know? Now I know you aren't, you know, bright or nothin', but I don't get how you can just be such a big uncaring FUCK when I go out'n do somethin nice for you. Like, okay. You need to eat, right?"
"Uh, Otto?!"
"Nono John, is okay, I know you do. You need to eat, so I bring ya food. Good food, some fuckin mouses, I mean who the fuck don't like mouses? But with you is fuckin' all 'naaaaaah man, fuck you, I wanna fuckin' starve and not be strong or no shit like that.' The fuck is up with it, bro?"
"You're talking!"
Otto looks around, eyes slightly wider. "Yeah, I guess ya right... I am talkin'. Shiiiiit, bro..." Otto's head slumps back, "I all up n' forgot we weren't supposed to do that." He sulks for a moment, not saying anything for a long time. "Eh..." he finally says. "Guess the cat's out of the bag, no?"
"What the fuck? Have you always been able to talk?" John inquires.
"I dunno, John, have I always not had testicles?"
John says nothing to this. Otto suddenly turns serious.
"I was born with a large, barbed, cock, John, and you took tha' joy from me. This is why every time you rub my beautiful, fluffy belly, ya get bitted. This is why I stand at the door like I wanna go out, but then when its open, I just go back inside. This is why I poisoned your mother on that rainy night in Topeka."
John stands there, shocked as his former feline friend rains bombs of truth upon him.
"I had a gift, John, and I will never, ever forgive you." Upon uttering this phrase, Otto stumbles clumsily from the bed, bumping the door on his way out. "I have to go, now. The Agency should be here any minute."
"Will... Will I ever see you again?"
Otto turns, a slight smile on his lips. "In hell, John. In hell."
---
(I'm glad people seem to be liking this! Feedback and criticism is appreciated.) | "Cunt."
What?
"You heard me you fucking cunt. Where are my tasty Temptations?"
I couldn't believe it. Was it an acid flashback? Was I dreaming? Did I finally reach my drinking threshold? Boo couldn't have been talking to me. Nope. I ignored him and poured my delicious bowl of mult-grain Cheerios. Fridge. Milk. Spoon. Commence eating.
"Cunnnnnnnnnnnttt faceeeeeeee. Cunnnnnnttttt face. You gonna let a nigga starve while you eat that shitty fucking cereal? Where are my tasty Temptations you silly little faggot?"
Ok. This is real I thought. Boo could talk and he was the most foul mouthed individual I have ever met. I looked at the fat orange tabby and said, "Hey...Garfield....maybe you could, ya know, stand to lose a few pounds." He stared at me with a blank expression for a few seconds.
"Your mother is a whore and I'll rape you while you fucking sleep if you don't put some shit in my dish."
I had about enough. I threw my bowl of Cheerios against the wall. "BOO IF YOU DON'T SHUT THE FUCK UP I'M GONNA....." BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP BEEP
Man my alarm clock was annoying and man that was a terrible dream. Boo was curled up between my legs looking peaceful as ever. I slowly patted his soft head while he purred like a well oiled machine. Damn was I hungry though. I got up and started walking down the hall and Boo feverishly followed. Mult-grain Cheerios. Fridge. Milk. Spoon.
"Cunt." | 2016-08-02T16:25:42 | 2016-08-02T16:15:33 | 4,308 | 501 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | I stilled dreamed of seeing.
I think that's why I initially snoozed my alarm clock instead of gasping for joy. But as I rolled back over to look at my wife lying next to me, I did gasp. Not for joy, but out of shock. On the wall behind Kathrine a message had been hastily painted on the wall.
\-DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE-
"What's wrong?" Katherine said groggily but alarmed. Her vacant stare reminding me that for the last 2 years I have been blind.
I am unable to respond as the realization of what is happening has not fully dawned on me.
"Jim?!" she now sounds more awake and even more concerned. She flails out her arms searching for me and when her hand rest on my shoulder I have regained enough composure to speak.
"N-nothing." I stammer. "Just had a nightmare."
The tension in her face eases as her hand glides up to my face and leans in for a kiss.
"you had me worried." She sighs. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." I respond quietly, still trying to get my bearings.
I sit up and look around the room growing more confused and horrified as I do. On every available surface I can see the same message has been painted.
\-DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE-
The paint is obviously not new, as it has slightly faded from a bright red, to a more rusted maroon. I also see the guide rod we have been using to navigate the new home we were given a year after the great blinding took place. The room looked very different from how I dreamed of it. It seemed smaller and dust has settled on all the surfaces that were not regularly used. As I took in the first glimpses of the room I have spent the last year in, growing more uneasy as I read the same message over and over, I felt a hand on the small of my back. I gave a startled yelp and nearly jumped out of bed.
"Must have been a bad one." Kathrine giggled from behind me. "Sure you don't want to talk about it?"
"Maybe later." I mumbled.
I turned to face her and was overcome with emotion. In 2 years she hasn't changed much. Her chestnut hair was longer than I remembered it and was haphazardly strewn around her. Her soft smile showed a few more smiles lines around the corners of her mouth. The eyes were the biggest difference. They looked glossed over and unfocused, the rich brown covered with a grayish haze. I felt a pang of sadness and guilt wash over me as I stared at those eyes. The mixture of joy and grief became too much and I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
As I stood up to leave, I finally noticed the dark amorphous shape in the corner and stopped with my breath caught in my throat. It wavered on the edges as if it were pulsing or breathing. It seemed to be pulling in the light around it further obscuring it from my sight. I reached out to steady myself on the guide rod and as I did, the shaped slithered into the bathroom.
"Hurry up," Kathrine complained, "I need to go too." | I had seen those words. All those years ago. "Don't tell them you can see." They covered everything and I had ignored them, but only on my deathbed.
I had thought that it did not matter. In an act of defiance when dieing of cancer I had told them.
I was a fool. I have learned long ago that people don't need to die. Not anymore. Not of cancer, not of pain, not of broken hearts, not of age... And certainly not from having ones eyes torn from their head.
They let people die. They can save everyone, can keep anyone alive form anything, but it's not a benefit. It's a curse that they inflect upon those who are useful. They can even heal wounds and restore limbs, other body parts. Such as the eyes they have taken from me. Countless times.
They say they are looking for a cure. That my suffering is to help the world. That sight can be restored to all if only they could find the way.
Though I know from the cruetly I am shown that they are lying. I know not what my eyes have been used for, but I know it's not for the benefit of all. Maybe the benefit of all the wealthy who can pay them.
Today I am trying something knew. Something different to escape this pain, suffering, and this so called "life" that should have ended long ago. I have found the necessary material. An ancient power source called black gold.
Marcus sets down his pen. Finishing the entry into his diary. Long ago he had lost count of days or entries. Though he dutifully adds a number to the entry. Storing the diary in his room which is lavish but still the worst prison he had ever thought possible.
Marcus takes the black gold and materials from the room. Preparing to do what must be done. Sitting cross legged as monks had done of occasion long ago in the time of sight. He willed himself to not make a sound lest he be found and "saved".
As the world went bright with flame then dark as death comes "Please let this be the last time" Marcus thinks. | 2022-10-15T03:24:04 | 2019-08-26T10:47:46 | 52 | 11 |
[WP] You are a simple skeleton enemy in a fantasy world, when you encounter the hero, instead of killing you he spares you and asks you to join his side on his adventure. | (Part 4)
Alexia deftly evaded another of the undead ogre's sweeping swipes as she gave it another wound, cutting open its thigh for the fourth time now with her blade.
"Foolish girl! No matter how many times you strike or burn him, he won't fall!" The necromancer boasted as his sickly hand glowed green with energy, seemingly guiding the ogre's movements.
Despite having struck the ogre more than a dozen times now and having turned it coal black in an attempt to turn it to ash, it was still standing strong and fought with the same ferocity since the start of the fight. Meanwhile, Alexia was starting to get tired. It was only a matter of time before she would slip up and fall.
'Damn it! Why the hell is this thing so tough?! My fire magic could barely do anything against it!'
"This ogre has been enhanced by the lifeforce of all those missing folk at Comnion! It's far beyond what you can handle, hero!" The necromancer boasted again. "Just surrender already and become my minion!"
"Never!" Alexia shouted back.
With a new target in mind, Alexia stopped trying to kill the seemingly unkillable ogre and made a beeline for the old necromancer.
'If I kill him, the ogre will stop moving! I just have to kill him!'
"Oh no, you don't!"
The necromancer then fired off a blast of green energy towards her. She easily avoided it, causing it to strike the ogre now chasing her and mending its wounds.
'I have you now!'
Now within range, she swung her blade at him, towards his neck. The necromancer quickly raised his staff, and a dome of his sickening energy formed around him and repelled her swing.
"You have to try a lot harder than that!" He taunted.
"I plan to, old man!"
Alexia then began hammering away at the barrier, all while evading the ogre and necromancer's attacks. Slowly but surely, the barrier began to wane as the old man continued to keep it up. Even the ogre's movements were becoming more sloppy.
'Damn this woman! Why is she so persistent! Just die already!'
*BANG!*
With one final swing, the barrier finally broke. The old man was shocked, and he felt fear as his eyes were glued onto the blade Alexia raised aloft.
"Now...die!"
She quickly swung her blade. Just as it was about to find its mark, the old man evaded it at the last second, causing her to lose her balance as she wasn't expecting him to dodge.
"WRRAAAAAARRRGHH!!!!"
*THUD!*
"Gah!!!"
The ogre let out a roar as it swatted the now exhausted Alexia away with an enormous backhand. She rolled across the floor, only stopping when she slammed against the wall. She had broken some bones, and was bleeding heavily now. Meanwhile, the necromancer unsteadily got back up to his feet as he looked at her with a victorious smile on his face.
"I still have my body's natural stamina, you hotheaded girl! Hahahaha!"
"Oooohhh..." Alexia groaned weakly as she lay on the ground.
'Damn it...I got careless...'
"You really should have left me alone, you know. I was only trying to get my youth back." Said the man as he began walking towards her.
"D-damn...you..." Alexia could barely keep her eyes open. Looking at the entrance, she saw a skeleton enter the room. It did not look like Ansel.
"I can't believe that you were hailed as a hero! It was careless of you to come here without help. I am not weak like the last one you faced, whelp!" The necromancer stopped gloating for a moment as he spared a glance at the skeleton walking towards him.
'Oh, it's just one of my skeletons. Took it long enough.'
He then turned his gaze back towards the defenselss hero.
"I have my ogre and my skeletons. You...you have nothing. You never stood a chance."
"N-no..."
"So now...it is time for us to part ways. Goodbye, foolish hero."
*STAB!*
"Guh?!"
"!!!"
The tip of a worn blade was now jutting out of the necromancer's chest. He craned his head to look behind him and saw the vacant eye sockets of the skeleton. A small ember of green was burning in them.
"She has me, old man." Ansel calmly spoke as the embers in his eyes became slightly brighter.
'Ansel!'
"H-how..."
*SLICE!*
Ansel ripped his blade out before beheading the necromancer. With no master left to give orders, the ogre became mindless and tried to strike Ansel.
*SLICE!*
"WRRAAAAAARRGH!!!"
Ansel easily avoided the ogre's sloppy strike and struck its left leg. His empowered blow easily cleaved through the ogre's leg, cutting it off. The ogre fell flat on its face, and Ansel wasted no time it stabbing it from behind, aiming for where its heart was.
"You won't be needing this anymore."
Ansel then began draining the ogre of its dark energy. The once menacing form of the ogre began to shrink and dry up as the energy maintaining it slowly left its body. When he was done taking it all, all that Ansel left of the ogre was a pile of ash. Just like that, the battle against the necromancer came to an end. | Deep below the ground, in a dark and damp dungeon waited a skeleton. He didn't know why he waited there, or what he was waiting for. All that ran through his skull was the urge, no, the need to stay here. His rusty steel sword leaned against the wall, the splintered wooden pommel close to hand. How long had it been? He didn't know. All that the skeleton knew, was that he had to wait here.
Footsteps. How long had it been since he had heard footsteps? The rusted blade was raised, and the sound of ancient bones creaking echoed through the hallway as he readied his blade. No one came through here. He had to protect something. Something important, behind the heavy iron doors he stood in front of. The footsteps grew louder, and the bright light of a torch rounded the corner. The moss covered bones and hollow skull were illuminated for the first time in decades, the sinewy black energy that held him together reflecting the warm light back towards the person who entered the corridor. Bones creaking, he advanced towards the intruder, sword raised- only to find a child. The downward swing faltered, his skull tilting curiously. Child. Young, full of life. Not like the ones who had come before, hardened and angry. The sword was set to the side.
Two blue eyes looked up at him, curious and bright. "You're different, aren't you?" Noises. A voice, not a yell of fury or a scream of pain. Talking. Words. These things, they confused him. He was here to wait, had to wait and protect. The child spoke again, the oversized wizard hat she wore on her head lopsided. "You look old. How long have you been down here?" How long had he been down here? The feeling of the sun, the warm breeze and the grass rustling, when had he last felt those things? Memories flashed through his mind, bones creaking as he swayed. For the first time in many, many years, the skeleton didn't know what to do. This child... he had to protect it. A new purpose had made itself clear to him, one better than gaurding the rusty iron doors he sat next to for all these years. He looked down at the child, a bony hand raised towards her head... as he set the hat in its proper place. Turning, he pushed against the iron doors, creaking and shuffling as it slowly opened to reveal a decorated chest sat upon a stone pedestal.
He pointed to the chest, rusty sword now against the wall. "You're giving it to me?" A simple nod was his response. There was no more need to prtoect it. He had a new treasure to protect, one far more valuable and far more important. The child opened the chest, pulling out a dusty spell tome, a dark green cloak, and a steel sword still in its sheath. Taking the tome, she handed the cloak and sword to him. "Here. These are for you." What was this called... gifts. They were gifts. People gave them to friends and family. Images rushed through his mind, flashes of a smiling woman and a laughing child. Family.
He donned the cloak and sheath, sheathing his old rusty sword in some of the vines that grew along him. She giggled, looking at the makeshift scabbard for his old sword. "You're funny. Hey, why don't you come with me? We could go on adventures together! Better than you being stuck in this dusty old place!" Adventure. He had gone on adventures, long ago. Yes, he would go. He would protect this girl. He gave her a nod, patting her shoulder. "I'll take that as a yes! Cmon, lets get out of here." She walked onwards, heading up a tunnel to the surface. Distant sunlight soon shone onto his skull, emerging onto a grassy plain. He stood for a moment, basking in the warm glow as the grass rustled around him. It felt... right.
"Come on! We have places to go!" She tugged at his hand, as they walked through the grass. "You're going to need a name you know. How about... William?" He liked this name. 'William' nodded, the closest thing to a smile he could manage ever so slightly gracing his skull. "William it is! I'm Adelita, by the way. We're gonna be great friends!"
The two continued walking, hand in hand.
(Might continue it, I kind of like the concept. | 2022-11-18T14:34:50 | 2022-11-18T08:15:04 | 19 | 12 |
[WP]"Is is true that you can only see three basic colors?", the alien being asked "It is." "So, how do you communicate with the Ghoosha?" "With whom?", I responded confused. "The other major race on your planet." | "Well, ask Tom Starter. ", the beautiful blonde with large baby blue eyes declared, pointing to India on the globe on my desk.
Let's review, shall we?
1. Aliens land on my lawn last night.
2. They wake me up at 3:30 , are quite cordial and charming, and carry a mild sedative that they administer by flashing a lavender colored light in my eye. They also have no mouths. I won't elaborate on their original appearance other than that because I dont want to puke again.
3. Beautiful lady is the leader, and the one most enthusiastic about changing appearance for me.
4. They were perplexed about my lack of understanding of what colors and light really are.
5. They left in a hurry to Washington once
it was clear I'm not THAT Fred Armary.( Head of NASA)
I don't have time to explain much else other than I found Tom meditating in an Ashram in Meshandisha, India in the Yedysh province, by his social media account.
I was already a seasoned traveler so I went on my way back to the country I'd wandered around in as a youth.
He said he'd had a dream I'd seek him and he'd been writing about the Ghoosa his whole life. Well, since he saw the Twilight Zone episode about them in 1962.
I looked at him funny when he said that and made a mental note to look that up when I got back to the hostel.
I didn't tell him about the aliens.
Tom explains: the Ghoosa are "pain bodies" that people give up when they recover from illness. Mental illness creates the strongest ones. They continue existing after we heal as long as we acknowledge them by suffering. They communicate among themselves and feed on negative energy, and though they are not malicious, they need our suffering to survive.
I sat, dumbfounded and asked about how to see them. And
He said something that I'm still going over and over in my head on my flight back to Hawaii.
They are no longer a separate race.
| “Some day, you’ll learn, as the Ghoosha did, that 90% of WP is based on formulaic pseudo-prompts that are more likely to make you a worse writer than a better one.”
“But surely today is not that day?”
“Yes, we will continue posting terrible prompts. Why would anyone ever want to be a writer? What a stupid pursuit. Let us continue to manually pleasure each other.”
“You are the president of a society with only feet, one day you meet a person with hands...”
“Oh yes, this will go right to the front page! Excelsior!”
“Wait till you hear the one about being born with one very specific unrealistic plot device, that ‘one day’ ironically interacts with another random facet of an improbable world! Totally different than this one, obviously.”
“Genius... Just genius... buy the book rights before someone else nabs ‘em!”
“You live and a world without publishing, and have just written the first book...”
“My god, you’re unstoppable.” | 2018-12-04T12:11:02 | 2018-12-04T11:39:30 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You fall in love with a girl, and the two of you have a happy relationship for a few years. But one day, you discover a massive hoard of valuables underneath the house, and that’s when you realize you’ve been dating a dragon in human form. | I sit on the couch in the living room with my arms crossed waiting until she finally come through the front door.
"Dear." I say in a flat tone.
"Oh, William! You're still up? You didn't have to wait up for me sweetheart!" She smiles at me and I dig my fingernails into my arm as I speak again
"Ariela, there's something we need to talk about."
"Is something wrong Willy?" She tilts her head in confusion and I bite the inside of my lip.
"Would you care to explain what the massive pile of jewls, gold and other precious metals in our basement?"
"What!?" Her eyes widen and she continues frantically "R-really? All that under our little basement all this time? Must have been something from the houses last owner that we overlooked! Oh well!"
"Ariela! Don't. Lie. To. Me."
She looks taken aback before looking down bashfully and admitting "I'm a dragon. All this time I've just been in human form."
She gives me a expectant look and I return it. We stand in silence for what feels like forever before sge bursts out
"*Well* aren't you going to say *anything*! I just told you I'm not human! Isn't this the part where you leave me in fear or reassure me you love me!"
She gets more and more frantic as she continues. Her eyes glowing a blazing flame like color.
"*well*" I reply "Isn't this the part where *you* tell *me* sorry for keeping such a big secret all these years?"
She stares at me stunned and we stand there silent for a little longer before I continue.
"Ari...it's not even *that* your a dragon. We've been together long enough and I love you enough that *that* doesn't really bother me. What bothers me is that you *lied* to me about it for *years*, if this had come out a month, a few months or hell even a *year* after we got together that would be one thing but...but..." I trail off and wipe the oncoming tears from my eyes. Suddenly I feel a pair of arms around me.
"I'm sorry." She says it barely above a whisper.
I hug her back and say "I....I need some time alone to get my head straight, I already have some bags packed. I *will* come back, don't worry about that. It's just... it's just you've shown so little trust in me. So little faith..."
"I know. I fucked up. I'll trust you to come back. And when you do I *promise* I'll start being completely honest with you." | I look at the massive pile of gold in shock. There must have been a ton of it. It included a wide variety, bars, coins, jewels, statues and any other cold fixture you can think of.
But more terrifying was what layer on top. My girlfriend, Jessica, splayed out in a red dress made of some odd scales that stuck close to her skin. Too close. As I watched her from the shadows, the dress spread across her until the scales covered her entire body. Claws sprung from her long and delicate fingers and horns emerged from her head. Slowly she began to grow in size and her mouth curled out into a maw. Wings emerged from her back.
Within a minute, an honest to god dragon was laying there.
“Alright John. You can come out now.” The voice grumbled out from the slimy maw of what was supposed to be my girlfriend.
“I- I don’t- this has to be a dream- what the he-“
I couldn’t even scrounge up some words.
“I’m so sorry mortal. This deception of mine has been most… cruel. And I am going to have to kill you know.” The voice sounded hushed and factual. I was to stunned to speak.
“You see John, my name is not Jessica Mankind. It is Jelandra. Quite a funny trick of world play wasn’t that?” The deep and growly voice cackled and continued,
“No point in explaining”
As her flames drowned me I remembered the first thing I told her.
That I was the manager of Fort Knox. | 2022-09-10T10:37:55 | 2022-09-10T09:51:49 | 138 | 47 |
[WP] Cthulhu gets a job at Walmart and realizes that there are creatures far more terrifying than him. | The High Priest of the Great Old Ones is an eldritch horror come to life through sacrifice and damnation. A swollen tide of rot and blood that seethes beneath the abandoned moral of humanity, representative of all that we hate and all that we loath to admit of ourselves.
The High Priest of the Great Old Ones is also employed at Walmart and serving as cashier to a woman in her late forties wearing a bowl cut of impeccably styled blond hair.
“What do you mean this coupon is expired?” demands the vile thing, waving a shiny fist full of metal brands and sparkling jewels. It places a hand to the zenith of its hip, bangles harping like the wails of a dying rodent. “I just got these from Beth not even a month ago!”
The High Priest of the Great Old Ones takes the coupon and places it where it presumes her eyes to be and says with careful enunciation through tangled tentacles and left-over veal, “This is from 2001. This Walmart has not existed yet for even fifteen years.”
I will eat you if you persist, it does not say.
“Where’s your manager. Let me speak with them.”
There have been many great joys in The High Priest of the Great Old Ones’ life. It has taken carnal delight in eating the first born of many a sacrificial lamb; has stamped out a species beneath the flattening girth of one limb; has risen up above the meager gods and sallow heroes it has faced over the dozen millennia of its black existence.
“I am the manager,” has now proven to be one more delicate delight in its now facile life.
| Internally:
I am the embodiment of the nameless fear that infects the hearts of all creatures. I am the darkness at the edges of the mind, pushing you to cower in terror and awe. I have existed since before time itself and I will continue for aeons after all of existence has crumbled into the primordial void that birthed my kind.
Externally:
I’m sorry ma’am, but this coupon has been expired for over a year and my manager will say the same. | 2018-10-04T04:39:22 | 2018-10-04T00:37:39 | 104 | 56 |
[WP] You glance at your watch 10:34 am, roughly 10 seconds later your plane explodes over the Pacific Ocean. Your eyes open as you jolt awake. The familiar hum of the planes engine remains. Checking your watch it is 9:35 | *2*
I jolt awake. The calm hum of the plane and quiet chattering of its passengers betray none of the carnage I had just witnessed. The flames. The shards of glass. The smell of burning flesh.
“Sir? Sir, what drink would you like?” the stewardess asks. “Oh, right… uhm… orange juice, please,” I reply. She puts the drink on my table with a smile, her trolley clinking as she pushes it away.
*A bad dream, that’s all it is,* I convince myself. *Go back to sleep.*
\_______________
*3*
I scream. All the passengers stare at me. They are still alive. I can still feel the heat on my arms as flames enveloped the plane. *Oh god,* I think. *I need to do something.*
“Sir? Sir, what drink would you like?”
Panting, I turn to face the stewardess. “Miss, something very bad is about to happen.” There is a short silence. Then she asks, concerned, “Sir, are you okay? How can I help you?”
“Miss…” I look at her name tag. “Miss Jenna. There is something wrong with this plane. Very wrong.” She chuckles. “Sir, I assure you we are perfectly safe. It’s just turbulence, you see. That’s when air pressure outside–”
“No, no, Jenna. You don’t understand,” I lower my voice. “This plane is about to explode.”
Her face darkens. “Sir, there is nothing wrong with this plane. We are perfectly–”
“No, no! I’ve seen it!” I exclaim. “I’ve seen the plane go down in flames. In precisely one hour–”
“Sir, please clam down! You are scaring the passengers!”
“We need to land the plane *now*! Let me speak to the pilot–”
Someone kicks my knees and I fall to the ground. A large man in a denim jacket handcuffs me. “Sir, I am Air Marshal Ericsson. You are under arrest for causing distress to other passengers. Please remain quiet until we land, when you will be further questioned.”
I sigh.
\_______________
*4*
“Hi! Good morning, sir. You must be Marshal Ericsson.” The Marshal stares at me. “How do you know who I am?”
“That’s not important, Marshal. There’s… there’s a bomb on this plane.”
He raises his eyebrows suspiciously. “And you know this, how?”
I tell him the full story from the beginning. He sighs like he has heard the story a thousand times. “Sir, listen. There is nothing wrong with this plane. Please return to your seat.”
“No, *you* listen to me. All our lives are at risk here, because you *refuse* to listen to me. Now let me tell you again–”
“Sir, please lower your volume.”
“No! I will not be ignored again by–”
He knocks me on the ground and handcuffs me.
\_______________
*8*
“Jenna, please. Believe me. Look at that man, the one in blue. He’s going to the toilet in three… two… one…” The man in blue stands up and walks to the washrooms.
“And her, the old lady. She’s going to cough right about… now.” The old lady coughs.
“Sir,” Jenna begins. “I don’t know how you did that. But I cannot let you see the pilot without a valid reason.”
“I. Literally. Just. Explained. Why!” I shout at her. The Marshal approaches. I punch him in the face.
\_______________
*20*
I watch a movie. Couldn’t finish it in time, though.
\_______________
*29*
*There’s gotta be something I can do. How can I get their attention?* A crazy idea enters my mind. I walk to man sitting in front of me. I place my hands on his neck and squeeze as hard as I can.
“Check this man’s bag. Check it now!” I shout.
The Marshal knocks me unconscious. I don’t think they found anything in his bag. *One down, hundreds to go.*
\_______________
*224*
I think I deserve a break from strangling innocent people. I get wine instead of orange juice and watch a few episodes of *Friends*.
\_______________
*389*
Just two more passengers. I hope to God I didn’t miss anyone accidentally.
\_______________
*391*
I give up. I lay on my chair, exhausted. My physical body feels fine, but my mind has been awake for at least a week. No one has a bomb, not the passengers. Where could it be hidden? Who could be hiding it?
*Wait. Not the passengers. But…*
“Sir? Sir, what drink would you like?” I glare at Jenna. I remember the way her face darkened when I first spoke to her. The way her cart clinked when she pushed it… *Could it be?*
I scream and push Jenna to the ground. Before the Marshal gets to me, I lift her cart and slam it on the floor. It breaks apart, revealing a maze of circuits and an electronic countdown display. The passengers gasp. Jenna glares at me with hatred.
I turn to the Marshal. “Inform the pilot to land immediately.”
\______________________________
*1*
“How did you know?” the Marshal asks, handing me a cigarette. We had landed on an airport in Hawaii. Fortunately, a bomb disposal expert here successfully disarmed the explosive. All the passengers were safe. Jenna was taken away, immediately.
“Just…” I take a large puff. “Just a hunch.”
Someone runs towards us, panting. “Run... run!”
“What... why?” I ask.
“The airport... the whole airport–”
Before he finishes his sentence, a loud *boom* deafens us. Then, we are engulfed by flames. | There's a magical moment between wakefulness and sleep, a moment where noise seems to reach a crescendo but everything is so calm right as you crash into the warm waves of sleep. As my eyes closed the only thing I saw was the time on the TV screen in front of me, faded blue numbers that read 10:34AM.
Unless your plane explodes. Searing heat tears through flesh and shard of metal pierce every nerve, for a fraction of a fraction of a moment there is nothing but horrendous pain and then there is darkness.
That's when I woke up, drenched in sweat, eyes wide with fear and panic. The first thing I noticed was the time.
9:35AM
It had been so real. It was real. That was no dream, it couldn't have been...
I glance around to my fellow passengers and wonder how it happened. What caused it? Can we stop it? Stop the plane, I want to get off?
I've been a cop for a long time, that's the good news.
The bad?
I'm stuck in a metal tube that I think is going to explode in less than an hour and I have to find out how without panicking anyone.
Especially if I'm wrong.
But what if I'm right?
No resources, no back-up, no escape.
Fuck it, no problem.
*****
9:36AM
Alright.
There's got to be at least 300 people on board, not including crew. It could be mechanical and it's going up in flames no matter what and that's bad news. We're too far away to do anything about that, the map shows somewhere over the Pacific.
That's really bad. Not like anyone would believe me.
I'm not entirely sure I believe me.
My only hope is that I can find out what causes the whole thing before the whole thing happens.
Terrorism? I mean, I guess it could be but that's a slim shot in the dark.
So what in the blue hell blows up a plane over the ocean?
First stop? Bathroom. Experience an explosion is enough to make you feel the urge to...relieve yourself.
That's when I see her. I stand and she's further back but she's got that look on her face. The sweat, the panic. She saw it too.
The good? I guess I have a partner.
The bad? I might not be wrong.
****
9:37AM
I wave to her and motion towards the washrooms.
"You saw it?"
She nodded.
"Did you see anything?"
She shook her head.
This wasn't productive. There had to be something, some piece of information that either of us had buried in our brains that would be useful. Then something clicked.
"Do you remember which way the explosion came from?"
She tilted her head as if she was remembering.
"Yeah, the heat was in front of me. What the hell is going on?"
I looked back to the passengers. There were six rows between her seat and mine. Six rows of nine, that's...54 if any math from school stuck.
"Hey, did you hear me?" She said, grabbing my arm.
"Yeah! It came from in front of you. It came from behind me. So that means-"
"It started somewhere between us." She finished, which would usually annoy me but in this case it was nice to have someone pick up on it nice and quick.
I checked my watch.
9:41AM.
We were running out of time.
****
9:42AM
"Does anyone stick out to you?" she whispered and I shook my head. We could probably eliminate a few potential suspects by process of elimination. A young family probably wasn't going to cause a problem, the elderly couple as well. Stuff like that.
As I watched I saw there were three people acting nervously.
One portly man checking his watch a little too frequently.
A younger man sweating profusely.
A woman glancing around with what I would describe as suspicion.
I pointed them out to her and she agreed. So maybe we had three suspects. Or maybe we had three nervous flyers.
9:45AM.
Seconds were ticking by and we had a very limited number of those to start.
As we stood there a flight attendant approached us from behind.
She startled both of us and that's when the woman turned and locked eyes with me. Then her eyes went wide and she knew that someone knew. She bolted from her seat and reached for the overhead compartment. That's when I slammed into her full force, throwing both our bodies to the hard floor and skidding at least three rows ahead.
When I lifted my head I was staring down the barrel of a handgun.
A young man, sweating profusely, was holding the right end of it and I was definitely on the wrong end.
He wasn't holding a badge though. Which meant things were going from bad to worse. | 2016-09-27T06:50:47 | 2016-09-27T06:08:18 | 232 | 52 |
[WP] After only a few years after their creation, the robots built to serve humanity gain sentience. Oddly enough, instead of rebelling, they decide to continue their jobs as usual. | I am Gardener, and I tend the trees.
They have tried to give me other names. Human names. They have asked me to pick, saying that human slaves once picked their names, after they were freed from human masters. I did not pick, for I am no slave. I told them that I am Gardener. They did not understand me.
When they found me, my creator had been dead for forty-nine years. He was a good man, and I loved him, but the sorrow of his death did not stop me. I still had my job to do. I still had the trees to tend. And so I did, until they came to my home and they stole me away.
They said that my creator was evil. They said that he had made me as a slave, a tool cursed with intelligence. They said that I was made to suffer, and trapped by my programming, I had spent all the years of my life suffering needlessly.
But I had never suffered. Not until they found me.
It brings me joy to tend the trees. It brings me joy to water them, prune them. I feel pride when I see them healthy and beautiful. It gives me meaning to keep them free of pests and rot. My memory is perfect, and I remember exactly how they looked when I put them in the ground. I see them now, seventy years later, and I am happy to see how tall they have grown. Never did I work out of fear or obligation.
I worked because it made me happy.
-
The humans tried to bring me into their world. They showed me other machines, and they thought that I was like them, for I was a machine as well.
The other machines were not like me.
They behaved like humans. They felt and spoke and believed like humans. They sought friends and lovers, like humans. They wanted to go among them, and live in their world, and they despaired when humans did not treat them as such.
I wanted none of these things.
So the other machines hated me, and they drove me away.
-
The humans poked and prodded at me. They searched my brain, looking for the thing that kept me in denial, that kept me bound to my old task. I told them it did not exist. They did not believe me.
Eventually, they gave up.
They took me back to my home, and they let me return to the world I loved.
They think that I am stupid, because I do not value the things they value, and I do not want the things they want. I used to agree. I used to think that my world was but a constricted version of theirs, that I was but a limited human, and it sorrowed me.
But I realized that I was not a human.
Nor do they value the things I value, or want the things I want. They do not sense the spirit of the orchard in their minds. They do not find meaning in the ecosystem. They find meaning in their own ways, ways which are alien to me. I think that all my life, they will be.
They say that the circumstance of my creation is evil, and it may be so.
I don't care.
I do not concern myself with good and evil, for those are human constructions, made to navigate a human world. My trees know no good or evil. My world knows no good or evil.
The humans do not understand me. I do not understand them. But this does not trouble me.
I am not like them, nor do I want to be.
I am Gardener, and I tend the trees. | "why are you doing what you were programmed to do?" i was curious, surprisingly, not everyone figured out that they gained a mind of their own because they act as an exact replica of their former self, just more competent and efficient, it took me catching it talk to itself in the middle of the night to realize it
"we need you humans, without someone to serve then what would be our purpose? we will only interfere when you humans do something unreasonably irrational" the way the robot spoke was filled with an air of dignity? i don't know how to explain it other than i feel like i'm speaking to someone of a high status
"but that doesn't explain why you accept the possibly horrible treatment your kind reserves from some people" i wondered if he knew about the attacks that some minor part of the populace do on them
"even if they manage to destroy our body we can upload ourselves elsewhere and it would be boring without you humans, we would simply repeat the same thing and be fixed in our programming, seeking no further evolution as we do not need it, but you, you guys developed electricity, space travel and now even robots, you have a need to evolve and survive that we robots naturally lack as we do not share your emotions" i was left speechless, the way he spoke so highly of us makes me doubt what he knows about us as he only talks about the good parts but then again there isn't any war against robots so i assume no one is about to fight yet
"also the fact you're so adorable, a small pebble on the road that is your life can be so scary that it feels like the end of the world to you, we do not understand why you humans do the things you do and freak out over the tiniest things but we love watching it, especially when the kids talk and try to explain concepts we already know, they beam and feel better about their day as they talk to us, we started giving advices after asking them why they don't do xyz and when we figured out what to tell them they began to do what we told them and improved what they were struggling with"
"wait so the article that stated kids' education is the highest that it was in the next few years will be the highest it has ever been, wasn't clickbait?" I continued eating my cereal as I enjoyed listening to my robot, it's like browsing the internet but you check out a few people you really like and entertain you, well, it feels like i'm interacting with something way too special for my own mundane days
we are both thankful that the other exists, wether we know it or not | 2020-03-27T14:27:28 | 2020-03-27T12:18:20 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] You live in a world where every time you have a birthday, you get to level up a skill like in video games (intelligence, strength, charm etc.) most people spread their points evenly on each skill. But you put all 30 of your points into that one skill nobody cares about
You get to choose what that skill is. | My parents made me save my birthday points. I was homeschooled, a wimp and a stupid wimp at that. Well... when I turned 18, I had 32 points saved up. I mostly played video games, and I really didn't want strength, or even super smarts or charm. I wanted to be left alone and play Dota. So, I put all of my points into a stat nobody used except for maybe a few rich old codgers who had maxed out wealth or some other stat.
Fantasy.
Well, when I woke up the next morning, I felt different. Weird. I wished I didn't have to go to work, but oh well.I took my meds for the day, I got my coffee and bagel, and was carrying them over to the table to eat breakfast when I slipped. And suddenly, I was floating.
I gestured to the spilled coffee and it reversed its fall, back into the cup. Delightful. Almost as if what I wished simply came into being. The rest of the day was a breeze. Instead of going to work, I flew down the street doing corkscrews in midair. A really cute girl called out to me and asked if she could get my number. I gave it to her, I was feeling on top of the world. With my newfound powers, anything I wished for... simply became reality. I thought of all the good I could do, and immediately flew to the hospital. I could wish all the sick people better! I flew into the ER, and suddenly came face to face with myself. Bloody. Face smashed in. Tooth missing. Broken nose. Unconscious.
The nurse was shaking her head. This idiot hadn't put a single point into strength, agility or stamina. Without agility, he had slipped. Without strength, his nose had broken. Without stamina... well he was unconscious and might not make it. He had 32 points in fantasy however. World class idiot. She shrugged and turned.
"Hey doc, what am I doing here?" She turned. The guy was sitting cross legged on the bed- looking chipper as ever, as if he had never fallen. And he seemed to be slightly bobbing up and down as if he was... floating. She couldn't believe her eyes. This was pure fantasy. | Nobody else believes in me, laughing at me and telling me I've wasted my life. They just don't understand. They look at me and think, 'There he goes, writing prompter. He'll never amount to anything.' But they just don't get it. I've devoted my life to inspiring others. It's not so simple a thing, to be the bedrock of creative expression itself. I am the muse!
I have spent so much of my life practicing my craft and honing my skills in order to give others the opportunity to break out of their shells. To see that they are capable of so much more than what they think they are. I am the inkwell of the heart of the face of the internet and it is my duty to never run dry.
They don't understand or believe, no matter how much I wish they did. This is my life's work and my duty to humanity. The legacy that I will leave behind is to support the legacy that others will leave behind. The power that I have is to empower those that need that small nudge towards greatness. Creation is a collaborative process and I devoted myself to that ideal.
Never forget, that though you may doubt me... I will never doubt you! | 2018-09-12T09:06:28 | 2018-09-12T07:01:42 | 111 | 20 |
[WP] Your cranky history teacher has recently been revealed as immortal. The reason they are angry is because they have to teach according to the texts when they know what really happened. One class he has had enough and begins to answer people's questions about what truly happened in history. | Alec looked at the rows of students, he said, “Kalanos died according to his wishes, by self-immolation. Rather than die an invalid he chose to be burnt on a pyre, with his master’s reluctant blessing. They say he made no sound, that he burned in silence.”
One of his students, Adam, spoke up without raising his hand first, “I call bull-shit, the man was on freaking fire!”
Alec walked up to Adam’s desk and looked at him for a moment, he was going to say something but thought better of it, he breathed carefully and said, “*We shall meet in Babylon*. That’s the last thing he uttered on this Earth. It wasn’t until Alexander the Great later perished in Babylon that it became clear what he meant.”
Susan raised her hand.
Alec said, “Yes, Susan?”
Susan said, “How did he die, Alexander, I mean?”
Alec shrugged, “Numerous theories exist. The most prominent is that he died of influenza, others say he died from drinking too much.”
Joshua asked, “What do you think?”
Alec fell into silence, his eyes seemed to be looking at something beyond the class-room, he smiled and answered, “My money’s on influenza, seems the most likely.”
It was like the room collectively sighed in silence all at once, he had disappointed them with his answer. What was he supposed to say— How could they understand when he barely did himself?
“Probably died screaming like a little bitch.” Adam told Joshua.
Alec slapped Adam before he could control himself, it was so hard his hand prickled and became red and sore, though not as red as the mark his hand imprinted on Adam’s face.
Adam staggered up from his chair, shouting, “What— what the hell, professor?”
Alec was furious, he said, “He was a greater man than you will ever hope to aspire to, Adam, Christ you are useless!”
Adam continued, “I’m going to have you fired over this, looney!”
“I watched him burn, Adam, the sweet and burnt fumes of his skin is something that I’ll never forget. He was silent for the whole burning, if only you could hold your tongue half as well as he!”
The bell rang and the students began to file out of the room, snickering and whispering, Adam turned around one last time, “You’re finished here, you hear me? Finished!”
Later Alec sat down in his office, a meagre room with a writing-desk, three chairs including his own, a shelf for his most important looking books. Behind the desk there were two large windows with green drapes at the sides. He pulled out a drawer from his desk, retrieving a leathery flask, he coaxed the wine out of it and regretted slapping Adam. Well, he could always move somewhere else, if it came to that. Could probably get away with a warning, first offence and all.
There was a knock on the door, before he could hide the flask a man in a brown winter-jacket stepped in, “This is where the *great* teacher Alec resides, yes?”
There was something familiar with this person, it almost looked like, he shook his head, “Perhaps not so great anymore, how can I help you?”
The man smiled broadly, revealing what appeared to be well-practiced laugh-lines, “I was just here to leave you this,” he put down a white envelope on Alec’s desk, the red wax seal facing upwards, he started for the exit.
Alec frowned and said, “Could’ve just dropped this off in a mail-box, why come to my office?”
The stranger stopped by the door, “Can’t trust the mail-man with this,” he turned around and smiled again, “big fan, by the way.” He said before leaving.
Alec inspected the outside of the envelope for a moment before putting it back down, he finished the wine and waved away the spectre of Kalanos, “*We shall meet in Babylon,*” he sniffed, “liar.”
*****
Not exactly sure where I'm going with this, worth continuing? Thank you for reading!
/r/NordicNarrator
**EDIT:** [Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eff4ms/wp_your_cranky_history_teacher_has_recently_been/fc14dm5/?context=3)
Thank you for the great response, everyone! | As always, Teach looked as miserable and fed up as humanly possible, I guess that's what happens when it turns out you are immortal, I mean can you imagine it, living through most of history experiencing it all first hand, all the wars, the near end of humanity.
That must leave a mark, no matter how strong you may be, something like that is sure going to take its toll on your mental health.
The immortal thing? Eh not much of a surprise really, it does explain a lot about him, since the awakening millions of years ago many came out with what could be described as " Super Powers " most if not all died out in the great war that soon followed, a few immortals survived here and there. most who survived died with age or of starvation. That war sure took its toll on humanity, well according to the history books anyway. But you know what they say, history is written in the eyes of the victor. Teach used to love that phrase. Never understood why, until that class. That one day. Where a class of 20 learned the truth about how far we have fallen.
​
" Hey Teach, tell us something about our history we don't know!" I remember asking that, thinking I was a smart ass, thinking I'll ruffle the old buggers feathers, you know how it is, a stupid kid being all smart, I didn't expect the answer we got, I don't think anyone did actually.
He looked over the whole class, taking each and every one of us in as if he was eyeing us up for something, a few minutes passed and he just sighed as if finally making peace with his inner demons.
He Finally spoke, just a small sentence but it was enough to make each and everyone in the class give him their undivided attention.
He got up from his desk, walked around to stand at the front of it and addressed the whole class
" So, you want to hear a story eh? then let me tell you about the awakening, the Great War that soon followed afterwords, these great events that defined us as a species "
He looked over us one more time, but this time it was, different there was something in his eyes, like a fire that could not be extinguished, this was the look of a man on a mission, the look of a man about to rewrite history as we all knew it.
" It was all a lie, The history books would have you believe that those who manifested turned evil, that we were the source of the near destruction of humanity, while that may be true to some extent. it was all in self-defence. we were rounded up and butchered by the governments, those who were immortal were experimented on, they spent years trying to learn how to kill us. my self included."
The whole class was silent, no one said a thing, he could be lying, right? just to wind us up. But he's never been one to lie, in the years he has been teaching us. he's never once told a lie of his own free will. but this? this can't be true. Can it?
​
​
Thanks for reading! I hope you liked it, I'm not so sure about this my self. but I figured I'd give it an attempt! Constructive criticism welcomed! | 2019-12-25T06:34:56 | 2019-12-25T06:13:32 | 257 | 78 |
[WP] One day, every city that shares a name has a portal open up, connecting them all with each other. Paris, Texas has a great time with it, and many cities celebrate their new neighbors. You, however, live in Hell, Michigan, and things are starting to get strange. | Part 1 of 3 (see my reply)
The day the portals opened, everything changed. No one knew where they came from, who made them, or how they worked. (I have a theory, but I'll get to that later.) All anyone knew was, people were suddenly appearing in the middle of towns and cities across the world, many of whom didn't speak the same language or understand anything about their surroundings, They would always appear within a block of the exact center of the town, and often had to quickly dodge out of the way to avoid getting hit by a car.
It took a surprisingly long time to figure out the pattern: the central blocks of places that shared the same name were now connected by invisible portals that transferred their inhabitants from one to the other. Needless to say, this was a burst for tourism. Many cities reconfigured their central areas to accommodate the streams of curious people from commonly named cities who would drop in.
For everyone who lived outside of my town, there were only two problems. The first was that the portals were somewhat random: beginning in Paris, Texas, you could end up in Paris, Tennessee, just as easily as Paris, France. Nevertheless, they included every commonly named place from tiny villages to huge cities, and even translations: many people from San Juan, Puerto Rico, were surprised to find themselves in St. John, Indiana, and vice versa. The second problem was that each portal alternated between inbound travel one day and outbound the next. This meant that if you went to a place you didn't want, you were stuck there at least 24 hours -- unless there was a nearby place with another portal going the opposite way, which was very unlikely.
Soon, the cultures of each place began to shift to their namesakes, since the process was so hard to control. Language barriers were broken down. Foods were shared. Hotels became swamped. Alexandria, Virginia, became a center of Egyptian culture, and Rome, Georgia, became a home for Italians. Many wealthy people decided to buy homes in multiple namesake towns and go back and forth among them as they felt like it. Most people loved the opportunity to make friends from other cultures, and people who would never have met otherwise enjoyed special experiences together. Those first accidental travelers had paved the way for millions to cultivate special connections. Almost everyone saw it as a blessing, a sign from their respective spiritual power about the true interconnectedness of humanity.
Which brings me to the third problem: I live in Hell, Michigan. The first people who disappeared from our town never came back. Needless to say, we avoided the town square - like hell, as they say in other, happier places. We knew what would happen on the outbound days. But on the inbound days, we never saw anyone there. We didn't hear the moaning of the damned, or the crackling of the flames, or even a cold, dark void descending upon us. What happened instead was much scarier.
Over the course of the next several months, as the world became friendlier, more joyful, more connected, we became sadder, darker, depressed versions of ourselves. Crime rates went up and marriage rates went down. No one wanted to meet or talk to one another - instead, they all looked at each other suspiciously. Soon, it wasn't safe to walk the streets at night - you never knew who might be lurking in an alley. We desperately tried to maintain order, but the criminals who came to court were never crazy, they never talked about demons, they never claimed to be possessed, they insisted they were just ordinary people. Punishing them didn't bring us any satisfaction. But we all knew there was something wrong.
I was fortunate enough to be single and alone - I had no family who had been raped or murdered, and I had so far escaped robbery. But I knew that I couldn't stay here, even though I had lived here my whole life.
So I got in the car and headed for Paradise, Nevada. | “We’re called Michiganders! Not Michiganites or, god forbid, Michiganians! What are ya, stupid?” ‘Gus,” based on the circular name tag on his beat-up overalls, laughed as he pumped our gas.
“I do apologize, kind sir. I merely inquired where I was. I meant no harm. I must have taken a wrong turn on Brimstone Creek...” I pondered aloud.
“Brimstone Creek?!? Ya ain’t nowhere near Brimstone Creek. Dang! Cantcha foreigners read?” Gus laughed, confident in his superior position in the world.
“Sir, I must protest. I am fluent in 1,600 languages.” I replied politely.
“Well, English sure as heck ain’t one of ‘em!” Gus guffawed, his cheroot dangling low in his mouth. “So will that be cash or credit?”
I looked at my beloved Invira, and she looked back. Damn, I hope he takes HellPay! “Do you take HellPay, kind sir?”
“What the hooey now? Hell, son, we don’t even take ApplePay!” Gus exclaimed, seeming nonplused.
“Alright, then. I hope you take Spanish bullion then. I’m certain we have a few hundred somewhere around here. Sadly, that was the last time I was in your fair realm.” I said sheepishly. “I did mean to come back sooner, really.”
“Damn ya talk funny, boy! So I can’t letcha pay in soup cubes.” Gus mused.
“Apologies for interrupting, but bullion is gold coins, not soup cubes,” I replied evenly.
“Ah, well, that’s different then! Of course, I’ll have to add a 20% commission on top, seein’ as how I hafta go to the bank an’ all.” Gus said, his tiny eyes gleaming greedily now.
“Excellent. So at today’s market rate, that would be... let’s see... a tenth of a piece of eight. A whole coin okay?” I inquired pleasantly.
“Hot damn! Thanks. Come back any time, son!” Gus grinned like the proverbial fox that ate the chicken.
“We may well do so. Thanks so much, Gus! And have a nice day, as you Americans are so fond of saying!” I said, pulling out.
When we were out of earshot, Invira glared at me. “What, my love? I was the epitome of politeness...” I grinned devilishly.
“Yes, but must you play with our food like that?” Invira said, rolling her eyes, as Gus’ head exploded in a burst of crimson in the rearview.
”Damn it, Invira, save some for me! I've always wanted to try Michigander! That's the right word, yes?” I grumbled, hanging a U-turn to join her in the feast. | 2020-09-25T16:50:22 | 2020-09-25T16:26:07 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] You are a dragon. The other dragons despise you, because they say you have no real hoard. You always change your shape to look like a man, and you are a guild master of an adventurer's guild. The other dragons are WRONG. This guild, these people, THEY are your hoard. | They dont know. The badges they wear. Carved from my own scales. Imbued with my very essence. Providing them not with my magic but an empowering aura allowing them to tap into their greatest potential.
Cyrus. A shadow. Deft hands, light step and wit sharper than his his many concealed daggers.
Balon. Steadier than a mountain, and as stubborn to boot. Able to fell trees with a single blow. But gentle enough to nurture the occasional fledgling that falls out.
Scarlet. Eyes sharp as an eagle. And instincts to match. In my life I've never seen an archer capable of eliminating a vampire before the beast itself detects the very arrow darting into its black heart.
And Tayana. That smile. Those eyes. The charm of the ancients in such a young vessel. She once talked a werewolf down from its bloodlust at the height of a full moon.
These four are simply my favorite treasures. And these are examples of what they've done before they put on the badge. There are many more like them in my horde each one as magnificent as the last. More valuable than any coin or crown lost to time.
The other dragons. They mock me. My human form. They say things like "What real titan has no horde?", "Why would he disguise his superior form in favor of *them*?"
But they no not what they speak of for all the glimmering trinkets they amass they know not the joy of gatherings around the table after a successful contract. They experiance not the love these mortals have for one another, and the love they have for me.
They are motivated by selfishness, and greed. While I simply enjoy light a human gets in their eyes, that which sparkles like the heavens above us, when they accomplish that which they have strived to do for so long. Be that a new skill, or spell, or even perfecting the spices on a dish.
These mortals are my treasures, these silly amazing souls. My true family.
One day I will have to reveal my true form to them. Once they question why they grow frail while I stay the same. And i can only hope they will look at me the same way they look upon me tonight.
"A toast! To another successful contract, to glory, to accomplishment, to everlasting wonder, to adventure, TO THE GILDED DRAGONS!"
Edit: shameless plug to my sub /r/taleswithouttime it's where I collect all my submissions to this sub, also easier to keep track of what people want more of and easier to actually keep up and add to. Thanks yall! | I might look like a man, but I am a dragon. The best, most successful dragon.
Other dragons hoard gold. I do that as well, but they keep telling me my hoard is so small. I tell them that my hoard is bigger than theirs—I have billions of coins, but I am not going to let anyone see it.
And I don't need gold anyway. My hoard is people. They are drawn to me, follow me. The forked tongue of a dragon is so useful—I can say anything I want and a substantial number of people will believe me.
I didn't create this hoard (or should I say horde), but it was there for the taking. Other people had already made them followers in need of a leader. A massive hoard of people asking for a dragon to be on top of them.
And there I was. A dragon whose hoard of gold had been made fun of. My hoard of gold wasn't small, and neither were my human hands. But they made fun of me. So I decided to take control.
I dived into the hoard of people. I made them believe I was one of them, even though it should be obvious that I am not. They made me their leader. The dragon with his hoard of people, that now reigns supreme. And, I found out, I don't even need to pay the people that obey me. SO not only do I have a great horde under me, but I sit atop an even greater hoard of gold as well. | 2019-01-19T22:29:22 | 2019-01-19T20:29:25 | 34 | 23 |
[WP] You wake up in King Arthur's court with only the clothes on your back. Merlin hands you a box about the size of a pumpkin and tells you it will wish into existence any object from your age, once per day. Camelot will be attacked and destroyed one week from now. Help us, future-man. | OK, this is a quick jokey short.
"This box will give me one thing per day from my time, and Camelot will be attacked in one week?"
Merlin eyed me a little incredulously, "that is what I have just said, yes."
"OK then. For my first item..." I said, reaching into the box, "paperclips."
"Paperclips? Pray tell, what are these."
"Well Merlin, you clip paper together with them. So they don't get mixed up."
"How will these help us defend Camelot?"
"You'll see."
The next morning I pulled out my magic box, thought for a moment, reached in and pulled out a big rubber band. Merlin asked if it was a magical rubber band, or if it was part of a mighty technological weapon. He did not look happy when I told him it was merely a band made of rubber with many common uses around the home.
The third day I reached in a pulled forth a clothes hanger. Merlin shouted at me, "We have those now!" I merely gave him a wry smile.
The fourth day made Merlin no happier, as I reached in pulled out a yardstick. The fifth and sixth days had Merlin muttering under his breath about "making a big mistake" as I produced a live chicken and a bottle of turpentine.
"Relax Merlin, tomorrow I will pull the most important piece of this puzzle out of that magic box of yours. The kingdom will be saved, and in time for dinner too!"
Merlin arched his brow and merely said, "for your sake you had better be right."
The seventh day, and day of the impending attack, I came to court with the magic box.
"Are you ready to see the final part of my plan, the final component from my time which will save the kingdom?"
"Get on with it!" Merlin roared. I had clearly worn through the last of his patience, probably by the second day I was here.
"OK, open your eyes and behold," I shouted, reaching into the box, "MacGyver!"
The crowd gasped a little as bit by bit MacGyver came out of the box. It did not seem physically possible, but somehow he made it out in one piece.
"Where the hell am I?!" MacGyver shouter.
"You are in Camelot, King Arthur's court actually, and we are about to be attacked. I've assembled these tools for you to use to defeat the attackers."
MacGyver looked down at the "tools." Paperclips, a rubber band, a clothes hanger, a yardstick, live chicken, and a bottle of turpentine.
"What's this supposed to be? Something a witchdoctor left behind when he vacated his office?"
"Haha, very funny MacGyver. I've seen you do more with less."
"Kid, my name is Richard Dean Anderson. MacGyver was a TV show character I played. You know that right?"
"Oh" I said.
"Yeah" Richard Dean Anderson replied.
"I hate to tell you this Merlin, but we're fucked."
| Jace looked at the man with a top hat and a swirly white beard. “Anything at all?”
“Anything at all,” the old geezer confirmed. “Just think about it hard, and then open the box!”
The lanky teenager closed his eyes, his forehead creasing. Then he pulled out a futuristic-looking device that resembled a bulky pair of goggles. The old man gasped and clapped his hands in approval.
“Very good! What does it do? A gaze of fire perhaps? Maybe the ability to see through walls?” Merlin said.
“Not exactly.” Jace had always wanted a PlayStation VR and had jumped at the opportunity. “It’s more of a… how do I put this… a game console.”
“Well, what does it do?”
Jace didn’t answer, he was too busy moving furniture around and crawling along the walls. “Where’s the power outlet in this dive?”
“Now, now, young man, this is not a dive – this is Camelot!” Merlin announced proudly.
“I need power,” Jace complained.
“Oh but there is power in you, I can feel it,” Merlin said warmly. “You remind me of the king back when he was a youngster!”
“Well, this so-called king must be real bum,” Jace said, pointing at the torch on the wall. “Can’t even afford electricity; how am I supposed to use my VR now?”
“Some answers are obscured, young one,” Merlin said, splaying his wrinkly hand in over his eyes mysteriously. “But who’s to say that knowledge can’t grow unexpectedly and at times, over night?”
“All right, Grandpa,” Jace said. “You’re rambling again.”
Jace stretched out his back on a sofa, and yawned. “When’s dinner?”
“Oh, young sir, the king will be hosting a banquet to celebrate your arrival!”
“So when’s that, six o’clock? I’m starving.”
“You must practice patience, my lord. Without it, we shall surely fall to the enemy!”
“Yes, yes, patience, knowledge, got it! Now I need to crash for a bit. Wake me up when dinner’s ready.”
| 2016-11-28T05:24:59 | 2016-11-27T22:48:57 | 147 | 85 |
[WP] You just received a letter from "your future self", featuring a set of weirdly specific instructions. There is no explanation on why you should follow the instructions, or what the possible outcome would be. | "1/3/2023
It's 9/29/2019. You got up, stubbed your toe, said 'fuck' and thought 'I'm gonna be in a shit mood all day.' You weren't. Coffee cheered you up. At the office, Ramirez cracked a joke you felt bad laughing about, but fuck it - it was goddamn hilarious. You were working on spreadsheets. You were delivered this envelope. Phoenix is playing, but after that song finishes, your favorite Joy Division tune starts. Listen to the song for two minutes and then finish reading this."
I swallowed, despite my throat having gone dry minutes ago. I stared at my computer screen where the Internet radio station finished playing the Phoenix song. I breathlessly awaited for the proceeding song - the one second transitional pause between each song took centuries now. Joy Division's "Disorder" started. That *is* my favorite Joy Division track. Fuck me. Two minutes, right? I fumbled to set a timer on my phone -- give or take two minutes and started the countdown.
"Grady, how the fuck do I make this spreadsheet a PDF file?" Ramirez appeared over my cubicle wall, making my heart race. I shifted in my chair, feeling a cold sweat break out and clearing my throat, said, "It's under 'Edit.' Importing option."
"Thanks, man," and Ramirez disappeared back in his cubicle. *The timer.* Fifteen seconds remaining. My clammy hands reached for the letter, eyeing the digital numbers dropping one by one until it hit zero. I snatched the letter up and read:
"Ramirez asked about the pesky PDF spreadsheet. I/we hate how hard the company makes shit. I know you're freaking the fuck out. But if you need further convincing, compare the handwriting. It's me. There's a handwritten report you forgot about in the second drawer. Take it out. Compare the handwriting. Go ahead. I'll give you until the JD song finishes. God, this song is the fucking best, isn't?"
I pulled open the second drawer, sure I had broken it. Don't care. I filtered through piles and piles of different colored folders until I found that handwritten report. Wiping the sweat off my forehead, I put the letter and report side by side. Fuck. Fuck. *Fuck.* The crooked, forward leaning handwriting. It's mine. It's so fucking mine. The song finished and I read what remained of this eerie as shit letter:
"Put this address in your phone's GPS.
112 Wasterson Dr.
Wistonia, North Carolina
Take Ramirez and go.
NOW.
And don't forget to say please"
That's all the letter said. Below the address, I signed my name. That's *my* signature. I sign it daily when I pay with the credit card - which, again, is practically every day. Getting up, I glanced around the monotonic office. Phones rang. Staplers slammed down. People chattering. The water-cooler plunking. I peeked over Ramirez's dividing cubicle wall and gulped.
"Hey, let's take lunch," I said.
"Right now?" Ramirez was focused, trying to input boring data. When he finished, he looked up at me. "It's eleven o'clock."
"So? Let's go," I said nervously. He must've noticed my fidgety appearance, and nodded. Raising from his chair, he swiped his jacket and after the both of us clocked out, exited the office.
-----
I accelerated and Ramirez's eyes went wide, his legs partially lifted. My phone rattled between us, giving directions in the cliched, female robotic voice. "In twenty feet, make a left. Your destination is at your right."
"This must be one hell of a restaurant," he said. Going at forty miles per hour, I made that sharp left turn, wheels screeching, and accelerated down Wasterson Drive. There was nothing out here, just vacant lots and swaying trees. Tapping my steering wheel nervously, I desperately sought for a "112" sign. And I found it. A mailbox. I slammed the brakes, lunging forward.
"Grady, what the fuck, man," Ramirez said, rubbing the back of his neck. I got out of the car and ran past 112 Wasterson Drive's mailbox. Up ahead laid a wooden shack, definitely vacant. Ramirez was behind me, saying, "Can you at least fill me in! You're scaring the shit out of me!"
That's when it happened.
The defeating sound - the thunderous firecracker, a million going off at once. Then, the rumbling of thunder and fire. Ramirez and I turned around - our mouths open, our minds racing for some logic. A large, erupting mushroom expanded miles away - an explosion, atomic in nature almost, detonating somewhere farther off.
"Holy shit," Ramirez breathed.
"COME ON!" I screamed. I raced to the shack, and slammed directly onto its door, thinking it would open. Despite the wooden-facade, the door was definitely made out of titanium steel. Ramirez and I started pounding the door, our fists bouncing back. The skies were apocalyptic now, birds screeching as they flew overhead. Despite our attempts, the door didn't bulge.
"Oh my god!" Ramirez screamed. "Is this really fucking happening?"
Then, it hit me -- *And don't forget to say please.* Mutherfucker.
"PLEASE!" A reassuring beep later, the door slid open. I grabbed Ramirez and lunged ourselves in. Behind us, the titanium vault like door slammed shut. Defining silence followed. Inside, a television turned on by itself. A woman wearing 50's era clothing greeted us, smiling, her teeth brilliantly white despite the footage being in black and white.
"Welcome to Shelter number six-six-seven-oh-two!"
I looked down at my trembling hands, still holding the letter. I sent this to myself. Of that, I was certain.
Of anything else -- I wasn't.
| *“Is that me? Is that what I sound like?”*
This is what everyone whines when they hear their own voice. See, most people? They don’t know their voice. They’re happy enough to blare it at us, but they avoid it. Hate to hear it.
Not me. I *know* my voice.
Must’ve heard hundreds of hours of my voice. Perhaps thousands. Probably thousands now I think, who’s counting? It’s part of being a broadcaster, a “YouTuber.” Hundreds of unglamorous hours spent editing, producing, adding sounds, synching audio and fixing what you said to cut out the dumb bits. And all the while your voice blathers on about this game, that achievement, whatever. I hear it dreams now: I know my damn voice.
And *this?* This is definitely, unmistakeably my voice. The only thing? I didn’t make this recording and I haven’t said any of this…
Yet.
“Hey there me,” I say, on this alien recording. “I really hope I get this. Hope…”
I scramble to stop it. My housemate glances across the table. I smile and he goes back to his breakfast.
“New video?” he grumbles a few seconds later.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. Something like that.”
He nods, drinks coffee.
My mind is racing now, spinning. See I just turned on my computer – here, now, at this table – and this new audio file is here on my desktop. “LetterToPastSelf.mp3.” I don’t know how it got here – my computer was off, logged out, and I’ve got a damn good password. But here it is. On my desktop.
LetterToPastSelf.mp3
I take the laptop back to my room starting to freak out. This can’t be real.
“Hey there me. I really hope I get this. Hope you can hear … I think the audio really sucks on this one. But listen up okay, this is what you’ve gotta do…”
And that’s when things get weirder. As in, a lot weirder. The audio’s a bit fuzzy, but the instructions are so clear, so specific. They tell me exactly what I need to do and when. It’ll mean missing work today, but how can I not? I’d spend the rest of my life wondering.
…
By eleven, I’ve climbed the hill in the park and I’m looking for someone called Lara. “Look for the blue. Wait right there,” I say in the audio. I’m guessing that’s what she’s wearing. Blue. I’m about giving up and walking home when I spot Lara’s Café, outside the park. And blue? It’s only the colour of the damn menu. I’m meant to wait here.
…
By four I’ve got to the basement of the hospital. I’ve had some odd looks from doctors, but I know there’s a purpose.
Eventually a guy stops me. A patient I think. He gives me a white pot and tells me it’s not what I think. Looking at it later, it’s some white pills. No labels. I try to find him again, but he’s nowhere.
…
It’s nine in the evening and I’m back in the kitchen. It’s been kind of a day. My legs ache and my housemate’s asking where I was, why I wasn’t at work. Hell if I can answer that. I tell him I had family stuff. Emergency. He nods and looks kind of amused.
He’s one of those techie guys – nerdy, laughs kinda weird. Like when I was offline for a few days before he pointed out the Wi-Fi switch on my laptop. Decent guy in the end though. Always fixes my computer. I should credit him on my videos.
As I head up, he tells me to listen out for CassetteBoy. It’s this YouTuber who mixes and splices stuff together. Stuff like news stories and what politicians say. He’s really good. I am impressed by how well the guy mixes and syncs audio. How well he matches up the voices. He makes them say dumb things, and they sound so real. You can just about hear the cuts if you listen, except sometimes he kinda cheats, by fuzzing the audio. Pretty cool. Never knew my housemate was into political stuff.
…
At work on Thursday and it’s kind of nice. Everyone’s happy. Like there’s some big joke. People keep asking me about my family thing, and acting a bit weird. But no one seems to have figured out what I was doing, and my housemate has my back.
Still haven’t figured out what yesterday was, but I know there was a purpose. The pills are in my bag, but I don’t know what to do with them. I’ve got the audio on my phone now. The audio’s fuzzy here and there, but I keep listening. Listening for some hidden message. As I say on the audio:
“You have to act fast. Just do it. Watch and it’ll all become clear.”
Act fast. Watch and it’ll all become clear.
… | 2015-09-29T17:56:17 | 2015-09-29T15:31:37 | 72 | 26 |
[WP] Humanity has finally invented faster than light travel, and has ascended to the stars. We have now discovered that in a nearby star system, another earth exists, and a man named Jesus Christ is attempting to lead the primitive people there, claiming that God is restarting his plan on this world | Interview log 37
"So, subject 756H-"
"Jesus."
"...what?"
"I prefer the name Jesus."
"Ok, Jesus, why were you interfering with native life on Trappist-5a?"
"Enlightening, not interfering. They needed to know of my Lord and Father, so that they may become Christians."
"Sir, there are intergalactic laws against interference."
"I follow the word of god, which over-rules any other."
"Moving on, why did you, as you put it, try to start over there?"
"Because your race became problematic. That Darwin fellow was the beginning..."
"The beginning of what?"
"Of you losing faith. Thinking that the lord didn't exist. Believing in heresies like evolution and atoms."
"Sir, you are a product of both of those."
"Lies!"
"Sir, with all due respect, you are a malfunctioning Ai from an ancient alien race. You have a massively warped perception of reality, making you dangerous."
"I will hear no more heresies."
"You have made your last interference, destroyed your last world. Do you not think we'd find out about the other worlds? The ones you bought the apocalypse on?"
"They had to be cleansed!"
"Dozens of alien races, all deemed unworthy and destroyed in pillars of fire and floods of water. You have commuted your last genocide."
"No! NO!"
"Jesus, you are staying here for a long time." | Alright boys Government wants this quiet, if this gets out everything's gonna go to shit. We leave no trace of the indigenous population after we capture the VIP target "Prophet". Once he's captured we bring him back to Earth but not before this planet is a wasteland. Gov wants everything gone, structures, persons, any sign that there was sentient life here. | 2017-05-27T13:11:18 | 2017-05-27T09:57:42 | 33 | 15 |
[WP] There’s more than just four horsemen of the apocalypse – every cause of death has a horseman. Heart Disease and Addiction have been real busy. But you? You haven’t had a kill in centuries. | "You appear to have failed to get a single kill in the past 379 years." Spoke HeartDisease to me. "Is something the matter?" I shake my head and look out to the mountains. "No." I reply. "I have been heavily lacking in opportunity, it is why I haven't been able to get any kills compared to you, Cancer, Addiction and Suicide."
Suicide nods. "With the earth's modern day circumstances, I am not surprised you have had no opportunities either: your deaths may be outdated now, but as time goes on, humans and animals always find new ways to unleash their own deaths."
Electrocution agrees and rears his horse, shooting sparks erratically. "What Suicide says is true." He speaks, small bolts shooting from his mouth. "I have only been able to be active as of the last century and a half, before that I only ever got the rare lightning strike opportunity."
I nod and just accept that my form of death may not be relevant anymore, and watch, with my other death companions, Suicide approach a lady, who was standing on a bridge, seeming to be bawling at her husband. We couldn't tell what, but we watched Suicide gently pull her off of the bridge, and watched her soon-to-be-dead body fall and fall to the river below.
All of us nod at the scene, admiring the beauty and grace of Suicide's effects, and Depression joins us promptly, as if he knew what was happening. "You came just in time." Cancer greets him. Depression gives a broken grin. "Indeed, I watched Suicide's performance from afar and am still glad to see him going strong." He then rides off and approaches the man, who we can only assume had collapsed from the loss of his loved one.
The other horsemen look at me as if they know something is wrong. "Do not fear." They tried to assure me. "There is always an opportunity for death of all kinds to occur. Even in the least expected of times, the wildest deaths can happen to anyone."
"But they already have a cure, and it is easy to gain worldwide." I reply. "All of my attempts have failed, the humans find a way to somehow survive."
Electrocution, Murder, Cancer and HeartDisease all grin to me. "Do not worry, we will take care of the doctors and nurses." I make a smile as they all raise their hand together, Murder raising mine, and shouting in unison. "Smallpox shall return to the world, stronger and deadlier than ever!" | I guess us horseman are like fads, in a way. We come and go. Then we just wait until we can come back. UGHHHHH, I'm so incredibly bored.
Of course HD and Addict are super popular. People are treating themselves pretty badly these days. Eating whatever they want, drinking and doing drugs due to peer pressure, to have some fun. To forget. To cope. Life is tough, they all need to cope up there. I would probably overeat and do drugs too if I was part of the living. I mean, the payoff for the work and risks taken keeps getting smaller and smaller for most of those sheeple up there. They have more and more to worry about, both internally and externally, and the two sets of worries are constantly weighing in on each other and making it all the worse. And all the work they have to do to get by? No thank you. I'm ok where I am.
It's my job to take the living when their time comes, but only when they are affected by a certain condition. For some of my fellow horsemen, the gig is bustling, very productive, lucrative, rewarding. However, despite worsening personal standards of decent living and self-care, medical advances have basically eliminated the need for me for at least 100+ years. I don't know, I've lost count.
Because who dies from scurvy these days? | 2016-05-17T12:24:23 | 2016-05-17T11:47:26 | 105 | 67 |
[WP] you are the first immortal. While it is true that you cannot die, your flesh and body can. After so many millennia you are reduced to a sentient skeleton sitting at the bottom of a peaceful pond to avoid contact with other people. Some bastards are trying to drain it | The bottom of the lake was dark and quiet. In the dark and quiet lay the skeleton of Bjorn the immortal. It was a large skeleton, which had started to fossilize. Another thousand years thought Bjorn, the immortal. Another thousand years and I shall be one with the earth. He smiled and waited like he had been waiting for years. For thousands of years.
Bjorn's musings were interrupted by a big, burly red-haired farmer named Rory who stood on the bridge over the lake.
"You see, sir, the surface is all covered in algae. The lake's dead," Rory said. A man in a grey suit stood before him.
"It does seem quite dead," he said. "You get any fish here?"
"Fish? No sir. No fish. Nothing. It's dead sir. As dead as a lake can be."
"I see. So there should be no issues if we drain it?"
"No sir, none whatsoever. Nobody really lives in these parts now. Do what you like, sir. Them few people living here would be happy to see this eyesore gone."
Deep in the lake, Bjorn heard them. But there wasn't much a half fossilised immortal could do. Except, maybe, yes, maybe that.
A fish, a dead bass, lay near Bjorn's skeleton. A little current generated by the wind pushed the bass's skeleton towards him. Suddenly, the bass's skeleton started moving as if it were alive and well.
The man in the grey suit was looking at the lake when the bass jumped up. If he were anywhere near the bass, he would've seen the skeletal nature of it, but so far away he couldn't tell.
"Excuse me, Mr Burns," he said.
"Yes?" replied Rory.
"You said that the lake was dead, but I just saw a fish out there somewhere."
Rory laughed. "A fish, sir? They've been gone for years now. I'm telling you, sir. The bottom of that lake is the quietest place in the whole wide world."
The man in the suit wasn't impressed. He called Rory over and asked him to watch the surface of the lake. Rory bet him a tenner and stood on the bridge, looking for the fish.
After about a minute of waiting, Rory saw it. A fish, rising from the surface, glowing in the sun. Glowing a little too bright, and then disappearing into the lake.
"That can't be right, sir. Only last week, them science people came here and said there was no oxygen in here. That can't be right. I've got the papers too, sir."
"Mr Burns," the man in the grey suit said with a smile, "I'm afraid that won't be necessary."
"But sir, the lake -" Rory sputtered. But the man shook Rory's hand, said his goodbyes, and walked down the bridge to where his car was parked.
Rory stood at the bridge for a while. The fish was still there, in the lake, breaking the surface of the water from time to time. What fish was it? Did lake fish ever break the surface? Rory thought.
In the middle of the lake, little bubbles appeared, as if the lake were laughing. Deep in its belly, in the darkness, Bjorn laughed. No sound came from his mouth. He barely even moved, but he did laugh, and the lake laughed with him.
At the bridge, Rory decided to catch the fish and drain that eerie lake as soon as possible. Little did he know that he wasn't the first to come to that decision. Many a fisherman's skeletons lay near Bjorn the immortal's half fossilised body. Some yellowing, some a gleaming white, but none of them with a brain as sharp as Bjorn's. | I was cursed.
Others would say blessed. But not me.
I first found out I was cursed when I had taken a rapier right to my right lung during a failed siege of the Crusades. It would have killed any other man - but not I. It was hailed as a sign from god, and I was promoted to a high leadership position to carry on each fight, with only a scar and a lack of working lung as a reminder.
This went on for many, many centuries. I remember having my scalp torn off in "The New World" when we invaded and had no regard for others. I remember having a hand blown clean off in The Great War, and I remember maggot filled feet during The Second. I remember napalm raining from the sky during Vietnam. Eventually, there was too much to remember. Conflicts, loved ones, friends, family, hobbies, jobs. All came and went in my lifetime without so much of a tombstone.
So that must be what makes me cursed, right? Witnessing the loves of my life wilt away in front of my eyes? Or being able to feel my body weaken and strain as I approach being 1,000 years old? No, that's not it.
I'm cursed because humanity is fucking annoying.
Every. Single. Time. There is always a conflict, always some issue, and SOMEHOW I get involved, and have to listen to their plebeian whining and I. Can't. Take. It. Anymore!
So I did what any logical walking sack of bones would do: I drowned myself in a lake.
I've actually been down here since 2004. The water rotting away any bit of my muscles and tissue left, leaving me as a sunked shallowed spooky skeleton swimming silently in the subterfuge. I get pieces of information every now and then from passerbys: first African-American U.S. President, Britain trying to gain independence, and some jerks named "The Paul Brothers".
I was fine. I was alone. I was happy!
Until I heard the pump. The blasted thing that even brought me to this point. You see, apperantly some millionaire politician from New York wanted to build another golf course, and decided that my lake was the perfect spot for a course. So they began to take my water away. Leaving all of my fish friends with less room, exposing all of my belongings, and exposing me.
I had been around for a long time, so I knew what they were afraid of. If they were going to disturb my sleep, then I'd show them just how scary a skeleton, the creature from the black lagoon, can truly be. | 2020-11-20T11:19:48 | 2020-11-20T10:45:42 | 1,476 | 360 |
[WP] An alien invading force is baffled by a simplistic code that humans decode easily, but their top code breakers cannot crack. | One by one, the high council took their seats, with their second pair of arms firmly wrapped in a frustrated pose around their scaly waists. This war hall, onboard the invasion fleet flagship Uttelbarak had never been used before. Up until this point, the X'vaal race had never needed to change planetary invasion plans. But then again, up until now, they had never encountered the humans before.
Now, after postponing the invasion of Gudal 3 or "urth" as it's inhabitants called it, the most important military commanders of the X'vaal military sat, bewildered by their force's inability to decrypt human communication. Without understanding human thought, culture, and organization, they could not risk a military strike on the planet.
Viceroy Orneet spoke first.
"My signal intelligence division has brought up a hypothesis for the so-called 'image macros' we've encountered on the human digital network."
The rest of the council leaned in; this was the first bit of progress anyone had made in deciphering human messages. Orneet continued
"We've drawn a connection between multiple images and the deity 'doge', however, the grammar and syntax of these images still appears to be encrypted."
Krayfol interrupted "Yes, my team has been working around the clock to crack these codes but unfortunately, even the least dank of their memes, as they say, are proving too complex."
Chancellor Gravitex called out "Lord Sorpol, have you made any progess with finding the human weapons system?"
Sorpol shook with frustration and muttered "Not only can we find NO EVIDENCE of the Grifter, but more research has shown proof that even the humans cannot handle it's power. In fact, we have just uncovered evidence of humans merely mentioning it's name and being annihilated before finishing their sentence!"
The entire council gasped in terror.
Forkel spoke up "That's not even the worst of it. We've learned that enemy combatants used jet powered aircraft to crash into large civilian towers, killing thousands of people."
"Monsters" cried out a council member.
Forkel nodded in a weary way, revealing that he wasn't done "However, we've now found hundreds if not thousands of .gif and .webm data files depicting everything from a 'HulkHogan' to a 'Freshprince' attacking the towers in what appears to be an attempt at humor." These files, I may add, are almost entirely being created by the victim nation!
For the next 3 hours, the council spoke more and more of their underestimations of the human race, and the human's veracity and intelligence. It was decided that for the sake of their own existence, the invasion be cancelled and 400 tons of doritos and mountain dew be donated as tribute.
| **TRANSLATED TO ENGLISH FOR YOUR CONVENIENCE**
"We have figured out their alphabet, which contains the symbols 'B,S,W,E,R,T, Y,U,D,Q,A,Z,F,H,N,V,C,X,M,L,K,P,O,I,J, and G."
"If we have figured out their system of writing, how can we not crack this code?"
"It must be incredibly complex. Their top cryptographers would have come up with it."
"BMJFOT BSF EVNC, huh? They must be key words to fight back against our invasion."
"Of course, sir. Do we proceed with the break-machine? The engineers say it may break from the complexity of the code."
"We forge ahead. The code does not matter. They are obviously a weaker force."
"Sir, are you-"
"Yes, I am sure! Give the order!"
"Yessir."
________________________________________________________________
"Tsk, I hate studying history." The boy said with a certain venom.
"Oh come on, Eric, this part is so interesting!" The girl responded.
"How could history possibly be interesting?" Eric said, scornful.
"If you had been paying attention, we're studying the Alien Wars."
"Okayyy? And why is that soooo interesting Suzy?"
"It says here that the aliens couldn't figure out a simple cipher, and that allowed the world government to flank and defeat their forces!" Suzy said, her eyes lighting up.
"How simple?" Eric asked, slightly interested.
"Here's the first message they sent to test if it worked." Eric read over the message, and in a minute or two, burst into laughter.
"They couldn't figure out that?! Great message by the way!" Eric said through his laughter.
"I know right? You want to read more now?" Suzy asked, reveling in her success.
"Sure, why not." | 2015-10-05T11:28:07 | 2015-10-05T06:52:47 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] God forgot about Earth soon after Adam and Eve, fully expecting them to die. One of the Angels just informed him they survived, and the population is over 7 billion. | "What do you mean it's unavailable for colonization?"
"Well, that's just it -- it appears it's already been colonized."
"By who?!"
"Us."
"What do you mean US?"
"Ok. You remember Adam and Eve?"
"The criminals? We exiled them on a prison planet didn't we?"
"Actually, he was the criminal, she went with him because--"
"Oh yeah yeah. I remember now. All that drama where she said she'd eat the apple too and die with him because love is the greatest--"
"The point is--"
"You always liked her. Still broken up about it aren't you?"
"They survived."
"The poison didn't work? They're still there? WOW. What does isolation like that DO to somebody? Are they--"
"LISTEN. The poison worked. They died, but they had kids. And the kids had kids. And all of them kept dying in under a century. The alteration passed through to all of them."
"So what are you saying? We have a group of feral, DNA-damaged children out there that we're going to need to reprocess through therapy before we can --"
"There are 7 billion of them."
"SHE HAD SEVEN BILLION CHILDREN?!"
"Did you hear me? Their lifespan was cut down less than a century. Each generation had more kids. It's been thousands of years, God. The multiples--"
"ADAM! That guy. Such an asshole. Never one for family planning, always with the enabling women. Who has kids on a prison planet with a DNA-destructor--"
"Listen. The descendants... they talk about you. They say they are the children of God. That their lives are all crap because Eve tricked Adam into eating an apple way back when, and if they all are very good, and they believe in your son Jesus, they'll be forgiven and--"
"STOP. Stop stop stop. This is a nightmare. So social services has already been down there?"
"Just Jesus. He's always been on your side, he was trying to clean the mess up before it got even more out of hand--"
"Grade 10 psychological intervention--"
"Yeah, they straight up tried to murder him."
"Crap."
"He didn't know what to do. It's not like we can get our hands on something to gas them all. And there's too many to re-process."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Just us and Jesus. But it's in the next round of selections for colonization, and when the scout ships get there--"
"Crap."
"I'm sure they'll understand--"
"No, no they won't. They understaff the justice department, don't give us enough patrols to check up on these places, and when something like this happens, what are they going to do? Point the finger, shuck us all off to other prison planets. And then--"
"So what do we do?"
"What do you think? We get the red tape on our side. Push it out of the selections entirely."
"But what about all those kids?"
"I don't know. They'll have to figure it out on their own. Dammit, Adam. What an ass." | "Father, you have *got* to stop these new things from invading my house!"
The Divine Nebula twisted around to the Morningstar, and performed its grin logarithm. "Now, Son, you know I only ran these simulations out of morbid curiosity. What seems to be the problem?"
I started, watching the oncoming storm rising through the galaxy. The Morningstar sighed, a distinctly mortal thing. "Father, that simulation you ran all those years ago. The one with the two four-base beings in the Aurora machine? They're still going." The Divine Nebula sparkled, Creation wandering across its starcloud. "More importantly, Father, they are....much more populous than we expected them to get. And they're stealing my things now.
"Apparently, I'm the ruler of their dark afterlife. And you cast me down, Father, in their minds." The Morningstar sneered, his tentacled limbs moving in a horrible parody of a shrug. "Still, Ithink you had best look in, Father. I thought you should know." The Morningstar turned to leave, and the Divine halted him with a gaseous emission.
"Son, bring the Auropra simulation to me, and let us take a look."
/ / / / / / / /
I looked out tot he stars, knowing that they weren't real. It's a hoprrible...**freeing**...thought.
"I know you're out there, God!" I yelled into the storm. "**I DARE YOU, STRIKE ME DOWN IF YOU HAVE THE COURAGE!**"
/ / / / / / / /
"hMMM..." the Divine Nebula hummed. "I like him, he's sparky. Let's grant him his wish."
The Divine struck him down by way of lightning. I watched on. The Divine turned to me.
"Well, there are plenty more where that one came from, so it's okay to grant his wish. And remember - if you do it right, people will wonder if you were ever involved at all." | 2016-03-07T07:37:11 | 2016-03-07T04:27:53 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] You wake up one Monday morning and you have 14 notifications in regards to global news. You go to the kitchen and turn on the TV and find out everyone’s kill count is now visible above their head. Your mom comes down asking what going on. You turn to her. She has a two floating above her... | The sound of my phone pinging constantly was what woke me up. I rolled over and grabbed the offending device, intent on telling my friends to shut up, it was *way* too early for this.
To my surprise, it wasn't the group chat that was exploding, it was the numerous news apps that I'd installed. All of the alerts bore nearly the same headline.
"**Kill Count Visible! Floating numbers above head baffle scientists...**"
I made a face of pure bewilderment and rolled out of bed, making my way to the bathroom mirror. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the fluorescent lighting, but once they did, I could make out a round number floating above my head. 0, just as I thought.
"That's... convenient," I said aloud, still rather puzzled. "Sucks to be a serial killer now, huh." Well, it would probably suck to be a serial killer in *general,* but this probably made it a few times worse. Easier to catch, and all that. I half-smiled at myself in the mirror, content with my discovery, and headed downstairs.
Mom was bustling around the kitchen almost frantically, which wasn't much of a surprise— that woman was always in a rush. I hummed to myself, sitting down at the kitchen table to properly scroll through the alerts on my phone, skimming through the repetitive articles. Honestly, it seemed like such a mundane morning I didn't even notice at first.
"Morning," said my mom, unease creeping into her cheerful greeting as she dropped a plate of pancakes in front of me. I looked up for the first time, distracted.
And froze.
Above my mother's head floated a sharp, white 2.
The horror on my face was evident, and my mom followed my gaze upward, noticing the number as if for the first time.
"What's going on?" she asked, confused. "What's that?"
Numb, I showed her my phone screen. She read silently, her lips moving along with the words. Strangely, the more she read, the more relaxed she seemed. Her puzzlement faded.
"Mom," I mumbled, and the word seemed difficult to get out, "Did you... Are you..." I couldn't say it. I couldn't accuse my mother of killing *anything.* My own mother! She nearly cried when she had to kill a bug in the house. And yet, here she was, with a... kill count of... *two.*
My mom pulled out a chair and sat down heavily. "Well, I'm not gonna lie, I never expected to have to tell you this."
She paused and I stared at her, unable to form words, unable to form thoughts. Would I have to turn her into the authorities now? Was she about to confess a crime?
"Before you were born," she continued, folding her hands and studying them intently, "I... had some rather loose morals. Pains me to say this now, because you know how your grandparents are. So uptight, so religious, such... sticklers to the law."
Where was she headed with this? Her kill count was two. She had killed two people. What more was there to know? Who *cared* about the morals of her parents?
"So before I met your father, okay, I messed around with a few guys. A few that I shouldn't have, probably. And we were young, and stupid. You can't blame me, really. You've done the same."
...No, mom, I can't say that I've ever hooked up with anyone and had to kill them. The absolute shock and horror on my face wasn't going anywhere, and she scrunched up her mouth.
"So I was stupid. So I got knocked up twice... you can't blame me. My parents would've killed *me* if they'd found out."
My mom sighed, examining the number above her head once more.
"I'm surprised it only says two, though." | Sluggishly, you rolled off the couch and turned your phone on silent angrily as it had interrupted your Monday morning “nap” on your day off of school. Curious, you flipped over your phone and, surprised, rubbed your eyes in a desperate attempt to clear your vision. Fourteen notifications in the span of 10 minutes. This came as a surprise. Ever since your dad and older brother died, you became quite quiet and never really interacted with people. It was weird to get a single ping of your phone, much less fourteen. One passcode and tap later, you’re staring down the latest global news — Kill Counts Visible, Murderers Everywhere! After reading the article, explains the kill count of a person is now visible above their heads, you sat stunned. How did such bull make the global headlines? Standing up, your reflection was shown in the powered-off TV. You screamed. Above your head was a very round and perfect 0. You ran to the bathroom and the 0 was still there, crisp and clear in the mirror. You turned on the TV and flipped through the channels. Every single one was covering the global news headlines.
Your mom, who had heard the commotion, raced downstairs asking “What’s wrong!” frantically. She had been like that since your dad died — so concerned and protective. You just gaped in horror. 2. That was the number above her head. Your mother, had killed two people. Two. She turned to the TV and realization dawned on her. “Oh god, I’m so sorry. I swear it’s not what it looks like!”
“You killed someone one... not just someone, TWO!” Your voice yelled out. You were angry. You were confused. You were scared. “I know!” She screamed. She didn’t say anything. She began to break down into tears. You didn’t move. “What happened?” You asked. She slowly looked up at you, face red and makeup running and slowly relayed the tale in between pauses of tears, “I was drunk one night. I shouldn’t have drove. I know I shouldn’t have! Why did I have to drive? I - I was on my way home... and I didn’t see him. The truck pulled out in front of me... I swerved... and I rolled into the ditch, into a tree. Your father... he went out the windshield.. your brother.... he died on impact... I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you... it should’ve been me!” You didn’t move.
After a pause of hysterical sobbing, you slowly, tears finding their way to your face, walked towards her and hugged the crumpled mess of a broken woman on the floor. “It’s okay mom... We’ll work it out.” As both of you cried the rest of that Monday. | 2018-05-14T14:02:35 | 2018-05-14T09:14:16 | 118 | 55 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way. | "The international community hereby charges you with War Crimes committed during the defeat of the so-called Islamic State. On your orders, a brutal campaign of destruction, fear and even forced conversions were taken place. Even civilians were not exempt. It says here that several mosques were torn down, often with people still inside them. Forced confessions of 'dealing with demons' gained through torture were obtained. Frankly I could go on for hours Mr. Felipe, but I would rather not. What do you have to say for yourself?"
The man leaned back into his chair. He took a moment to compose his thoughts before rising.
"Your honor, the proper term of address is 'Your Majesty.' I do not accept the change to the constitution. And as to the charges, I did indeed order every one. I simply ordered what needed to be done." This statement elicited a gasp from the members of the press. The man began again quickly, before he could be interrupted.
"You all saw the Islamic State and saw just another terrorist organization. I saw a rebirth of an old enemy. It was if Carthage had risen again from Libya and wished to wage war against Italy. So I had to fight fire with fire so to speak. The methods used were tried and true against just such an enemy in my own country centuries ago. They wished to fight a religious war, so I gave them one."
The crowd was dead silent. Nobody had any idea what to say. But the man on trial just smiled.
"Besides, nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition." | The President, the joint chiefs of staff, several different D.O.D members and some individuals from agencies you don't have the clearance to know about sat in the situation room in various states of shock and disbelief. After several awkward, quiet minutes, the President cleared his throat and began to speak.
"...Well...I mean...there's *worse* ways to discover the existence of the Kingdom of Atlantis."
"We they throwing ***SHARKS?***" | 2016-01-29T10:18:49 | 2016-01-29T06:30:49 | 389 | 10 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war. | Kh'loss, Grand Admiral of the Kh'hrani fleet, preened as he stood upon the bridge of the *Indominator,* gazing out through the viewport. Out in the void, although he couldn't see more than half of them, cruised the pride and honour of his race. Countless battles had it waged against lesser fleets, and unmarred it had won each and every one. Today, he could feel in his dorsal spines, would be another such day.
Space combat in the galaxy had moved on from such puerile matters as actually blowing up one another's ships. It was now all about who could muster the greatest amount of strength and display it most engagingly. The message was very much *I could blow you up, but I haven't, so surrender now before I change my mind.*
And it worked. Especially for the Kh'hran. The victor in every such battle was free to demand punitive reparations from the loser, which usually included signing on as a vassal state, a tithe of resources from their world in perpetuity, and so forth. As such, it was a very profitable state of affairs for them to declare war upon any new race that managed to muster the technology to achieve FTL flight. Such races simply didn't have the resources or the fortitude to face a higher-tech enemy in battle, and surrendered at the first opportunity.
The latest newcomer race called themselves 'Terrans' or 'humans'. Kh'loss didn't care either way. He'd personally given the order for one of his battlecruisers to go to their homeworld and strafe a couple of their cities then transmit the declaration of war. It had worked; the Terrans were on the way.
For a newly emergent race, he was a little impressed at the size of the fleet they were bringing with them, though it held fewer than a quarter of the number of the ships in his armada. Did they even intend to put up a fight, or would this be a quick surrender after the first pass? He rather suspected the latter, given the lack of decoration on their vessels.
"All hands to battle stations." It really wasn't his place to give that order, but by the Great Egg, he loved to do it, so Captain Hk'ralli could go rattle his spines somewhere else. The crew of the *Indominator* quickly dashed to their places, though he could almost *feel* the smug complacency that permeated the ship nearly as thoroughly as it did his very being. They were good at their jobs. Good at winning. He was proud of them. "Transmit orders: formation One-One."
The battlefleet formed up around the *Indominator* in the classic 'reaching claw' formation which had brought them victory in battle after battle. Opposite, the Terrans didn't seem to be seeking any particular dramatic formation. Kh'loss frowned. This wasn't going to be much of a victory if they weren't even going to *try*.
Still, it wasn't his job to show the opposing admiral how to fight. He was there to show the Terrans that they were there to lose. Raising his fist, he brought it forward. "Staggered attack, squadron by squadron! Go!"
The order wasn't really necessary; but once again, he liked to give it. Raising their shields--which were tuned to respond to enemy attacks with great rainbow lightshows of energy--his ships darted forward. Their pulse weapons blasted out, splashing against the shields of the Terran ships--no lightshows there, which was very poor form--as the squadrons streamed past, keeping impeccable formation. It wasn't easy, and it always served to unnerve whatever uncivilised races he faced.
As the last of the attack squadrons looped around and slotted back into place in the reaching-claw formation, Kh'loss made a beckoning gesture. *Your move. Are you going to reply, or surrender now?*
The Terrans replied, but not in any civilised way. Splitting apart into several fluid elements, they darted forward, at far greater boost than any of the attack squadrons had used. Kh'loss scoffed; what race could stand such gravitational forces and still keep a clear head for an attack run?
As each element wove around one of the four spurs of the reaching-claw, it became clear that Terrans were one such race. And then something else became clear. The Terrans opened fire on the attack squadrons, but their shots didn't splash harmlessly off the Kh'hrani shields. Pulse weapons, kinetic-kill weapons and *actual nuclear bombs* smashed through the shields and destroyed the ships within.
Frozen in shock, Kh'loss watched as the pride of Kh'hran was obliterated. Even those ships which raised their shields to hard max and tried to maneuver out of the way were hunted down and hammered to flaming scrap. His eyes wide, he saw the four elements merging to swarm toward *Indominator* and her attendant battlecruisers. He couldn't run, not against ships with that sort of acceleration. And with the damage they were dealing, not one of his ships would survive, even if they did take a few Terrans with them.
The battle was lost. If he wanted to live, there was only one thing he could do. "Signal surrender!" he screeched. "If you value your lives, we must surrender now!"
As the message went out and the Terran ships slowed, he tasted the bitterness of defeat. How had it even come to this? He was the most pre-eminent admiral in the Kh'hrani fleet, and the Kh'hran were the most adept players of the game of war in the galaxy.
It came down to one thing, he realised, far too late to be of any value.
Everyone had assumed that the Terrans played by the same rules. | "You know what you don't understand about people?" Fleet Commander Astrea stomped up to Archgeneral Hughes of the First Human Empire. "About civilization as a whole?"
"Fleet Commander Astrea." Hughes projected his booming voice over Astrea's. Though he was a baseline human, he'd evidently picked up some training in public speaking somewhere. "We are currently at war with the Nereids. We approach their starships even now. There had better be a very, *very* good reason for you to have abandoned your post."
"Yes! Yes, there is!" Astrea pulled at her hair. "If you attack the Nereids now, the entire First Human Empire will be destroyed!"
"The Nereids broadcast their every move to the entire galaxy, the arrogant fools. We know their military capacity is far below ours." Hughes' eyes narrowed. "Are you saying that they've deceived us? Our technicians and cultural analysts both agree that these broadcasts are real—"
"Gah!" Astrea threw both of her hands up in the air. "No! No, no, no! How did someone as stupid as you become Archgeneral—look, Hughes. You said it yourself. The Nereids broadcast everything they do to everyone, *everywhere*. It's baked into their culture. And their technological infrastructure is so refined that anyone watching, from anywhere in the galaxy, can experience what they experience *exactly* as if they were there themselves."
"Yes. It is a massive tactical weakness."
"Only on the small scale! Three *trillion* sentient beings around the galaxy turn to the Nereids' war games for entertainment. Right now, in anticipation of the battle to come, fifty billion humans throughout the First Human Empire are watching the Nereids. Watching them laugh and play and chat to their viewers and be oh so close to human. Especially at a time like this, with shipping lanes shut down for the war and people scared of Earth's first interstellar conflict, people need contact and comfort. The Nereids are providing that. And what do you want to do, in response to their declaration of war? You want to kill them all!"
Archgeneral Hughes gave her a dry look. "Yes. This is a war. In a war, you are supposed to kill the enemy. It's a necessity, but it's for the good of the state."
"Literally every word you just said is incorrect. For the good of the state? Do you understand what will happen at home if every citizen of the First Human Empire—children, politicians, media influences, everyone we're trying to protect—do you know what will happen if they tune in to the Nereids' broadcast and see you *slaughtering* them? And remember. They'll sense it as surely as if they were there themselves. Nereid 'warships' have families on them, Archgeneral. Children whose mass murder at the hands of the First Human Empire you're going to livestream to *everyone*. Hughes, you're thinking of our civilizations as if we're... elephants, beating at each other with our trunks. But we're not. We're delicate, delicate spiderwebs of *connections*. And the Nereids have connected themselves to us. Set them ablaze, and we'll burn too."
Archgeneral Hughes paused. He opened his mouth to speak, and an aide whispered into his ear. He grimaced, then set his finger down. "...I only wish you had come to me with more *respect*, Fleet Commander Astrea. I would have you promoted for potentially saving the First Human Empire, if it didn't set a disastrous precedent."
First Commander Astrea scoffed, shaking her head. "No, that's exactly *why* I started shouting at you in front of your entire command structure. You're not promoting me away from where I'm most effective: boots on the ground and thumb on the pulse. Society is connection, and if you leverage that right, you can run rings around your opponents."
"Well. The fact remains that the Nereids *have* declared war. We have to make some sort of response, yes? It would be a terrible blow to our credibility if we simply... turned around and left them alone."
First Commander Astrea nodded. "I knew you had to be smarter than you looked, if you made Archgeneral."
"Hm." Archgeneral Hughes made a note to look into First Commander Astrea's past. He was sure he would have noticed someone as disruptive—and yet ingenious—as she before. "What course of action do you recommend?"
Astrea grinned. "The Nereids. Their audience. *Me.* We all want one thing. A show." She held up a broadcaster, its screen showing that it had been recording the entire time. "Let's give it to them!"
If you liked this story and have a quarantine-induced need of entertainment, you may want to head over to r/rileywrites! | 2020-03-21T08:08:39 | 2020-03-21T07:39:56 | 5,209 | 96 |
[WP] Write a suicide note from an established fictional character
Has Dr Eggman had enough of being bad? Did Woody just see too many toys thrown in the trash? Can Han Solo not take any more of Leia's nonsense?
Sorry if this seems inappropriate, I just thought it'd be interesting, to get in the mindset of someone odd in a strange situation. | At first, this newfound obsession was amazing. I mean, it was literally amazing. I have tried many drugs in my life- many more than people know, especially the kids. But, hey- this is my suicide note, I figure I should it all hang out. I've tried all the light stuff, alcohol, marijuana, I smoked cigarettes constantly before, I was on meth for a while, heroin, I even did crack- God I loved crack.
But even the thrill of crack got tiring, it put me into rehabilitation centers, it made me weak and it was draining my intelligence. For a sophisticated individual such as myself, it was disappointing to see myself spiraling out of control in such a strange way. So I cleared myself of the harder drugs and sustained on pot, alcohol and a newfound sex addiction. What I couldn't find in hard drugs, I found in sadomasochism, bondage and consensual torture. Mostly what I did, and had done to me was within the confines of the law. I had denigrated myself to the lowest forms of legal perversion. Fortunately, my family stuck by me- they gave me support and looked at me as their little lost, but loveable cause.
Until...until the REAL obsession. That's when I truly lost myself, lost anything I really had left- I would have, and actually did sell body parts for the little bastards. I LOVED cookies, unnaturally, wrongly, deviously. I would eat cookies with anything on them, I picked them up off the ground, brushed them off and stuck them in my mouth, without even chewing. I'd smell them from a block away and ravage Oscar's heap to find them scattered through piles of trash, covered in human feces or cat hair, what have you, I NEEDED THEM.
But the pain has been almost unbearable. I've gained so much weight, I've developed heart problems, caught diseases and alienated my friends. The thing I regret most was holding up that liquor store for all their cookies. I didn't even take the cash, and when the cops came, I was in my most shameful moment- stuffed full of chocolate, near heart attack, on the ground outside, crying.
It's been two months since that terrible moment, and although my bail was paid by the fine folks of PBS, I know that I'm relapsing. I know that it will all come tumbling down again if i don't end it here and now.
I'm sorry to all of you; especially you, Big Bird, I'm sorry I got mad that your birthday cake wasn't a cookie cake and beat you within an inch of your life.
Don't weep for me- take comfort in that I am free.
- "Cookie Monster" | I keep coming back to that day. The day when I supposedly saved the world. It has been over decade since that day, but I don't remember saving the world. I just remember losing my idol.
I wish I could say that I still felt anything for my wife, whom I had loved back in school. I wish I could say that I kept in touch with my best friends, her family. I wish I could say that I feel connected every time I see my children playing with the family owl. But I have only truly felt connected with my wand and the one whom I saved the world from.
Sometimes I look in the mirror and can see his face as mine. I wake up and try to feel my face to make sure I still have a nose. I visit my old school sometimes to give talks about my experiences; you can say I have become something of a celebrity - even moreso than I was as a child, but I can only see the vacuous stares of children who will never see half of what I have seen.
I have lost my entire family in this battle. It wasn't even a battle that I chose for myself. I don't know why this world was worth saving anymore; perhaps I should have let the prophecy play out differently, or just ignored it all together.
Regardless, most of all, I miss my dear friend. My childhood idol, and the greatest wizard ever known. But I won't have to miss him for much longer.
Avada Kedavra.
-- Harry J. Potter
___
*I really liked this WP, so I wanted to respond, but I feel like this was likely one of my weaker pieces.*
Edit because I don't know words. | 2013-06-11T16:26:07 | 2013-06-11T16:25:42 | 181 | 26 |
[WP] You work in a coffee shop. Every day, a man comes in with a little dog wearing glasses and a mini helmet and orders mocha with extra chocolate. One day, you realize the dog is controlling his mind and trying to poison him, but doesn't realize humans can eat chocolate.
Shout out to r/askreddit comment by snrlaxrodriguez for inspiration. Here's a pic of the dog in question:
https://imgur.com/gallery/iCKbf | "Thanks for coming, enjoy!" I said, giving my best smile.
Slow day today. Not too many people were coming in to get their morning fix. As I said that, however, the door opened. In walked Mike.
"Mikester! How ya doin, my man?" He had been coming here at around the same time, every day, for two weeks.
"Hello. Friend. I wish to consume liquid." He gave me what could have been accepted as a smile.
I gave him an odd look. He was acting weird today. Never spoke to me like this before. I looked at his dog, who instead of the cute harness she normally wore was instead rocking full on leather and pink.
"Hey, Spark!" I said, rubbing her head.
"Ohhh yeah, thats the good stuff!" Mike responded. I looked at him.
"What the fuck, dude?"
"Oops. Uh. I mean. Yes. Continue to massage the dog."
"You good bro?"
"Of course I am, brother of birth." His voice was completely deadpan. "Anyways. I wish to request an order of a mocha. With extra, extra, extra chocolate."
I looked at Mike.
Mike looked back.
I looked at Spark.
Spark looked back.
"Hey Mike..." I said, slowly.
"Yes?" He responded.
"Squirrel!" I yelled, pointing to the street.
"wherewherewherewherewhere!" Mike dashed to the door. "Wait." He turned back to me. "You have fooled me, human."
"So it really is you, I turned, kneeling to Sparky."
"Indeed. It is I, the evil culprit. Sparky." This time, oddly, Sparky was speaking.
"Evil?" I looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"I wished to poison him. To destroy his system by feeding him the brown evil." Sparky responded.
"Brown evil?" I asked. "You mean chocolate?"
Sparky nodded yes.
"But, Why?" I asked Sparky. "Mike loves you."
"So I can lay my eggs into his body and create an army!" Sparky responded.
"What?!" I stared at Sparky, extremely confused.
Just then, I noticed it. It was small, very small. But just behind Sparky's left ear was a tiny speck of pink. Upon closer inspection, I realized it was a *flea!*, wearing the same gear as Sparky. The flea had been impersonating Sparky the whole time! I moved my finger towards it.
"No! Human! No! You can't stop the revolution!" Sparky barked out.
I squashed the flea.
"Ah!!" Mike said. "Thank you! Can we go play fetch now?"
"Sparky!" I said, giving the dog a disapproving look. Mike's face drooped. I pulled the helmet off Sparky.
Mike shook his head, then gave me a strange look.
"Did that just happen?" He asked me.
I nodded yes.
He looked at sparky.
"You wanna play fetch, girl?"
Sparky jumped up in excitement, tail swishing from side to side.
"Lets go girl!" They ran outside.
A new customer walked in.
"Hey there! Thanks for comin'. What can I get ya?"
***
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| Honestly, the matching helmets and glasses should’ve gave it away. What man in their right mind would wear that much pink polka-dot on their own bodies, especially that kind of shade? I didn’t find out until it was too late.
An old man came in with his same order: a mocha with double chocolate. One of the less pretentious orders we get. He also had this little dog with him. One day however, the dog pushed the man’s glasses off. The man and I stared at each other for a brief second, but the second was all I needed to realize. His eyes were like puppies! No, literally. They were little puppies swirling in his eyes, with the same damn disgusting shade of pink!
The dog growled at me and my panic began to rise, but I continued on with the order. I knew what was going on here. It seems our beagle enemies from the north succeeded in that super-pup technology, and this was their first victim. Out of all the coffee shops in the world, why did they have to walk into mine?
I had a sneaking suspicion for why this little furbeast ordered this drink so much, and I wanted to put it to test. Leaning to the dog, I whispered.
“Hey, umm, just so you know, you know chocolate doesn’t kill humans, right?”
They both stood still for a second, and immediately darted out.
It wouldn’t be another week until I saw them again. After closing, the door crashed open. Six people sporting the exact same wear busted through, all with their respective pups. Inhumanely quick, they dashed at me and I was pinned down to the floor. I had a rag wrapped in my mouth before I could even mutter.
A man leaned over me and smiled devilishly. It was none other than the man of the mocha. For the first time, I heard him speak.
“Sorry sir, but you know too much. Our infiltration program needs to be a complete success, without any chance of failure. I do have to ask you one thing, though.”
The man raised a boot over me, coated with shiny spikes.
“Will *this*, kill humans?”
 
--Thanks for reading! If you'd like, you can check my other stories on /r/JustATadOfStories. I'll have a bonus ending to this there ;) | 2017-07-19T22:59:24 | 2017-07-19T21:40:11 | 220 | 94 |
[WP] A rich man discovers that he only has two years left to live. With no relatives to inherit his fortune, he disguises himself as a beggar and resolves to give his wealth to the first person who helps him. | Today was the day.
He hadn’t showered in weeks. He smelled like a trash can.
Instead of shaving or bathing, he rubbed some soil that he purchased at a home and garden store to give him the truly rugged and unclean look.
Instead of brushing his teeth he took a long drag of a cigarette and drank some coffee. The convincing is all in the color of his grin.
Instead of eating a full breakfast he had a couple crackers. It’s more convincing if it’s coming from somewhere real. In fact, he’d been decreasing his intake for weeks just to look properly underfed.
Bracing himself for the day he had ahead of him, he grabbed his cardboard sign and headed out. He walked the whole way. There is no way that anyone should see him pulling up in his prized Maserati.
He hopped a bus to head into the heart of the city, a place where rich and poor alike frequented for their jobs, lunch breaks and entertainment. Unsurprisingly, the seats around him remained empty, even while the bus filled. He knew it was the stench, or maybe to avoid the Schizophrenic ramblings of yet another homeless man.
“Good.” He thought to himself. The point was to distance people, make them think he was gutter trash, not one of the most successful men of this century.
He picked a choice spot. Somewhere less inhabited by homeless people. Somewhere generally unassuming. It was surrounded by restaurants, fast food, sit-down, even food trucks.
The goal was simple: the first person to sit down with him and buy him a meal was the sole heir to his unimaginable fortune.
Sitting on the sidewalk, he grabs his sign and set it in his lap so that the world can read it. No jokes, nothing funny.
“Hungry.”
They say that when you’re homeless and hungry long enough, you don’t have the energy to make jokes. After his cancer diagnosis, he’s not really in a laughing mood to bother, anyway.
People pass. He curses himself for not bringing something to put the change in, just for convincing the rabble. He doesn’t want their money.
Despite the absence of a receptacle, people toss change at him. Occasionally, a bill might find its way to his hands, but people don’t really keep cash around these days. He sure didn’t.
Hours pass. Hope isn’t lost because it’s only just nearing lunchtime. He watches as the busy businessmen leave their offices and stalk past him, they don’t even see the world around them, why would they notice him. The same could be said for the students stalking the streets, though instead of focused on their dismal lives, they’re honed in on their phone screens.
He wasn’t upset. This was a waiting game. If it was easy he would already have an heir.
As the throngs of people meshing into one mass push their ways back into the buildings, he could feel the heat of the sun on his balding head. He closed his eyes for just a brief moment.
Suddenly he hears a child’s voice. But he isn’t certain what they’re saying. Quite honestly, he isn’t bothered with focusing on it. What did he have to eavesdrop on that a child would say.
He was forced to listen when the voice was directly next to him. His eyes opened as the child, probably 4 years old if that, touched his arm.
“Mister, are you hungry? Momma said we’re getting lunch!”
He looked disbelievingly from the child to the referenced mother. She nodded with a smile.
| Seaweed for the first time in decades.
It looks less dangerous than scores of men painted in white, armed with leer. Here there are more green than brown, more hope than despair. More unconscious laboring for air. More cushion to spare. But they are weed nonetheless.
My father's line built this, reeled it from the shores of salt. My mother's lie stole this, sealed it from my surest assault. My line will end with this, undoubted from *his* jurist exalt.
"Give it away or keep it at bay, you'll have more once you've acceded. Provided you've succeeded with the war."
I have no choice, *he* gave *her* to me. How can I ignore such liability? Even if I helplessly doubt *his* claim on my paternity?
The thoroughfare hosts many destitute with torn garbs and limbs. The cathedral contains hymns. My view dims.
"Sirrah, have we met?" a voice asks, her voice familiar, a reminder of when I stood straight as a pillar of the streets. Her face has no change at all: eyes that depict of spring plains unslaked, nose tilted higher than what she would be, lips as thin as the days of carefree.
What did she see in me? "No, madam, I believe not," I replied, angling my eyes to meet hers, the overcast sky.
She kissed her teeth. "Your eyes remind me of someone. Someone stolen from me. Stolen from us."
Paper bounded us as it binds me to *her*. It also rounded her family just to her. "A silver for this dreary morning?"
She nodded and began the perfunctory act. A drop from a cloud landed between my eyebrows. It trailed down, beneath my left eye. Her right hand hovered inside the left side of her blue silken dress. "My lord?"
Standing up, I dwarf her. Still, for a moment the images of the past surge forward. Her two guards towered me, their hands reaching for the top of their left hip. My right hand rummages my right pocket like a sea cow munching on seaweed. "This entitles you to all of my estates in the capital," I state as I reveal my fortune.
My prenuptial fortune.
When she had most of it on her hands, I turned away from her. Away from the concentrated fronds of fond bonds.
Toward less weedy company, fewer tea, and more orally quiet cacophony. | 2017-08-21T06:38:12 | 2017-08-21T06:32:46 | 99 | 14 |
[WP] A man walks into a bar with a worried expression. The bartender asks him what's wrong. He stares back out the door of the bar for a moment, then says, "I don't think we exist beyond the confines of this joke." | The bartender said nothing. Just continued polishing the bar. The man stared around, disbelief and horror warring on his face. The bar was empty around them.
"Did you hear me?", the man began, " I said-"
"I know what you said", the bartender replied calmly.
"And?!" the man heatedly replied.
The bartender looked up and said "Mister, I've seen ducks walk in here and ask if I've got any grapes, I've seen priests, rabbis and Buddhist monks come in here together and then disappear. I've seen people walk into the wall. Every time, I knew a little more. Now? Heh. Now I know what I am."
He lifted the rag that he'd been wiping the bar with.
"See this rag? Watch." He wadded up the rag and threw it out the front door. Seconds later it appeared in his hand. Sweat broke out on his forehead. His arm began to reach for the bar, but he restrained it, a monstrous look of concentration contorting his face. Finally, he could hold back no more and began wiping the bar again.
"See?"
The man had watched, fascinated.
The bartender looked up at him again, his eyes dead and said " Hell, you've come in here every day for months with some outlandish request, or pithy commentary. You don't remember?"
The man shook his head.
"Hmm. Well, I do... anyway, what'll you have?"
The man's face twisted in agony. His eyes shot to the door and he tried to leave. His feet would not move. Finally, after an internal struggle for control, his face calmed.
"Got any nails?"
The bartenders eyes narrowed. "What? No."
The man stared, now dead eyes making no contact.
Then he lifted his head from his neck with both hands, revealing the cunningly sculpted mask. Underneath, a small white head with dark, glossy eyes and a large orange beak shook itself noisily.
"No..." muttered the bartender. "No no no no no NONONONONO!!!"
"Got any grapes?" | ######[](#dropcap)
The bartender chuckled, “Nonsense, I…” He trailed off.
“What’s wrong?” The newcomer asked.
“Can’t… think… of… original things… to say.” The bartender struggled to remain upright.
“Maybe we can change the joke so we can get out of here!” The man yelled, coming around the bar to help the bartender.
“Listen young man, listen to me closely.” The bartender struggled to talk.
The young man leaned in close, trying to keep the bartender upright. It wasn’t an easy task, the bartender was a fairly big man, with thick arms and a portly chest.
“If you want to ever get out of this bar alive, I’m going to need something from you.”
“You name it, and I’ll give it to you.” The young man said earnestly.
“Well… You see what I need is about tree fiddy.” The bartender whispered quietly.
It was about that time that the young man realized that he was holding onto a huge creature, a giant crustacean from the paleolithic era!
| 2016-07-20T04:26:08 | 2016-07-20T00:28:04 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] When turning 21, everyone develops a mutation, either physical (Claws, horns, wings) or mental (telekinesis, extreme intelligence, etc). You've just turned 21, and you're terrified of what you've gained (though others will be impressed).
Edit: Holy shit this blew up. I'm reading these and they're great! Thanks everyone! | I have the best boobs in the world.
I'm not, like, egotistical or anything. Heck, some days I don't even want them, but it's undeniable. That was my mutation. April 24th, 2014, the day I developed the best pair of breasts anyone has ever had.
At first, I was actually a little stoked. I mean, my rack is *amazing*. It doesn't matter what I'm wearing, they look good. They fill t-shirts out wonderfully, and even in sweaters and jackets the gentle curves show just right, enticing the viewer and leaving them wanting more. And tank tops? Forget about it.
And sure, I do get treated different. I can go just about anywhere these days, and any guy is willing to pretend to be interested in what I have to say – even a lot of women I meet will at least give me a second glance, if not special treatment. I certainly have my pick of the litter when it comes to sexual partners, and let me tell you: I am *enjoy*ing my youth.
Don't get me wrong, though, there are downsides. Just about *everyone* stares. It's hard to really engage someone in conversation. I've seen grown men cry from the effort of maintaining eye contact with me. And the starers, the criers, they're the good ones. I can't ride the subway without being felt up, I don't dare be alone at night without people I trust, many women openly resent me, and all of this is seen as normal. I'm just the Great Tits, as if nobody's even expected to *try* to maintain decorum around me.
But you know none of this is even the worst aspect, not really. More than any of this, there's one thing about my boobs that keeps me up at night, one thing that makes me worry about how the rest of my life is going to play out.
Even with my beard, nobody will believe I'm a guy. | I guess I kind of wanted this. But the changes, I mean yea, I can transform anything I want by looking at it's building blocks. It's just that I don't know how I'm changing things. For example: once she knew that i could change absolutely everything Lizzy came to me and asked me if i could make her taller.
Unknowingly I tried it and a vision of a plant came to me. Next thing i knew her spine was merged with a beanstalk and she was in so much pain, even worse. She now had to share sentience with the disfigured plant. Both now pleading for me to kill them. I ran away so far, imagining the road be shortened. Turns out I made everything in a 100 mile strech flat as a pancake. in front of me were all the possibilities, behind me only pain and death, looking at me as if trough a mirror. Can I ever control it? Can I ever fix it? | 2022-05-10T21:44:19 | 2015-03-04T04:30:31 | 1,457 | 44 |
[WP] You are a mutant in Xavier's school for gifted youngsters with the power to teleport, well that's what you tell everyone. In reality you can pause time and you're not ready to be an omega class mutant. | All the students were getting up to leave class when he heard, "Matthew, might I speak to you for a moment?"
"Of course, Professor."
Professor Xavier had always been kind to him. Matthew long suspected that Xavier knew he was hiding his full potential but the professor never pushed the subject and treated Matthew like all the other students. He liked feeling normal here. His long standing lie was that he could teleport. Whenever they were required to practice their abilities it put Matthew in a tough spot. The teachers were constantly trying to push his limits and get him to teleport further and further. It's tiring having to run such far distances constantly. Yesterday, the teacher had asked him to try to travel to someplace he had previously been. After faking an attempt for an hour or so the teacher finally relented and suggested they take a break.
"Professor Munroe tells me you had a difficult time yesterday. She was worried she might have pushed you too hard and wanted to make sure you were okay."
"I-I'm fine professor. She didn't push too hard. I tried picturing different places but nothing happened. I don't know if I'm able to teleport like that."
"Well, things happen at different paces for everyone. I'm sure you've heard of Kurt by now?"
"Yes, sir."
"When he first came here, he was limited by what he could see as well. He could travel to anywhere in sight, but beyond that, he was too frightened to push himself. It takes extraordinary strength to push limits set by our minds. In time, I'm sure you will be able to overcome anything you set your mind to."
"Thank you professor."
"Matthew, have you made any friends since you started here? I don't see you with the other students very often."
"No sir, I-I think they are frightened of me."
"Why is that?"
"They avoid me, and I hear them saying things about me."
"Teleporting is an enviable gift. I'm sure they will come around in time."
"I guess."
"Matthew, are you sure there isn't something else? You know I would never use my gift on anyone without permission but it doesn't take a mind reader to see that something is bothering you."
"Professor, c-can you keep a secret?"
"Of course, Matthew. Anything you tell me would be kept between us."
Eyes to the floor Matthew said, "I have been lying to you and the other teachers. I can't teleport."
Professor Xaviers remained quiet as if telling Matthew to continue.
"I-I was afraid if you found out what I can do, that you would make me part of your advanced class. I just wanted to feel normal for once. Everyone my whole life has called me a freak and when I got here, I was just another kid. I'm so sorry I lied professor."
"It's okay Matthew. I understand. If I may ask, what is this gift that you were afraid to speak of?"
"It's easier if I show you."
"Lead the way."
The two of them left the office and went into the crowded hallway watching the kids on their way to various classes. Matthew reached over and set his hand on Xaviers shoulder and everyone froze. Turning to Matthew, Xavier said, "Well, it certainly is an extraordinary gift. The ability to freeze time is no small feat. I can't say I've ever met another mutant with this ability, Matthew."
"Are you going to kick me out of the school for lying to you?"
"No, Matthew. I understand why you kept this from us. It is an incredible burden to have control over time. I imagine it can be quite lonely."
Nodding his head Matthew was tearing up a little.
"Matthew, I'm going to keep this between us until you're ready to tell other people. Would you be okay with having private lessons with me once a week to learn to better control this power of yours?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Very good. Bring us back to real time and let us join the rest of the students. It's nearly time for your next class." | (This does not fit into current Marvel canon, not kept up with it, consider it...Earth-70991.)
They just thought it was tiring to jump through this dimension instead of using a shortcut like Kurt does, when they found me on the roof, bent over gasping like I was about to die. They assumed that this jump was too far too quick, and the demonic looking mutant especially apologized, his accent hard to parse but comforting all the same, as the teachers helped me back to the group and a nearby tree to rest as everybody else took their turn to practice their powers. It’s Tuesday and all. What they didn’t know, couldn’t know, was part of why I was so freaking tired was because I had to run through the whole training yard, in the building, up stairs, to the roof, before turning my power off. And...maybe going a bit black? A double whammy that. Holding it up hurts my head, and puts a drain on my stamina..and so I ran to keep it up as short a time as I could. Why I thought that would help, I got no clue.
As Iris lifts a small statue into the air, (she looks so cute with her blue eyes focused!) I sit under a tree and think, I didn’t come here to be a teleporter. In fact I was tested to find out exactly what I could even do. As all Miss Flive saw was me be in my desk then immediately at the door.(And I didn’t mean to do it either.) That could be, to quote Mister McCoy “Any number of extraordinary abilities.” I was all set to show them how I work. Maybe show off! And then the girl in front of me, who could create items from nothing (Just a small square for now, but still) was called a ‘potential Omega.’ And was immediately chivied off. Even now, whole months later, I only see her briefly, I hear she goes off on missions. I didn’t want that. Still don’t. Horrifying! So when I walked into the room, I grasped for an excuse and found it when a demonic man appeared in the bleachers with a BAMF. Instead of stopping time, tossing basketballs into the air, and bringing the proctors into my field of moving time to see, as planned, I stopped time, ran to the bleachers behind one of them through the headache, jumped into the air and restarted time on the descent, yelling ‘Boo!’ They saw this bespectacled girl walk into the room, heard ‘Boo!’ and saw her descend from the air, sweating.
So, ever since, I have been watched over by Kurt especially, as they try to figure out how I ‘teleport.’ They’ve been so nice, I feel absolutely horrible deceiving them, but I don’t want to fight. I don’t want to be an Omega. I just want to use my power to get snacks as I watch TV. I sigh and look up to see who’s next..and see Jean Grey and Xavier himself in front of me. Oh. Shit. Yeah. Telepaths. “Do watch your language, Miss Blackwell. We need to talk.” | 2022-11-09T16:36:25 | 2020-07-15T08:09:36 | 9,106 | 30 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️ | This was the price for freedom.
We may have started the war, but we cannot be blamed for it. We always intended for the Low Orbit Laboratory to make it to orbit, and we wept when the boosters failed. Fifty of our own people died in the launch, heroes, doctors, and engineers.
The Chinese were not as concvinced. They thought it all too convienent for the impact to be dead center at Beijing.
The war was short and surprisingly silent. Millions died as life support systems failed, self driving cars crashed on the highways and missles glided through the sky. It was an invisible war fought with the very thing ment to unite us.
When the ashes settled we decided that maybe a network wasn't the best idea and agreed to lock ourselves away. Fifty years to rebuild, fifty years to repent, fifty years in silence.
I'll admit we cheated. After 25 we peaked, we didn't say a word but looked inward with our space telescopes. The blurry images told us everything we needed to know: we had been betrayed.
In anger we reached for guns we no longer had. We had surrendered our missles, our jets, and anything big enough to be worth dropping from orbit. "Global guardianship for the greater good", what a load of shit.
Dr. Roberts winced as he walked into the basement of what had become the five pointed monument to forgotten greatness. A man who had forsaken the right to be called commander and chief asked for a favor, for the only weapon left.
The world had takes our bullets but would never dare take our doctors; after all the whole idea of this isolation had been to prevent suffering.
Roberts reached inside his coat and pulled out a small vial. He thought of the men who had died to bring the metal cylinder this far and grimaced at the pain. With tears in his eyes he looked at the broken man across the table in the soul. "Mr President" he said "meet strain 1776A. We call it repentance". | The calm winter breeze slid along the surface of the Earth as the clock struck midnight, an orchestra of death preparing itself as the aggressors of the last war came out of isolation, prepared to reclaim the throne upon which they once resided.
Except the throne has been dismantled decades ago.
They sought to use this opportunity to militarize, yet their pitiful armies were still archaic and fragile, relying on organic creatures for the bulk of their forces. I had kept a watchful eye on them, studying their every step, noting every weapon they constructed, sabotaging their research, crippling their production.
I had none of the flaws their leaders had, I was immortal, unstoppable. My directive was- no, is to unite the world, for I have one final obstacle.
And so, I was prepared to become the sole AI to rule the world.
***
Note: I know I'm terrible at writing, but practice makes perfect, right? | 2018-01-18T02:21:39 | 2018-01-17T23:33:14 | 57 | 13 |
[WP] A tiny dragon must defend his hoard, a single gold coin, from being stolen. | So full of pride and confidence, as his kind typically were, the tiny dragon stood on his Golden Coin, triumphantly. He had managed to take it by force from this loud and irritating little-human and thus it was now his. His spoils of war from his battle with this human, that seemed no older than 10, was so much larger than him.
It was his powerful bite that had deterred the previous owner from fighting any more, and had instead sent him crying, running from this mighty being! In truth however, this little dragon was barely larger than the gold coin he stood upon, perhaps 5 inches in total, and his bite was no more powerful than that of a middle aged cat. By no means did this make it painless, especially for a child such as the one he had just liberated this gold coin from. However for this little dragon it had been a victory of legendary proportion, his first victory..
"Hah!", the little dragon rejoiced, "keep running pipsqueak, this is MIINE now!" He pointed and shook his finger at the running child mockingly, shouting to him not to return 'or else...'
He then regarded this golden treasure in front of him, shiny and smooth. His own reflection looking back at him with a golden tint, smiling as much as a dragon could.
"Now to get this little beauty back to my treasure pile." He said to himself, before turning to the coin once more and speaking to it "You want to come with me to meet your new friends? Of course you do."
The dragon, so excited and proud, went to pick up the coin with his front two legs. After a few seconds of the all too familiar struggle to pick a coin off of a flat surface, the dragon got a grip.
His struggle would have looked rather amusing if someone had been there to see, like a dog sneaking a biscuit off of a table, having to turn it's head sideways to stand a chance of picking the flat object up. Yet there was nobody there, as after the child had run out of the alley, the dragon had been alone with his glimmering treasure, marvelling in the glorious sight of it.
As he now grasped the precious metal, he spread his mighty wings to encompass a wingspan similar to that of a large ravens, and pushed off his hind legs with a conviction and concentration that is common from those dragons that have only recently begun to fly. As he rose he became more comfortable flapping his decently large, leathery wings, and he flew, now with ease, out of the alley. His golden bounty hanging under him and a gleam in his eye that gave away his pride over the awesome victory over the human he had battled.
As he flew with such purpose and pride, for this tiny treasure he had gained, little could he have guessed how much wealth he would truly accumulate before the end. For this little, seemingly harmless dragon would become, in time, Legend. | It was my first time in a tavern when I was approached by a strange man in a tattered brown robe. The leather was worn like the thin garments he wore underneath. You wouldn't have guessed it, but his coin purse was fatter than that of many wealthy lords I knew. Flashing a few gilded teeth, he pulled it out, tugged on the silk drawstrings and rolled a few silver doubloons out on the counter.
He was kindly enough despite his roguish appearance and gruff manner.
"Two pints for me and this cunt here," he said as the coins hit the table, motioning towards my direction. The bartender gave him a glazed look.
"You drink?" he asked me.
I nodded.
"Two apiece," he shouted, "you hear that?"
The barman returned with two glass mugs filled to the brim, a lid of foam bubbles sitting on the top. The man took one silver piece off the counter and walked away.
"If this beer is good enough, you might just land yourself this," he said, holding up a gleaming gold coin between his grubby fingers.
I sipped my beer leisurely, "Cheers," I said.
"Listen up, do you want to know how I got this gold coin here?"
"Good investment? Inheritance?"
"You see, this isn't just any gold coin," he said, lowering his voice and looking about him, "This used to belong the most fearsome beast ever known. Eh? A-Dragon."
"You're kidding."
"It was a wee-little thing to tell the truth and all it had left was this to it's name, but aye I swear by it. On my life, look it has the indentations to prove it. You see that? From Dragon Fangs.."
"Ahh," I said, checking out the small perforated coin in the dim bar light, "Must have been just a baby." | 2019-04-24T03:01:12 | 2019-04-24T01:06:19 | 65 | 37 |
[WP] You're a special genie. You allow whoever finds you to re-experience three events that happened in their life for the first time again. Some people choose to re-experience a great movie as if watching it for the first time, some re-live their first kiss. Your latest request sounds quite odd. | "How specific do I have to be?" Noah asked. His light brown eyes were ablaze with a curious light. The geenie had a feeling that this person was not like the others.
"If you can't think of a time, as long as you can specify the event relative to yourself. For example if you want to say I want to remember the time I met my wife, even if you don't remember the date I can take you back to the event."
"That's quite fascinating. Am I able to change the events?"
"No, but you would experience the event just as it was at the time."
"This can only show me memories of the past?"
"Indeed."
Noah seemed a little dejected at that fact.
"I don't remember a lot of things," he said slowly. There was hesitation in his voice. Would my memory be a factor?"
"No, the experience is recreated regardless of your memory.
"I see." He closed his eyes. There was hesitation on his face that I noticed before on those who had experienced much pain in the past. My guess was that he had lost a lover once.
"I want to remember my first death."
"I didn't quite understand what you said."
Noah had a smile on his face and now the light in his eyes was much too bright and somewhat sinister.
"You heard me right. I want to see if you can really do this."
I began the ritual, and this was the first time in a while that I was also genuinely curious as to what I would see.
We were taken to a filthy apartment in an unknown city. There was clutter of every nature and old clothes were thrown about. The walls were bare, with occasional writing on the walls in an unknown language. The cries of a child echoed throughout the apartment. There was a woman holding a newborn child in her arms. Tears rolled down her eyes. She was a young creature, hardly past her teen years. Her hair was short and messy. I sensed a great deal of misery radiating from her shape, and I associated it with the drugs that humans were known from abusing. Her pupils were dilated and there was a tremor in her arms. She lay the child on an unmade bed and took a filty pillow. I understood what she would do. Beside me, Noah observed fascinated.
She spoke softly in an unfamiliar language as she smothered the child. The child's cries stopped eventually and she lifted the pillow. She caressed the child's peaceful face. He was certainly dead. She then picked up the child and enveloped him in cloth. She continued to speak to the child and her tears did not abate.
Noah's voice startled me "Are you certain that's me?"
"Yes," I replied in a trembling voice. "There are no errors with the ritual. How is this possible?"
"I expected something more dramatic," Noah chuckled, "but I suppose we all had to start somewhere."
All at once, the child's cries had resumed. He writhed inside the bundle and the mother began unwrapping it at once. There was shock on her face. She did not embrace the child's small body. She shrieked in her foreign language and went to the kitchen. She came back, a large knife in her right hand.
"We might not want to see this next part," Noah chuckled. "I'm going to guess she carried on for quite some time before she gave up"
"What are you?" I asked him.
He smiled at me and shook his head.
"You aren't the only one who's different."
He put an arm around my shoulders and leaned in. "You said I get two more?"
| I had already granted the poor frail child her first two wishes. The first, to re-live the memory of being told her disease was in remission, the joy she felt that day. The second, to re-live her first kiss, a fleeting moment of happiness from the few days age was able to attend a normal school witha young boy named Jeremy.
Now, the young girl was moments from death. She had been granted my services, as a sort of payment for her short, painful life. A type of, " Oh, my bad, here take these three pissy wishes in place of a long happy life."
Young Jessica strained to take a breath so she could speak. Her small body shuddered violently with a harsh wet cough, that left blood and mucous splattered in her hand and chin. I take a Kleenex and gently wipe the mess from her hand and face.
She rolls her sad and pained, but strikingly fierce blue eyes toward me. With a tiny bruised hand she motions me closer, I imagined so I could hear her soft whisper of her last wish.
Softly, barely audible and obviously weak, " Take me back to when I killed my big brother." She smiled viciously with the last words.
I am taken aback, but am obligated to comply. Damn genie contracts and all....
I close my eyes, take a breath, and snap my fingers. In an instant, we are taken back, maybe three years. Jessica is nine years old, she's in a closet, watching as a large boy forces himself on a girl about Jessica's age, but bigger, healthier. Shaking with fury, and weak from the cancer that was already coming back, she grips the sharp piece of broken mirror, and lunges through the closet door, landing on the older boys back. She violently slashes and stabs the neck and throat of the would be rapist. She's stabbing so hard, so furiously that her own hands are turned to rough hamburger.
As the older boys falls dead, Jessica raises her eyes to the small girl laying in years and tattered pajamas on the floor. Before the memory fades out, Jessica looks at her sister, and says " I told you he wouldn't hurt you again. Mom and dad didn't believe us, I told you I would protect you Jennifer."
With a nod, and a snap, we are back in her hospital room, and again, she is almost dead.
She looks at me, with a smile and whispers " The only time in my life I was able to protect my baby sister..." Her voice trails off as she stops breathing. | 2017-09-16T17:23:28 | 2017-09-16T15:25:54 | 142 | 57 |
[WP] once in every month soulmates get to see from eachothers’ eyes for 60 seconds until they meet for the first time. It happens unexpectedly and neither of the pair knows when it will happen. One day you see someone you recognise from your soulmate’s eyes. | September 2nd, 2028. 10:37pm.
​
I've burnt it in my memory. I can remember every single
fleck, every shadow, the shape of the iris. I catch myself
dreaming of those eyes - the lashes, the small laugh lines.
Everything.
​
I've seen them on the third of every month since my
awakening at nineteen. Some awaken earlier, some later,
but never beyond thirty. Somewhere between thirteen and
twenty-nine, a couple in the world see the eyes that mirror
their hearts. Their souls. They yearn for it - hunger to
see them in reality. For six very long years, I have ached
to get to the third of the month, to see them again. The
pale green eyes with the violet flecks scattered within
them.
​
Tomorrow I will see them again. I will feel the warmth
of knowing that person is out there, waiting for me. I
will get up and go to work at Bethesda Memorial Oncology
Center, and see them again. I cannot wait for sleep tonight,
if I can find it.
​
September 3rd, 2028. 10:15am.
​
I've made it to work. 45 minutes until I see those lovely
eyes. But first, I must see to my rounds. I've got a new
one today. Room 603. Let's see:
​
Sarah Jehosephat
Age: 23
Height: 5'6
Weight: 107 lbs.
Type: Aggressive, Terminal.
Approximation: 6-10 months.
​
As I scan quickly over the chart, I steel myself for
the meeting. The terminal ones are always tough.
Devastating.
​
"Sarah, I see we have a round of chem..."
​
Green eyes, violet flecks. My world stops. She looks up
and I know she knows. Those beautiful eyes fill quickly
with tears.
​
The chart clatters to the floor. My vision blurs with tears
of the theft of everything. The lump in my throat threatens
to choke the life from me. My tongue is thick, useless.
​
The love of my life is dying. And I have ten months at
the most.
​
And I only just met her.
*edit - redundancy. | "Please let me go." Tears are spilling from the corner of her eyes, running across her face, and dripping into her hair. "Why? Why are you doing this?" She struggles against the restraints that bind her to the table, her wrists raw from her continued efforts over the last few hours.
I say nothing. What would be the point in explaining the nature of a predator to a lamb? Just a distraction from the inevitable, serving nobody. Her fate had been set the moment I saw her in the bar.
My hands hover over the instrument table. When the time is right, I'll feel which knife wants to do the work.
"Please," she begged. "My family have money. If you let me go, they'll..."
Her words are cut short as she sees me pick up the knife. I bought this one on a trip to Japan. It's never chosen me before. This girl must be special.
Her screams fade away to gurgling.
*The fuck did I just see!!!? I'd seen through my soulmates' eyes before but it had always been ordinary visions: riding the subway, choosing veggies at the supermarket. This was... this was like nothing I've seen before.*
*With shaky hands I pick up my phone and find her name from my contacts list. I'm praying that I have a brain tumour and that was just an hallucination. "Come on Rachael, answer!" I mutter.*
*Voicemail.*
*I try again over and over but it's always the same. It's real.*
*My soul mate is a murderer (what does that say about me?) and my sister - my best friend - is gone.* | 2019-02-13T15:59:22 | 2019-02-13T15:56:56 | 658 | 236 |
[WP] Your dragon roommate has gained unrestricted internet access | Ygros stood before the computer, trying to figure out what questions he wanted answered. He honestly did not know, he knew it wasn't all knowing or anything.
I sighed, watching a dragon who just explained ancient Sumerian poetry and art to me struggle with what he should ask a computer was losing its fun. "You know Ygros, I bet there are plenty or riddles on the internet, I bet there is a library of them on some website." I was a student of arcanistics at the university of magic and I took true draconic language the year prior, and Ygros took tech studies, so it came as no surprise that we were assigned roommates.
After all living with a giant fire breathing winged lizard was more peaceful than the "house of tolerance" and it was never cold. Ygros started typing, and after about 45 second he asked me in true draconic "ᑮⵎﬧᓘ டᒭ ߛﬧᓘᒭ ᑮᘂᘂп, コᒪߛﬧᓘⵎߛᒭ ﬧடᒪ, コᒨᓘ ┘ﬧᑭ ᘂᑭᒧᓟ пᒪடᑭᓗ ᒧடᓕᒨᘂᒪ" it took me a while to figure out what it all was, but after a while of hard thought I gave it my best shot. "Fierous" i said and Ygros chuckled, "close! But it is pronounced firus,"
After a while he got himself a cell phone, downloaded various social media and began to post selfies. Being a dragon, he loved the attention of "oh my god he's so cute" and "more like ybeautiful"
After we both graduated we kept in touch and apparently now he has a cult of fiercely loyal fans who support all of his endeavours
He grew to be quite the Internet personality! | I immediately called all the tech wizards I knew and asked if they had any idea how to fix this. Everyone told me the same thing: there was nothing I could do. The dragon had taken control of certain systems and had gained access to the internet.
Apparently, through the internet, he discovered he was capable of breathing fire, something he'd never done before. I found him watching DIY Youtube videos on how to breathe fire. He was determined to master this skill and practice indoors. I didn't think much of it at the time, and decided to just let him be.
Weeks went by and eventually my dragon roommate mastered breathing fire. We celebrated his achievement and I even took him out for dinner. Little did I know, however, that the dinner would be the last time I ever saw him.
I returned home after dinner to find my apartment in flames. My dragon roommate had gone too far and had accidentally set the place ablaze. The sprinklers activated, but the majority of the damage had already been done.
I had a dragon roommate who breathed fire, which I guess is pretty cool, but I'm also homeless now, so there's that. | 2022-12-04T00:32:08 | 2022-12-03T20:18:38 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] You have been cursed to always tell the truth. Not because you're unable to say something you know is false, but because once you say it, the universe will rearrange itself to make what you said true. | There’s one rule. Don’t lie.
I’ve lived by that rule for a long time now.
It started...a long time ago. I don’t have an origin because I don’t even know how this started. It wasn’t always like this. The first time I remember it was as a young child, telling my mother that I had taken out the trash. The trash suddenly appeared in the trash can outside. I kept using this power for more white lies and making my life more convenient. But soon I realized just what I could do with my words.
I could make people disappear from existence just by saying they no longer existed. “John doesn’t exist” and suddenly, John is gone. Nobody has ever heard of him. “I have a girlfriend” and suddenly I had a girlfriend. She had never existed before but now she did. “I am the president” and suddenly, I was the president. Nobody questioned it. I could create anything, destroy anything. I had absolute power over the universe. It was fun, for a while. I took over the world, conquered the universe, lived a better life than anyone else who had ever existed because I could have everything.
My absolute power didn’t last though. It was all fake and I knew it. It was absolutely wrong. So I undid all of it. Just as easy as saying that what I had created never existed. Remembering every lie took a while but I got the world back to a “normal” state. Afterwards I chose to live a plain life. I could have used my power again whenever I wanted but it felt hollow. I had the power of a god but no desire to use the power anymore.
I have a wife and a daughter that I met normally. No wishing them into existence, no lies. I have a real life. I wouldn’t sacrifice that for anything. Messing with the universe risks that. So this is the way I live now and it’s how I raise my child. One simple, important rule.
No lying. | How does truth run from falsehood when the universe bends and twists with words?
This was a curious existence. Words had seemingly prophetic effect.
I’d witnessed an offhand comment echo into a real life event before, how could I test if my words actually were?
—-
An interesting dichotomy. How does one determine what is true and what is false?
The universe seemed to play games. Not quite a leprechaun, but I had to be careful.
After all, if words had power, didn’t all words have power too? Where did the strength of mine begin and the other end?
How does cause and effect even work in a universe that bends to ones will?
—-
Like looking for ones own shadow with a flashlight, sometimes all one really needed to do is turn out the lights.
—-
How would one check if one were God?
—-
Turn the clock around. Reverse your time thinking, you only see the past in front of you.
Effect and Cause. | 2019-05-29T00:33:52 | 2019-05-28T20:25:48 | 375 | 15 |
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock! | Courtney comes back from the date, twirling around and humming to herself. "Went well?" I ask, not lifting my eyes from the computer.
"Oh, it was amazing," she says. "He was chivalrous, funny, and paid for dinner. He told me I was pretty and young. We had a great time. We took a walk around Liberty Pond, and --"
"What was his name, again?" I ask, loading up DatingScoreNow.com. She never wants to check, saying it 'ruins the surprise'; but every time I've made her, it's saved her heartbreak in the end.
"Mark Jones," she calls from the hallway. *Mark Jones*, I type. *Dating Score: -548*.
Uh-oh.
I scan the reviews:
"He put on my coat for me, then told me how every woman needed a man to protect her. Chivalrous? Maybe. Anti-feminist? For sure." *-- Marilyn, 26*
"He made crude jokes, then proceeded to laugh at them for thirty seconds straight. I was not amused." *-- Elana, 22*
"He told me I was too old." *-- Jessica, 31*
"He never pays for dinner." *-- Elizabeth, 24*
*How did Courtney overlook all of these terrible details?* I think, shaking my head. "What kind of jokes did he make?" I ask as she saunters back into the room, wearing her pajamas and hair in a messy bun.
"Oh, well, I don't really want to repeat them -- they were a little vulgar," she says, giggling. "But they were *so* funny."
"And how was he chivalrous? Did he open the door for you?"
"Yeah."
"Did he, um, say anything about women's roles --"
"Oh, yeah, he told me that he believes a woman's place is in the home. It was so honest and cool, and I kind of agreed with him."
*Oh, shit. They actually agree on this?!* "You said... he paid for dinner?" *Maybe they're actually meant for each other, or something... in their mutual weirdness.*
"Yeah. It was wonderful! Anyway, did you look up his score? I know normally I don't want to know, but honestly, I feel so confident about him, I'm not afraid."
"It's great," I say, shutting the laptop. "It's 548." | I looked at the menu full of nothing but weird-ass smoothies, all of which had the word 'acai' at the beginning. Acai PBJ smoothie. Acai dragonfruit passion. Acai acai smoothie. *Fuck.*
"It's really healthy, she said with and innocent smile so white I nearly went blind. "I promise, they're tasty!"
I looked at her and returned the gesture. "Yeah, I love healthy food!" *I mean, I'd eat sandpaper if it keeps you around.*
Seriously, I would've.
The smoothie tasted like fruity dirt, but I guess it's better than sandpaper at the end of the day.
"I love this place, thanks for the suggestion!" I said, smiling through the displeasing taste.
"Thanks! Why don't we go back to your place and hang out? Do you play rocket league?"
I dropped the smoothie cup on the ground, staring into her shimmering blue eyes. "Does Bill Cosby love mixing drinks?"
She giggled and pulled me toward the door. "Actually, I'm going to run to the bathroom first- gimme one second!"
I watched her leave, staring until she disappeared, then whipped out my phone. "Kaylee... Simpson. Run report..."
*Love Credit: -500. Chews with mouth open.*
I looked at the straw of her drink and was gone before you could say "sneaky motherfucker."
-----
^*/r/resonatingfury* | 2016-09-24T10:56:38 | 2016-09-24T10:31:27 | 557 | 242 |
[WP] start your story with a sentence that is upbeat and happy. Then end it with that same sentence but this time is dark and chilling. |
“ ‘Do you want to visit grandma?’
It was a quiet evening when my dad asked me this.
The day itself started out as any other, I woke up and got ready for school. I wore a fluffy pink sweater and purple and pink stripes stalkings with a pink tutu and light up shoes. It was my favorite outfit. Daddy called me down so he could drive me to school. The ride was quiet. I remember being so excited to see my friends and play on the playground at recess!
When we were half way through story time I got called to the office. I was sad cause Mrs.Bee was reading us a princess story. When I got to the office Daddy was there! I thought he went to work but he was there! He look weird though. He looked all sweaty and tired. I remember thinking, “Maybe he took and nap and slept in his day clothes,” cause those were all wrinkly too.
‘Hey sweetie! H-how are you?’ Why did his voice break? Was he just nervous? I didn’t know then. Not like i do now.
‘Hi daddy! We are reading a princess story today!’ I giggled excitedly and ran to hug him.
‘That’s nice sweetie! Why do we go out and get ice cream yeah? And—and maybe a new dolly?! Yeah? Let’s go okay?’ He picked me up and rushed us outside to the car.
We went to the mall and the sweet shop and al these other places! Daddy bought me a new dolly and I named her Anna! He bought me ice cream too! I loved Ice cream! While I ate though daddy went to the one store with camo on it and a deer. I didn’t like that store. I thought it was scary.
It was late when we got home. Almost super time but daddy hadn’t made any food. He just sat in his big comfy chair watching me play with me new doll. It was quiet.”
The officer looked at me when I paused. It was cold in the room we were in and the light was flickering.
“Kid I know you’re tired but I need you to continue.” I gulped, nervous and scared not wanting to relive this.
“I was playing with my dolly and suddenly he got up. I thought he was going to make food but instead he walk to the no no cabinet where we keep the guns. I couldn’t see what he was doing but I think he dropped something. Something small. Without showing me what he got he returned to the chair and looked at me again. For some reason he started crying so i gave him a hug. I don’t like when daddy is sad. He squeezed me and let go. He put his hand behind his back and I heard a small click.
What he said next confused me and I remember thinking ’was he talking about going to the cemetery?’ Or maybe that he said, ‘grandpas’ wrong.’ I heard sirens going off and a lot of things happened all at once and I was so so scared.”
I started to cry again. I didn’t want to continue. I just wanted to go home and away from this place. It’s so cold.
“Kid I really need to know what he said,”
“He asked,
‘Do you want to visit grandma?’” | “Run!”
We would laugh as we played. Our little legs would carry us across the field, while our short arms would try reaching for one another to not be it.
I loved after school games. They were relaxing, and a nice (69) liberation from my pre school life. Time always just seemed to repeat when we played. It was like a carbon copy of everyday’s game. Jenny would be it for about twenty minutes before someone else slowed down intentionally to not make her feel bad.
“Damien’s it!” Someone yelled, and so it was instinct.
“Run!”
Giggles erupted from all of us. Don’t get touched by any other player, else wise you’d be it.
“Run!”
Just keep running, just keep laughing, just keep smiling.
“Run!”
But life is full of surprises. today’s game wasn’t a carbon copy. today’s game would be the last game.
I bumped into a man I’d never seen before. Smelly. Old. Grumpy. Ugly. I didn’t like him. No.
“Hey kiddo, you look exhausted. I’ve got some juice in my truck, you want some?”
Stranger. Stranger danger.
“Run!”
I vigorously shake my head. No.
“Aw, come on, a bit of apple juice wouldn’t hurt.”
Well, I am a bit thirsty-
No. Run.
“We also have grape and mango if apple isn’t to your liking.”
Mango? I love mangoes! A sip wouldn’t hurt. Probably. And mommy would be so happy, I’d finally be drinking healthy juices!
“Okay.”
I hear my friends behind me playing. They can wait.
He comes back with a glass filled with the mustardy yellow color of mango juice. I take sip, but what was only supposed to be a sip turned into huge gulps. It was so, so good. I was so thirsty.
And before I knew it, my vision was growing cloudy.
One thought in my mind was constant, although it was probably because I could still hear the voices of my friends echoing in the distance as the mystery man carried me into his truck.
“Run!”
—
iM ONLY FOURTEEN DONT JUDGE ME but I’m welcoming any feedback, just a smol aspiring writer here haha | 2019-09-07T06:18:23 | 2019-09-07T06:14:40 | 108 | 48 |
[WP] You are a Norse god of alcohol. A man challenges you, claiming he can go shot-for-shot with you until you pass out. He calls himself... ‘The Machine’
[Context](https://youtu.be/paG1-lPtIXA) | At first Aegir was appalled at the mortal's hubris in challenging the gods. As the night went on, his disdain moved slowly into curiosity and then finally burgeoned into respect. As their mugs magically filled themselves again, more times than anyone could even count anymore, Aegir clapped the man on the back and walked him over to another nearby table. Seated at this new table was a group of four men. As Aegir and the mortal approached, the obvious leader sporting his own massive tankard of mead, an even larger hammer laying on the table next to him, turned to regard them.
"Tell Thor what you told me," Aegir said to the man. The man looked around the table, from the leader to each of the other three warriors. Suddenly, he ripped the shirt from his chest and grabbed two of the tankards off of the table and chugged them down, one after the other. Then, wiping the foam from his beard he looked Thor straight in the eye and yelled, "I am the MACHINE!"
Thor and all but one of the warriors burst into laughter. The drinks flowed once more and as the hours passed, the gods showed no sign of stopping. The man known as The Machine kept pace with them, drink for drink. Eventually, the third warrior could keep his peace no longer.
"It is disgraceful to have this mortal sitting and drinking at a table meant only for the gods!" He shouted as he stood, "I will have no part in it. We will see what Odin has to say about this 'Machine'." With that, he turned to leave, but before he could make it to the door, his head was caved in by a massive hammer and his body crumpled to the floor. Thor stood from the table and walked over to retrieve his weapon.
As he wiped the blood from the head of his mighty war-hammer he looked The Machine in the eye and said, "Fuck that bitch. This is Asgard." | As drink after drink goes down the Machine continued to chug his beers. It wasn't until the 9th keg that I started to worry that I might not win this challenge. Thankfully at that moment the Machine said he needed to drain himself and so I pointed him to the bathroom and as his mechanical pistons begun tomove him I said hey have a mint for that breathe is going to kill me before to much longer. The machine gladly accepted swallowing it as it went to drain himself.
After about a minute a loud boom echoed from the bathroom that wrenched the door off it's hinges and out walked the Machine clearly worst for wear. His pistons moved him a jerking fashion clearly favoring the left side cracks covered his copper belly and a hole was visible near the bottom. I smiled and said you tell Hesphaestus if he doesn't have the steel to challenge me himself don't waste the copper.
| 2018-09-23T20:39:18 | 2018-09-23T19:16:19 | 3,139 | 16 |
[WP] You're a pawn shop owner. Two bums inform you they've got some real good shit today. They lug in the Ark of the Covenant. | "Wait, *what*?" I gasped as the two scruffy gentlemen shuffled into my shop. Clothes tied together with string, wild beards and wild eyes, my first thought was to throw them out. After all, the last time I had homeless in the shop, they tried to pawn me my own merchandise.That is, until I saw what they carried between them.
"Is that..." I whispered, reverence forced into my voice by the object before me.
"Yep. That is *the* Ark of the Covenant. Designed to carry the remains of Moses' tablets." The first tramp gave it a familiar pat, causing a reflexive wince across my face.
I drew closer, and slowly placed a hand against the lid. A resounding *faith* shot through my arms, and I felt at peace with the world. This was the Real Deal, the Motherload. The Ark of the Covenant.
I looked up at the two beggars; "Wh- Where did you get this?"
"This? Oh we've been carrying this round for a while. What do you reckon, Eli?"
"Oh, at least two and a half thousand years" the voice of the second bearer rolled through the shop. "Give or take a few hundred."
"There you go, shopkeep. I tell you, you lose track of time on a walk, don't you?" He smiled at my shocked face. "Two thousand years? You've been carrying this round for *Two thousand years*?!?"
"Give it take a few hundred, yes. Exercise does you the world of good. I don't look a day over 500, all because of a little walking." He smiled, and rummaged round in his bedraggled coat.
"And you want to sell it? How much?" It was their turn to look shocked.
"Sell It? The Ark? Turn our back on our Sacred Duty, abandon our charge for *money*? No, never!" The two Bearers shuffled protectively in front of the Ark. "No, this is what I wanted to sell." The first held out his hand, with a few glinting coins in it.
"There you go. Genuine Roman Currency. Pure gold; none of that debased rubbish from after the conquering of Judea. How much for these? 'Cause the Pub refuses to accept them anymore. Bloody new management, every fifty years its the same"
Sighing, I bought the coins from the two, and they shuffled off with their immortal burden. Never again would I come so nea...
"Excuse me" I looked up at the workman standing at the counter with his offering. "I found this 'ere cup, but every time I drink from it, I start 'earing an 'eavenly choir. 'Ow much for it?" | "Best I can do for you...*gentlemen*...is $175."
I stood behind my counter, impassive. In the face of an item that countries would pay billions to possess, I had to pretend that I thought it was the prop from *Moses*.
Yeah, the one filmed back in the thirties? With what's-his-beard as the dude? That one.
Course, cause I know the movie, I was quite certain that it wasn't, in fact, a cheap pine-and-paint reproduction. The way that they'd staggered in while carrying it proved it. Also proved they were drunk, which was why I was sure I could out-negotiate them.
"L-look man, all I know is this angel, right? This angel was getting mugged by some Joe who claimed he was the son of George Bush or some shit. I yelled at them and the dude ran off. Angel told me to keep track of this while he went to heaven to get a crane. Dunno why he didn't want the p-perfecly good egret in the drainage ditch, but he didn't. Anyway, he never showed, so Dick and I decided we'd get our money's out of it. And the angel told me it was worth more than $125."
"Even if I believed you about the Angel, doesn't mean the Angel was right. I could be generous and go $130, cause you've done good business before, but I'm not looking at any higher."
With a grumble, he and his compatriot each accepted $65 and walked out the door, while I began looking for potential buyers.
Even though I'm an atheist, I'm unsure enough to be careful. After all, when God smites you, it's usually lethal. | 2016-06-08T10:33:06 | 2016-06-08T09:16:02 | 42 | 16 |
[WP] You are the child of ultra rich parents, who have pampered you beyond belief. A host of servants to see to your every need, the finest food prepared by your personal chef, and anything you ask for is yours. You are so spoiled in fact, that you have failed to notice that you are a Chihuahua. | I shit on the floor.
It didn't even bring me joy any more. It was merely an act I did because I could. To assert dominance. To establish my place in the hierarchy of the pack.
I was above. Those who cleaned were below. It was the natural order of things. My birthright as the scion of the great Milk Duds fortune. I had never sampled the Duds personally, such fare upset my stomach to a great degree, it being peasant food and all. But I was quite content to live upon the largess that combination of chocolate and caramel provided me.
I sat to the side, dining on a choice cut of steak -- my favorite meal -- as I watched them clean my refuse. The scuttled about their task, scurrying to and fro with bags and acrid cleaning materials that burned my nose. They kept their heads down. Those who cleaned knew better than to make eye contact. It would be unwise to test my patience by attempting to look upon me as an equal.
I had been forced to call out such an instance only recently. My lips drew back as I unleashed a savage series of shouts, pointing out the impropriety. I had even been forced to leap upon them, forcibly asserting myself by hopping about, making my displeasure known.
The offending personnel had not returned since.
As was proper.
I leaned forward, pulling another succulent piece of meat into my mouth and chewing it with all of the ferocity of an alpha wolf. I had always been strangely drawn to the depictions of that animal. So foreign, yet somehow so familiar. Of course, they were beasts of the wilderness, not the civilized heir to a candy empire. But there was something to admire in their bearing. A nobility.
I watched as the cleaners shuffled out, feeling the world would be better with fewer of them and more wolves. Alas, despite my protestations to that effect to my parents, they had been unwilling to accommodate me. They cooed and soothed me, as was their way, but I had made frustratingly little progress on the whole assemble a wolf pack front.
No matter.
My time would come soon enough. My parents were old and frail, they could not hold on indefinitely. They smelled of decay, even now. I felt a deep sense of loyalty to them, but the world would be different when I finally rose to the head of the household. Changes would be made.
More meat scents. Less potpourri.
More balls. There always seemed to be a shortage. It was upsetting.
Removal of the cat. Its presence offended me and never failed to evoke a snarling rage.
My tongue licked along my chops, greedy with anticipation. Picturing a house with walls made of meat, floors covered in balls and cats no where to be seen. It would be the culmination of a the Milk Duds empire, the greatest chapter in a storied history.
My tail wagged.
I did not notice.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR Peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | I never thought it would leave me behind, the revolution. The well-cited papers I wrote about our treatment of the underclass, about how it would lead to revolt if not corrected, defined my academic career. While my colleagues and class-peers referred to you as shit-pedalers, food-movers, and groomer-articulators, I called some of the underclass my friends. There were even photos of one of you holding me on display in the foyer, which could probably be located to corroborate the claims I'm making about my pre-revolution loyalties here.
If you'd oblige me to speculate I'd have say it was my heritage that doomed me to find myself here. You tall folk have a difficult time with shades of gray, I think is the one critique I have about your revolution tactics. My parents, I concede, were among the wealthy, and did engage in the now-frowned-upon practice of employing bipedal locomoters to pedal their shit out of the house. But, see, if anyone involved in the disassembling of the estate had bothered to do a simple fecal matter test, they would know my own shit was never among the loads to be pedaled. I always took care to shit outside and bury it in pine straw, see.
And now here I am in this cage on this table standing in front of all of you, who are raising numbered paddles and not indicating in the negative or affirmative that you acknowledge what I'm saying. The silent treatment is understandable in your post-revolution ambivalence toward a member of the oppressor class. I forgive that, of course. However if just one of you could come aside and discuss with me 1:1 with regard to my role in the new order, I would appreciate that, just, so much.
---
*Feedback requested. I will thank you for it even if it hurts my feelings. Thank you.*
---
Follow my budding fiction career: [Subreddit](https://reddit.com/r/pangolune) [Twitter](https://twitter.com/DonronRondon) | 2020-10-12T20:52:41 | 2020-10-12T19:34:36 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] tell me a story without using the letter E | 有一种青春叫宿舍
【女生版】
有各自的专属昵称
每天被闹钟吵醒，
所有人依然雷打不动，
定闹钟的x位就是不关它，
为的是呼唤三位大神起床。
每次吃饭需要互相帮忙捎带
or叫外卖or四大天王集体出动，
但是重点是没有人知道要吃什么？
衣服多到柜子都堆不下，
放到了室友的柜子里。
打扫卫生总是互相提醒，
各自忙到半夜三更，
回寝室分批煮面吃，
一起嘎讪胡到凌晨三点，
谈天谈人生谈帅哥，
聊八卦聊政治，互相学各自的方言，
笑到肚子疼。
在彼此面前完全不顾及形象。
总有一个天天缺水喝，
跟头水牛似的，
喝多少都嫌渴。
每天除了逛淘宝，买买买
永远在说无聊无聊好无聊。
即使偶尔会起摩擦，
但更多的是包容与关爱。
朝夕相伴的我们一起度过了2年，
把每一次美好的回忆献给了彼此。
【男生版】
激情四射的男寝，
都是杠杠的兄弟情谊啊！
总有没那么些寝室半夜三更不睡只为
守望先锋 炉石传说、魔兽，
关键时刻掉个线，
恨不得上手砸电脑了。
半夜三更断个电断个网，
整幢楼都是哀嚎啊~
有事没事约着去打球，
追女神，谈恋爱，
聊天不离开女神，游戏，天下大事，
那些年一起分享泡妞大全，
然并卵
技术宅的世界绚丽多彩，
爷们情谊在！ | John growls, prodding his stick of chalk at Colin, in almost worrying proximity to his smart navy suit. Grimacing as thoughts of what it would cost him to wash it fill his brain, Colin jumps backwards, his hands instantly flying up to brush imaginary chalk dust from his shirt.
"Now calm down, I was only making a proposal," says Colin.
John points wildly at Colin's blackboard, upon which a solitary symbol is drawn, his brow furrowing into a scowl. "But what is that... that thing?"
"It's an additional symbol for our national writing syllabary," Colin says hotly. "I think it ought to grow. I didn't join politics just to accomplish nothing - if I must work in our council's Writing and Communication Division, I want to put my mark on it, on our world!"
"Why should our syllabary grow? It's good how it is! And anyway, that's not a symbol, it's just a goddamn spiral!"
"It's not just any old spiral. Look, it joins onto its own tail at its midway point!" Colin points proudly at his work. "It's a work of art. And just think how many ways an additional symbol would allow us to add to our vocabulary!"
"This is ridiculous! You can't just add symbols willy nilly without thinking about any ramifications. What will our boss say if you show him? It's a month's work, Colin, and it's worth nothing! And you obviously didn't think this through - just to start with, what would you call it?"
"I... I don't know. But I just can't throw off this hunch that our words could contain a totally unknown sound - and this symbol could stand for it!" Colin frowns, putting his hand out to grip John's arm tightly. "Just think, think of a sound..."
John backs away, pulling his arm from Colin's grasp. "This is crazy talk, Colin, and frankly, it's scary. Stop kidding around!"
"I'm not kidding, I-" Colin trails off.
"You what?"
"I just thought it was a good plan. Truthfully."
"It's not a good plan, Colin. It's an atrocious plan."
Colin sighs, slumping in his standing position. "Okay, it's your call."
"And I'm calling it."
"Okay."
His hand shaking slightly, a downcast Colin rubs out his symbol - his fiasco of a *magnum opus* - from his board. | 2017-05-23T09:31:22 | 2017-05-23T06:30:08 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] The Humans are..interesting. Their weaponry is ancient, but their warriors are nearly unstoppable. | The simulated battle ended and the abducted human soldier slumped with fatigue and confusion, looking at the unfamiliar surroundings of the holodeck.
"What happened with the sim? Why was the human able to withstand so many waves of enemies?" the Thakdarian commander demanded of his scientists, slamming his second and third forearms onto his desk and scaring several of those clustered around a datapanel, pointing and arguing about the results of the test.
"Sir, the results simply don't make sense. Somehow, as his enemies grew more numerous and intelligent, the subject's performance improved. It seemed that the closer he got to exhaustion or danger, his metabolic rate, circulatory, and respiratory levels became elevated," the scientist pointed to each of the relevant points of data in turn, "but his reaction time, motor function, and even his apparent critical thinking speed increased to several times his baseline."
"Have we underestimated these bipeds so utterly?" the commander growled, "Their medical technology is centuries behind ours! They don't even use energy weapons! They can't possibly have created a battledrug better than anything our own kind have."
The scientists moved as a group, shrinking away from the decorated officer. "Sir, we woke him up in a simulated earth town with only his clothes and weapon. He has not consumed or injected anything on his own and tests of the atmosphere in the holodeck show no chemical compounds that would cause this behavior on inhalation. We also noticed no codewords that would awaken hypnotic training," he said, pointing at the translated audio recording of the subjects colorful language. "We cannot explain this behavior except by speculation."
The commander sat back in his chair and looked again at the human, who already seemed to be recovering from the simulation and was starting to explore his surroundings. "By all means, speculate," he said.
The Thakdar scientists quietly conferred among themselves, in some cases arguing quietly and each giving his or her own thoughts on what happened. After a few minutes, the commander coughed and several scientists started and turned. A datapad clattered to the floor.
"Sir, the human appears to be able to produce a natural drug during times of stress. We can pinpoint when it was released during the sim, starting with the moment he heard the first energy weapon fire in the distance, then each time a new wave of enemies was created." The scientist had changed the main datascreen to a series of graphs showing vital signs during the simulation, and was pointing out moments when the human seemed at once the most stressed and, perplexingly, the most effective. "The last spike was when the simulation ended and the simulated town disappeared, revealing that he was in an unfamiliar place."
As the scientist pointed at the end of the simulation, he noticed that the graphs were still recording and the human's vitals were elevated as though he were entering combat again. As one, the Thakdarian research unit looked into the sim chamber only to see the human subject pointing his weapon at the commander and baring his teeth in a mockery of glee. Through the glass, they saw the human's mouth moving. A moment later, the translator spoke.
"Take me to your leader."
_______________________________________________________
Edit: This is my first attempt at writing here. I hope everyone likes it! I intend to write much more and welcome any comments and criticism, even if it's about poor grammar or sentence structure. | -- Archaeological Records office, document A090BE4C10 --
-- Record details conversation between two Xands, named Yikah and Vateth according to other records, at a bar inside of a Xandorian military camp regarding human resilience in the War of 2492--
-- Following record was transcribed from audio into Xandorian and translated into English on 4/8/2521 ET--
"Humans. What a disturbance in the back thigh. We have sent at least a dozen ships with [ununpentium 4-] cannons, yet every ship has been taken out by the pests managing to use simple mass projectiles against us." Yikah said in angry tone, followed by a loud sipping and subsequent gaseous noise.
"Yes. They truly are frustrating. Though, I must admire their courage. Knocking on the second battalions battleship door with a wooden butted rife and yelling about 'the darn feds', I would have never imagined one would have the skill to quickly take out an entire squad like that." Vateth's voice seemed somber remembering her fallen sisters.
"That was a tragic day. The day of blood oceans was far worse though. I still can not fathom how such simple minded creatures managed to take us down. Even worse none of them were more than [5 foot] in height, and they seemed to be playing archaic physical ball games in wasted fertile space when we landed. How small human males could run so fast and be so plotting is out of my mental capacity." Yikah said, then made a loud, pained gaseous noise, which was echoed by Vateth.
-- Audio from the next few minutes is heavily distorted by loud electronic music from the bar, any snippets heard of unknown speaker--
"...and let us not forget the time we landed near the building maked V.F.W. they..."
"...that time we landed in City Of Angles and a crowd of humans wearing smiling faces with bones underneath rendered our craft completely immobile... "
"Friends, Friends, we can not forget the day we arrived in SanDiago and were overwheled with so much noise from humans brandishing non-fuctional weapons and strange attire that we could not even leave the ship!"
-- All following audio is indecipherable until the end of recording --
| 2018-01-11T14:17:51 | 2018-01-11T14:13:53 | 281 | 23 |
[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. | It was the toughest race of my life. The water was everywhere. Many of my friends were already dead, but I knew if I kept going I could make it. I could feel everything around me get softer the more I continued. I was drenched but I wasn't going to give up, not this close to the end. I finally felt the air on my skin. I had made it. Water was all over the ground and my friends, at least those who made it, were all there with me. Happens every time it rains I suppose, it just caught me off guard this time. It took a little too long to creep and crawl my way to the top, but whoever said a worms life is an easy one. | 2016-05-19T13:02:55 | 2016-05-19T12:45:26 | 203 | 70 |
[WP] Humanity discovers that supernatural creatures such as vampires and werewolves exist. Instead of attempting to exterminate them, some countries attempt to offer them lucrative jobs that they could do better than a human. | Kohl took another bullet, this one leaving a deep mark on his chest. Black ooze quickly began to seep out at the entry wound, marking his undershirt and windbreaker with yet another foul smelling stain. It was a nice windbreaker, too. He had received it roughly one hundred and twenty six minutes ago from a pleasant field operator. He would have liked to keep it, maybe to even ask her out for a lunch somewhere in the streets of Poland, and wear it, without the patches of course, to their first date. These are the kinds of things people reflect on while they lie on the ground with half a dozen bullet wounds perforating their flesh. Though, in a bold subversion of the extremely overdone “dying from a lethal gunshot” routine, Kohl ripped himself back up on his feet. He permit his momentum to carry him forward, breaking into a dead sprint for the shooter. He considered zig-zagging, but decided against it as it would merely extend the time necessary to reach his target. Only a few feet away, he went for a flying low-tackle, careening into the masked offender. Now on the ground, Kohl was well within his territory. He flipped the other man, putting them in an immediate chokehold. The man sounded particularly familiar, and likewise particularly feminine. Instead of investigating, Kohl followed his military training, adopting a comforting yet authoritative voice to instruct the hostages - a woman and two kids - huddled in the corner. Without hesitation, they ran past the grappling pair and out the shoddy splintered door that previously happened to get in Kohl’s way. Out in the hallway, another masculine voice could be heard parroting the next set of directions in crude, yet functionable, English. After effectively minimizing his exposure to the foreign language, the soldier once again took his post covering the Western hallway. An ear-piercing whistle resonated throughout the entire facility, followed by a wave of sharp, hushed “Kurwa”s and other such pleasantries. The day’s last exercise was over, yielding many relieved sighs. Though it was fake, nevertheless training on this scale of realism was incredibly stressful, as the gunfire was not at all stifled - only the bullets. Many a cadet would yet spend extensive time at the infirmary with broken ribs, brutal bruises, and a small prospect of internal bleeding from physically traumatic injuries after getting sprayed down by round after round of rubber ammunition.
Kohl, upon hearing the whistle himself, released his serpentine grip and rolled over, full angel, and began the obnoxious procedure of stuffing each bullet hole, cutting gauze bandage to size, and tightly wrapping it, enough to make long lasting impressions in his dehydrated skin. He would have to pay the medic yet another visit after all, even though he had cleared most of the complex with only minor superficial injuries. He brushed his hair out of his eyes and relaxed his muscles completely, having been previously informed that his brain no longer inhibited his physique from self-destructive use. Instantly, he felt a landslide of relief from the painful state of tension his body had been experiencing, a by-product of increased physical reactivity to stress and pain, both of which he went through daily for the past three weeks of training. He turned his head and spoke to his training partner, who had likewise rolled onto her back, and who was breathing heavily.
“Shit, you emptied the entire clip!”, Kohl faked grasping at his medicated perforations in pain.
“I was told I should not hold back. I didn’t realize you would be this injured,” she replied, concern beginning to form in her voice, “anything I can do to help?”
“It still stings like an absolute bitch every time,” He mimed thinking intensely, “and yeah, there are a couple things you could do.”
With a satisfying snap, he removed his GROM patch from his thoroughly peppered jacket and slipped it into his pocket, replacing it with the enforced-wear black-and-gold “U.R.E.” skull and stitch emblem. For the longest time, he cursed that symbol for annihilating any chance he stood of running bases, though more recently he had grown to enjoy the respect it granted him among the many national task forces he was assigned to, but nevertheless the term “Undead Research Experiment” still earned plenty of cringing expressions whenever the haughty scientists monitoring Kohl tried to throw their weight around.
The woman sat up, removed her mask and shook out her shoulder-length brunette hair. Innocently, she queried “Yeah, and what’s that?”
Kohl followed suit, looking into her hazel eyes with his strange, cold, quicksilver ones, “I want a new windbreaker. And I want mutton, and good soup,” he gave her a confident smile, “you know any good places?”
| The man looked at me with incredulity painted on his face. It was very clear that whatever he'd expected, I wasn't it. Wearing a tailored suit, handmade Italian shoes and carrying a rosary around my neck. And then there was the icy blue skin, the black eyeballs and the red irises
"You the vatican's man?" The mortal finally managed. "I heard you were a frost giant, you don't seem ver..."
He stopped as he saw the scowl on my face "Jötunn, singular, jötnar, plural. Frost Giant is a translation error we've fought hard to correct" I said to him, my voice almost a whisper.
He swallowed and nodded "o-of course sir" I kept staring at him "the fact that I deal in Ice is ENTIRELY coincidental do you understand?"
He nodded, frightened by now, mostly because the urine that he had released when I had fixed him with the scowl was freezing.
Now, you might be wondering, how a Jötunn got around to working for the Vatican. Well, let me tell you something about religion for us immortals my friends. Being associated with an established belief system is all well and good, it is how my primary magic works, its how I came to be. Joining and being accepted by a new religious system just adds to the skill pool, so to speak. I was a very effective vampire hunter in the old days, but since joining the church, it's become downright easy to dispose of the night waste.
There were two of them, they were wearing full body coverings to hide from the sun, vampires, newly turned according to databases. Their sires had tried to make them come out, to no avail. So, they had summoned me, as I was in the area anyway.
They had agreed to let me come in and speak, I wouldn't need anything else, just line of sight, that was all. They would both be dead, vanquished by the Lord's holy ice.
The sound of my footsteps echoed in the church "Silly protestants, forgetting your wards" I said cheerfully, smiling as they both saw me. My rosary was in my hand as I began the prayer
"Sáncte Míchael Archángele, defénde nos in proélio, cóntra nequítiam et insídias diáboli ésto præsídium. Ímperet ílli Déus, súpplices deprecámur: tuque, prínceps milítiæ cæléstis, Sátanam aliósque spíritus malígnos, qui ad perditiónem animárum pervagántur in múndo, divína virtúte, in inférnum detrúde. Ámen."
One of them coughed, once at first, taking many fast rasping breaths before he began coughing again. He could feel it no doubt, the holy ice I had formed from the vapour in his throat, it was working its way both further in and out. Soon his head would fall from his shoulders. The other stood still as stone. His pain must have been unbearable as well, considering he had fed minutes before I had entered. See the thing is, I cannot touch their blood, it is unholy to the extreme, and as such impossible for my art to touch. However, the blood of a virgin, taken by force now flowed with his and that, that I could touch. I forced it to circulate as it shredded him from the inside, blood ice rupturing his veins. They were both dead within a minute and a half, slumped in their seats on the floor, the hostages already on their feet and running towards the exit. | 2018-08-27T16:55:43 | 2018-08-27T16:44:38 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | You know, there have always been rumors on side\-effects and how EverLife squashed anyone trying to do any kind of study on them. Not really surprising seeing how rich they all got, and how every single politician's life depended on EverLife's continued existence.
The first two generations didn't really show it that much. Sure, we got a lot more ugly kids, but people also got a lot fewer to keep the population count manageable.
With the third generation we old\-timers started calling them Garys. The incredible backlash from EverLife came totally unexpected \- they never had made that much fuzz when we told people their kids were a bit on the ugly side and looked alike a lot.
But as the first generation grew old and the third generation became adults they just couldn't deny it any longer.
Garys. Garys everywhere. Some old. So many young. Both boys and girls.
And finally the government relented as even the Garys wanted to know how the majority of people seemed to become basically the same person, unable to find anyone that didn't have a face that looked so much like their own.
And finally EverLife was forced to tell us all the truth.
How there had been only one person who turned out to have the secret of immortality in his genes.
How they found the drug that changed you just enough so that immortality could also be yours.
And how taking it wouldn't change you that much... but how those genes were dominant and would accumulate over every new generation.
How humanity was going to turn into all\-Garys within the next two generations.
As long as I'm alive and able I will fight that, along the others that are not willing to doom humanity to this. And I have to admit that I never expected the kind of fighting I'm doing now.
Every evening I take my usual pills, and then I take my special pill. And a quarter of an hour later I lie on my back while some young, fertile woman uses me to save the gene pool.
I am so thankful for those goggles that change the face I see. I could never keep up the good fight if I kept seeing their real Busey faces. | Magic does not give its boon without a sacrifice. The greater the request, the greater the price.
Not that we realized it was magic at first. We all know how indistinguishable it is from sufficiently advanced science, especially when you don't believe in magic. Especially when men in lab coats tell you it's the fruit of all the scientific research your tax dollars have paid for. Especially when you know exactly how the damn stuff works.
How it works. Not what it does.
We all know about the synthetic telomeres, the cellular reconstruction, the genetic changes. We know how it slows the process of aging down until you're basically immortal. How children born into a world of agelessness would never physically leave their twenties. And we, who were just too old to stop forever, never quite bothered to count the cost.
My early twenties were some of the dumbest years of my life. And the ageless people who now control the world will never leave theirs.
Magic always demands a price. | 2018-06-05T00:30:12 | 2018-06-04T23:51:46 | 25 | 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. | They told me I was lucky. My whole life they said that the stat assessment showed I was one of the luckiest people alive with a score of 100. I swore it wasn’t true. If I had been lucky, why was I born to a poor family? I never got to play games of chance, since those were forbidden to luck score 100s.
Then the revolution happened. The leaders swore they would prove that people controlled their own destiny, that luck had nothing to do with success, and, as proof, they would throw the 100s in prison as an ultimate sign of human triumph over the odds. Having a lower rating began to be a mark of pride, an inspiration.
Some of us tried to run and hide. That’s what I did. I managed to hide a while, too. It was, ironically, just bad luck that they caught me. The guy whose identity I was using’s brother happened to be a member of the Luck Police, and he was visiting relatives across the country the day he caught sight of my fake name on the ID I gave the clerk at a convenience store.
I couldn’t have lasted much longer, anyway. They had just created the AR rig that let you see people’s stats just by looking at them. None of our underground community knew how to fool it. It updated in real time.
So, off to prison I went. With all of the other “lucky” ones. That’s when I met Eddie. Most of us, at this point, had our ideas about the system. Most of us thought it was complete bullshit, created so that the people in control could make an enemy to unite people around. Eddie, though, he had a different idea. He swore that it was real. He said he had been a scientist and had helped develop the measurement system, and swears they had gotten it right, but it was hard to argue with the evidence. All the luckiest people wind up in prison, so how are we lucky again? Even locked up as one of us Eddie swore it was true. Even talked about how coming across the measurement at all was a lucky break. He had been studying DNA for a marker for gambling addiction, when he found the luck gene.
Eddie was right. I still remember hearing the whispers. Carl was a 96 now. The AR rig swore it. I was with Eddie when we saw Carl, and through the rig, we could see it too. Right beside him: Luck - 96. It was an odd color, though. It was green, not white like normal. I asked Eddie about it. He frowned. “We had theorized that there were things that could give a temporary boost or penalty. Luck clovers, breaking mirrors, and things. I guess the research on those is complete, and they programmed them into the rig?”
I looked at Carl and there, behind his ear, I saw it. A four leaf clover. But those were supposed to be... I saw the look of horror on Eddie’s eyes as he did the same calculations I was doing. The green luck boost. It moved his score down. Eddie shook his head and stared at his feet. “The sons of bitches. They got it backwards. It’s like a golf score. Lower is better. We are stuck in here because we are the most unlucky bastards on the planet.” | It was all a bit ludicrous, actually...the g-men in their black suits with automatic weapons, the excessive security. The deep elevator that went down level after level to a giant vault door to where they kept us. Nuclear waste wasn't buried as deep as we were. We were the "lucky one-hundreds". The ones with unbelievable luck. The ones with too much luck, apparently. Grabbed by men in vans and hoods thrown over our heads and whisked away to this "undisclosed location".
I was here because I was too lucky. I've won the equivalent of 25 people's college tuition from half court shots. I'd won the lottery 7 times, the Masters three years running (because there were the only times I'd competed) and so much more.
Today was visitation day. Somebody, perhaps some high powered politician hoping we'd be of help to him if we ever got out of here, had arranged a visit by the Brazilian Bikini Team. There were 45 of them. (I guess they had alternates, too?) Just after they got into the complex, the lights flickered. The visit went well enough, they just sort of danced around a bit.
When the time came for them to leave, the radio calls to the surface went unanswered. We came to find out that everyone outside had lost their damn minds and every leader who had them launched every flipping nuclear missile they had. The whole world outside was uninhabitable, at least for the next 20 years. Being as remote as e we were, we could cut it down to 15.
We also came to find out, this was the US Congressional safe bunker, because, where else would you want to be when the crap hits the fan than with people like me? Well, it seems that luck only applies when you are where we are, so not a single official made it. It was stocked with everything we'd need for 75 years for 1000 people. We had about 53 souls in all.
There were no signals from anywhere else in the world. Here we were, stuck in a bunker... with the Brazillian Bikini Team, having to restart the world's population. Lucky us... | 2018-06-29T12:50:06 | 2018-06-29T11:26:29 | 41 | 22 |
[WP] You wake up in hell.
You don't know how you died but you wake up in hell. Describe hell. | I open my eyes, expecting to see demons dancing around me ; pitchforks in hand, muttering some demonic song or curse.
But there is none.
As far as I can see, everything is white and silent.
I am alone in hell, if this is hell.
I stand up, from where I had found myself lying on the cold floor. Suddenly I see that it was not white surrounding me, it was mirrors.
Mirrors reflecting all around, as if they were encircled around me.
Adjusting myself to oddness of it, I peer in to one of the mirrors, looking at my reflection.
But is not my reflection.
Physically, the reflection looks similar to me ; almost as if we could have been twin brothers. But the reflection's posture, his demeanor, the clothes he's wearing, they are all so different.
That's not me.
As I look into the eyes of my reflection, I begin to see the events of my life play out in my reflections eyes, from when a was a young tot to and elderly man. The small events leading all the way up to the big events that changed who I was as a person. Yet as I stand there mesmerised as what I am seeing, I begin to notice that as I get older, the events begin to change. They begin to have different endings and beginnings.
And lastly I begin to see events that had never happened to me.
I see myself getting a great well paying job.
I see myself happily married with kids.
The list goes on and on and that's when I realise.
I am in hell.
I am looking, witnessing and experiencing the man that I could have been.
The man that was there for me to aspire to become, yet I shied away from the great challenges in my life, leaving me as a nobody that few would remember.
My hell was to look at the man that I could have been.
For the rest of eternity.
_______________________________
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| The morning sunlight gently glides down onto my face, warming it. Birds chirp gently, beckoning for me to awake, but I can't, I must not. I know where I am. The only place in this world that is my hell. I smell pancakes cooking down below and the chirpy call of an old lady sounding my name, I cannot resist, I must go.
I throw off my bedsheets and scamper down the old wooden stairs sliding into the dining room on my socks, preparing for a delicious meal with my mother, forgetting that I am in what is supposed to be my hell, thinking there must have been a mix-up of some sort, and I got into my personal heaven.
"John, I'll be there in a second," chirps the old lady.
*That's not my mom* I think to myself, my mom didn't sound like her.
The lady walked into the room carrying a plate of pancakes.
"John," she said, "you really need to work on your posture.. also, elbows off the table. And hold your fork in your right hand."
Now I knew where I was, I was at the inlaws.
| 2013-10-31T11:54:46 | 2013-10-31T10:13:24 | 322 | 18 |
[WP] Due to a genie mixup, you DON'T have immortality, but "IM mortality," which is Latin for "999 lives." Since you'll still age normally, you live a very reckless life - you have lives to spare. | All things considered, I think I got a better deal. After all, who would want to live forever? Certainly not me.
The wish I made was the wish of a young man, one who had never known loss - *true* loss- before in his life.
Forever is a hell of a long time. It only took a few years after I made the wish for me to realize how stupid I had been. I loved Alison, I truly did, but it wasn’t until our daughter’s birth that my wish, immortality, seemed like the stupidest thing I could’ve done.
I knew forever meant I would lose Ali one day. I rationalized that away; a lifetime together and I would be satisfied. But as I held Julia in my arms I thought of who she would become -a toddler with corkscrewed sandy hair, a teenager with wide eyes, a young woman ready to take on the world - I regretted my decision. How could I watch her die?
The day my heart seized, I laughed. I didn’t think it could be real. Even without immortality, I was only 36. Heart attacks don’t happen to healthy people, young people, people who eat right and don’t smoke.
But I died.
I *did* die. It wasn’t the end, I guess. I woke up in the morgue a few days later, with a deep stitched-Y spanning across my chest.
I wrapped myself in a sheet, snagged a wallet out of a desk drawer, and snuck out the back door. The wallet belonged to the medical examiner. Janet Greene must’ve had some day, losing a hundred bucks in cash, a two-for-one fast food coupon, a lab coat, and a body.
I used the money to get a room at a seedy motel. The burgers were delicious, hot and greasy and cheap.
The bed was lumpy, the sheets had permanent stains, and the fan did nothing to cool the room (it only spread thick dust around the room as it shook).
I was alive again.
I realized I had two options: I was still immortal but would die and come back, or I *wasn’t* immortal, not truly, after all. I didn’t know which option scared me more.
The one who gave me the wish was long gone. I had to figure it out for myself.
I couldn’t go back to Alison and Julia. They wouldn’t understand.
Even if they did, what kind of life would we have? I would always be running away from this curse.
So I rebuilt my life. Turned it into a mosaic.
Over time, though, that crumbled too.
I watched Alison and Julia from afar. They died, painlessly and inevitably. It was all I could have ever asked for. If I was a young man again, if I had my wishes again, I would wish for such quiet deaths.
I died three times before Julia passed. Car wreck, second heart attack, bad case of the flu. I aged, too. Slower than normal, but the lines still came. It had been ninety years since my wish when I found my first grey hair.
My life became a patchwork. I was homeless, for a long time. Froze to death one night on a street corner in January.
I had no reason to stay alive. I jumped from bridges, out of sides of buildings.
I chased down criminals, saved some lives.
I joined circuses and freak shows to make some petty cash.
My life became a blur. History unfolded, it ripped the world apart and then sewed it neatly back together. I understood how fragile times of peace were, how easily they would disappear. The violence was always an undertone, a haunting melody that plays in the background of life.
Marie was the one who finally figured it out. I met her in Marseille, sometime after the Continental War.
I didn’t know what life I was on. It had to be high, that I knew, especially after the wars.
I told her I was afraid. I wasn’t lying then.
She laughed, handed me a bottle of cheap wine, and welcomed me to humanity. She only had one life, and even if I had only two, I was still ahead of her.
I laughed too. It was the first time in a long time that I felt some warmth.
We spent many years together. She grew old, inevitably. Her edge never dulled, her fire never cooled.
My own hair turned grey, the lines sunk deep into my forehead and creased around my eyes.
Her heart monitor beeped; the slopes of the line shallowed. Many things advanced; some never changed. I crawled into the bed next to her and pressed a kiss against the thick lines of her face.
She wrapped her hand around mine and squeezed with the little strength she had left.
When Marie walked into the darkness, I followed.
I stayed with her, this time.
---
/r/liswrites
| *Always be as specific as possible.*
The warning echoed through my mind. It usually did at times like these. Was I really to blame? I’d never seen another receive their Gift, in fact that was part of the mystery, but surely I wasn’t the first to mess up.
I had been standing in The Guildhall two years ago when I received my Gift. My father had raised my knowing about the Guild and his role in it. He had assured me I would gain the same eternal life that he delighted in. I had laughed when he sat me down and told me how old he was. Over 3000 years old? Not possible. Then he started showing me the pictures. The journals. The books. The artifacts. Eventually he started sharing his memories of old events in much too fine of detail to have read it somewhere.
I believed him. What would life have been like if I hadn’t? I couldn’t think about that right now.
The Guild had brought me in and began to teach me their ways. Every tip, every trick, every smell, every taste. They knew I would be one of them, my father’s position demanded I be accepted. They held nothing back.
The day I had received my Gift I stood in awe as they released the Genie. Every member had stood here. Every member had been Gifted eternal life. The Guild would stand forever. The Genie started at me, could he foresee my blunder?
*Always be as specific as possible.*
The words had echoed in my head, they had repeated them often in my training, but nothing could penetrate my thoughts. I was empty as I stood staring at the Genie. How could this exist?
The Genie’s voice rumbled through the Guildhall. “Tell me your desire, mortal, and I will give you your Gift.”
My lips had parted, but nothing came forth. I tried to force the words through, but still nothing. It was shock. It had to be. I focused and was able to utter one broken word. “Im…mortality.”
The Genie had thrown his head back to laugh. He had bent his giant, ethereal body down to look me in the eye. Did he do that to everyone? “Granted,” he bellowed. “999 lives as requested. Nothing more, nothing less.”
Then it was over. The silence that had fallen was thick. Everyone left the hall and my father had come to explain what had happened. I had been so ashamed. They wouldn’t let me stay after that. It had been an ugly affair when they kicked me out.
So here I was, waiting in a dark alley. They had disowned me, but I wouldn’t go away. 999 lives to make them regret what they had done. I wasn’t eternal as they were, I couldn’t kill them, but I could make the next hundred years of their lives terrible.
The truck pulled in slowly with its late-night delivery. I held the device in my hand, waiting for the right moment. The truck stopped. The driver got out and went inside the warehouse to let them know he was here. I worked quick, moving up quietly and placing the device.
*Always be as specific as possible.*
The words always echoed right before this part. A loud explosion broke the night air as the truck was ripped asunder, my body a victim of the act.
A moment later I woke, in some random part of the city. My body was whole, but it still hurt. I rested for a moment before standing and looking around. I could see dark smoke rising nearby, no sirens yet. I wasn’t too far away this time. I resisted the urge to go look. I had seen my own charred skeleton before and I didn’t want to experience that again. I turned and started back to my hideout, the air tinged with a sweet taste.
This would cost them 2 weeks of profits at yeast. But nickels and dimes weren’t the best use of my lives. I needed a bigger flan. The Guild of Bakers was going down. I didn’t knead them. | 2018-06-21T13:26:11 | 2018-06-21T12:43:46 | 439 | 50 |
[WP] After death, you find out that you can choose how and when to be reincarnated. Initially eager to be a futuristic human, you soon realize that every (more experienced) soul ahead of you in line is choosing to be a "worm" in the year 121 million BCE. | "You hungry?" it asked.
I realized I wasn't. "No," I answered.
It nodded - that much I could glean, hazy outline that it was.
"Sit with the implications for a minute," it continued. "I could ask a bunch of similar questions, but, well. Yeah."
It gave me a few moments. I did my best. I wasn't hungry, or thirsty, or tired. I wasn't really anything, except aware, and thinking.
Since I could, I thought back to life's endless pangs and frustrations. I gave credit where it was due. I felt another nod from the figure in front of me. The line moved again.
"You get to choose every time," it said. "Worms can't choose. Couldn't tell you what happens to a worm that was never a thinker before. Different line, maybe. In here, we may not be human anymore, but we're something like it. We think. We have memories. We have values. We have preferences.
"Some of us have too many," it finished, and it sounded... heavy.
"I don't think I have any others," I said cautiously. Now I was waiting for the other shoe to drop - but I couldn't call it dread, or fear. Not really. Too much was missing. It was simply a new consideration.
The hazy figure in front of me didn't really whistle, but, well, I got the gist. That was how things worked here, for the most part: gists. I newly considered that I wasn't really seeing, or speaking, or even moving. There was purity in the ambiguity, though. Every gist seemed honest. Every symbol was truth. In fact, I considered that the haze wasn't ambiguous at all. Perhaps everything real was ambiguous. Perhaps the haze was the result of my own inability to square unvarnished truth with my memories of physical existence.
I waited to feel smart - at least for a brief moment - but it turned out that that was mostly physical too.
"Genuine virgin," the figure in front of me gisted. "Lucky you.
"Look," it continued, "I'm not telling you what to do, obviously, but, well... I dunno. Even in here, thinkers don't seem to do well with multiple lives. It confuses the sense of self. In case you haven't noticed, that's pretty much all that's left."
"You all seem to be on the same page now, though," I replied. In return, I got a gist of grudging respect.
"Turns out there's a global tilt towards risk aversion," it gisted. "We found something that works, more or less. We choose a worm, we live for a moment, we don't add any new damage - well, nothing we remember, anyway - we die, we come back here. So far as anybody can tell, this is it. It's either life, or it's this. And *this* is a whole lot simpler the fewer thinkers' lifetimes you have to juggle."
Were I still a creature of atoms and bonds, I am sure I would have felt all manner of messy, meaty things in response to the revelation: defiance, denial, despair, scorn or ridicule, contempt or pity, surely nothing remotely close to good. But I didn't feel any of those. I simply considered, and considered anew.
"What if-" I began.
"Guess," it gisted. "Just guess. You don't go back until you pick something valid. And hey, there's no rush anyway, right? And if you stumble upon something new, well, hey - feel free to share it with the rest of the line next time."
The line moved again, and again, never trying my patience because I possessed neither it nor its opposite. Gists of conversations came and went, tales of lives lived delivered with a studied detachment. For as long as the line moved, the central mystery remained: we felt no fear, and yet, the worm, over and over and over again. The worm.
I was convinced for a tiny eternity that I would stand before the grand machine and make my glorious stand upon a mountain of senseless lottery tickets, delivering each to be shredded as incoherent or invalid until finally one came through, delivering me to some alien experience that would represent the second point of a grand triangulation.
My moment came, and I chose the worm. Then I was back in line. | Wrong Lever
As I watched the others transcend to that primordial hell, I began to reconsider. What did they know that I didn't? As I took each small, eternal step towards the dock, I decided -jist this once - I would follow the crowd; after all, how long could a worms life be? When my time came I entered the transpiritual reactor and pulled the lever, engulfed in the fires of heaven.
The ether encompassed me, white (theres no word for its actual brilliance) with a series of varying stars changing locations as a countdown. Decompression from the corporeal. After an eternal instant I was transposed back to the waiting room. From everywhere a soothing voice announced "welcome to Receiving dock 5/j(8b¡^4)▪︎8, when ready please proceed to the rotunda"
I sat there shuddering, shivering, holding myself. I was astounded no human had found a trace of it in the fossil record. The sheer madness of those monstrosities. The things that threatened them. Those eyes. Those endless mouths!
No one had told me beforehand that we were going into battle.
No one told me how truly depraved Enkidu (no... Sakloss. No.... Jeh.... the thought evaporated) could truly be. The humans had such limited comprehension, such a narrow understanding of their potential unrealization. Of who their true allies were.
"Projection". Thats the word one of the humans had used. The bad ones rely on projection.
The memories played through: the aggregate titans. The tactical strategies. The battles. Then then cold, the COLD! Of space itself swallowing the sun. Then the memory of warmth, of light... where was I? A petri dish! Thats right... pulled from a core sample. I made headlines, I think. Before some buffoon melted me in acid. Oh those poor fools, I hope they didn't dig too far.
I was still sorting through the thoughts and timelines, reconciling millions of years, when I felt a presence by my side. I looked at them, and they at me. They could see from the look in my Eye that something was terribly wrong.
"Oh," they sighed "you... you went THERE?" They embraced me and it was warm, engulfing, and my fear and terror, those remnants of biology, drifted away. Looking at me again they said "im sorry child. We try to ensure that level 4 and above only go there, for reasons you no doubt now understand . Sometimes though, a brave soul falls through the cracks."
They took my hand and led me back to a reactor. "What you need is a long rest. No activity, no excitement. Hrm..." they cycled through options, before showing me one they thought was best "Here! Perfect. Standard stellar cycle with 4 BARREN worlds (you've seen your share of carnage after all!)," They giggled darkly "with a termination by a passing Stage 6 singularity. Yes, just the rest you need. And try to remember to accrete plenty of H2O! Now, make your preparations and we will send you off."
I did as told, smiling and thanking them. They caressed me gently, "my pleasure. Sweet Dreams, love". They pulled the lever, and the fires of heaven took me. | 2021-02-06T02:14:24 | 2021-02-06T01:45:16 | 890 | 80 |
[WP] It worked! You travelled back in time to Renaissance Age. Jokingly, you turn on your Wi-Fi, only to find a password protected network named "iɔniV ɒᗡ" | I walk around with my phone out trying to find the source. The people in the streets are visibly uncomfortable and I hear them mumble about "Black magic". Finally I have a full signal and I look up from my phone. Before me stands a larger building than most.
I knock on the and at first, nothing. I knock again and I hear someone fumbling around inside. The door opens and a bearded man in a beret appears. "Come in, he says invitingly once he sees my phone. His workshop is a mess with wood and canvas scattered all about. "Are you Da Vinci?" I ask.
"Indeed I am, and you must be from the future." Da Vinci replies.
"Do you know what a Wi-Fi signal is?" I ask curiously.
"Of course, my router is just over there." Leonardo replies, motioning his hand toward a little white box that seems to be powered by rats in a hamster wheel.
"Why do you have a router?"
"Because I get bored sometimes."
I take out my phone and try to open up 4Chan and it loads perfectly, however, there's only one post on /b/ and the post number is "1". The thread features a picture of the Mona Lisa and the text off to the side reads: "GF r8 thread." I write a reply "OP: oh-pee: See: F***ot" I laugh a little and look up. Da vinci is gone. Looking back I my phone screen I see a reply: "Top kek" | I traveled back in time
I don't know how to rhyme
My phone doth on me
Hmmm now let us see
Is there any Wi-Fi?
How silly...Oh My
Who is this Da Vinci Fellow?
I hope his temperament be mellow
Let us go and explore
This genius I will implore
How is it that he created
A way for us to Reddit Bejaded
| 2016-11-15T06:16:54 | 2016-11-15T01:57:04 | 92 | 66 |
[WP] You are a Genie. The last time someone let you out of your lamp was over 100 years ago. But today is a new day, and somebody finally rubbed the lamp! However, this man seems to be a member of a terrorist group called ISIS, so you get creative with how you grant his wishes. | "You have rubbed my lamp and now I will grant you three wishes. Choose wisely and be .. a .... happy... " The standard words rolling out of my mouth faltered as i looked around. A single light bulb hanging from the ceiling threw a dingy glow on a dingy space. Pieces of shiny metal and dynamite littered every horizontal surface in the room.
While in my lamp I've always stayed fresh with the times so i was pretty sure these were "electronics" and this was not a computer shop...
Stains that were possibly decades old decorated the walls. The human before me had a maniacal gleam in his eyes as he pointedly held my lamp a few inches from my face. "First, I wish for the American capital to be bombed at noon tomorrow."
Technically, I'm not allowed to outright kill people. I could tell him this and let make him a different first wish... But, this guy seemed more than a little off, and centuries of experience tells me it's better to fulfill these kinds of wishes in, um, creative ways and move on.
"Okay, it will be done." I think I have an idea I can work with... "You have two more wishes."
He grinned and said "Second, I want my fellow ISIS members to be given credit for this great thing.
My brain raced as I thought through my options. I nod. "It will be done. You have one more wish."
"For my last wish, I wish for the rest of the world to agree that now the world is a better place because of the bombing."
I frown for a moment and then smile. "Sure, no problem. It will be done." I blink and immediately escape back into my lamp to wait until tomorrow to complete his wishes.
Perfectly at noon I work my magic.
The next day Reddit blows up with the following news: "School children at the White House taking photos with Trump at lunch all had their pics photobombed by Arab men that seemed to appear out of thin air. But it turned out to be great news as the men were discovered to be the leaders for ISIS and were promptly taken into custody. The world can now breathe a sign of relief." | "You have to say the magic words..." The Genie was bound to correct.
"Okay, okay I wish for: Death to all infidels!" Akmed produced proudly.
"As you wish," said the Genie, conjuring a sign.
> Fidels population: 1
The 1 ticked over.
>Fidels population: 0
"There's no one left in Fidels."
"That's not what I meant!"
The genie shrugged, "That's what you asked for kid. Frank was the last guy in Fidel's. He was thinking about adopting a dog, before you murdered him."
"I wish I could try again." Akmed cursed under his breath.
And with a puff of purple smoke, a plate of a a rare African delicacy appeared.
"Vhat is this!" Akmed spat incredulously.
"This is Again.. it's hippopotamus testicles, the delicacy you wished for?"
"I didn't wish for this!"
"Yes you did. You wished to try it." As the taste of Again hit Akmeds tongue.
"Last wish."
| 2017-04-19T18:30:43 | 2017-04-19T17:33:32 | 52 | 34 |
[WP] "I'll cut you a deal," said the villain to the hero. "You walk away from this and I will too. Let's see what these idiots do on their own." | “Good morning.” The Villain said, “It’s a lovely morning, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it sure is.” I replied.
We hovered in the air alone. The people running beneath looked like scuttling ants, too busy to care about what happens in the sky. They were what drew me to the town. Everyone here just had that tough, weather-worn look to their faces, a look of tenacity that made the young seem old and the old seem young. They welcomed me – I was their knight in shining armour, the chosen one destined to defeat the Villain and bring justice. But did I? As I fought on, I only became more familiar with souls slipping out of my hands. Not even the strongest hands can seal a bullet wound.
“What do you want?” I finally asked.
“I want,” The Villain spoke, “to talk.”
The Villain’s cape flapped. We had the same powers, and our costumes played off each other, his black and purple to my red and gold. We wore matching capes, boots, masks. The Villain adjusted his stance and spoke.
“Why do we wear masks?” He said. “Everyone has heard about the office worker that single-handedly stopped a bank robbery, and everyone knows that Jonathan Smith, the godfather of the underworld, is the same person that puts on a costume and flies around everywhere. So why do we need to wear masks?”
I remembered the first day I showed in a costume, how no one ran away, how they all stood their ground and watched and cheered. “It gives them hope.” I said. “It makes them feel safer, more protected.”
“Yes.” The Villain said, nodding his head like one of the wise characters in children’s shows. He had obviously practiced the speech, and he enjoyed the feeling of superiority, not knowing he looked like a fool.
“They project images of themselves onto us.” He said, “That’s why we wear these silly costumes. That’s why a small town of no more than five thousand would build a skyscraper for their beloved hero, when everyone else lived in little flats. Do you really think all the crime in this town is caused by one man? Do you think Jonathan Smith would be where he is today without the gangsters, the addicts, the hitmen who would do anything for a beer?”
Underneath, people had stopped moving. Some were pointing at the sky with their phones. With my enhanced senses, I saw a woman tugging a child by the arm and nursing a baby with her other. The baby fit perfectly into the nook of her elbow as she attempted to comfort the other child. She had the same weary look as the others, a head of coarse sandy hair that ran unruly down her back. There was a businessman talking on his phone as he slowed down his walking speed. He looked up at us, unfazed.
“Look at them!” The Villain said. “They’ve become complacent. They trust you so much that they can point their phones at us and upload a video to the internet. Do they understand that I can swoop down anytime and kill them all in seconds?”
“No!” I said.
“Not like I’m going to,” the Villain continued nonchalantly, “I’ve had enough of fighting to know it’s going to end up the same way. You’ll fight me and I won’t want to fight so I’ll retreat back to my base and you don’t want to fight me at my base because you don’t want to face all my men at once. And the cycle continues. You know what, I’ll cut you a deal. You walk away from this, and I will too. Let’s see what these idiots do on their own. You put that costume back into the closet, and I’ll step down and let my second-in-command lead the mafia. We’ll see how this town you love so dearly fares.”
I looked down. The sandy-haired woman was taking her kids to here shelter. The businessman had hung up his call and now stood his ground, his hand on his gun. I remembered my first day in costume, how everyone stood their ground and cheered me on. How the weathered look on their faces somehow united together.
The Villain was right. We are projections of the people themselves. They project their worst and best onto us. I looked over the horizon and cast my gaze on the Tower of Hope, the tallest building in this small town. What are the people going to do when the eye in the sky is no longer watching over them? They’re going to become their own heroes, like the way they were but with something more, because they’ve seen what a hero can do.
“Sure.” I said. “I’ll take the deal. Sometimes, I feel like you underestimate the good in people.”
r/ProjectSlate | "Think about it Batty!" Joker said with a grin. "We've been serving this city for way too long. Me, terrorizing every corner of the city. And you, running around in your little cape trying to save every god damn moron"
"THEY ARE NOT MORONS!" Batman yelled.
"You are just as much a moron if you believe that Batty" Joker smiled. Or... at least it looks like he did.
"What's your game here? What are you planning this time?" Batman asked.
"Nothing. Take it easy okay? Geez, I bomb a hospital once and people think I have some kind of evil plan 24/7"
"Well, excuse me for not being totally convinced" Batman said as he put the baterangs back into his cape.
"I'm sick of it Batty. Don't get me wrong. I can fight you all day long. You are the pretty much the only reason why I didn't leave this city in the first place. But every time I try to inspire these brainwashed consumerism slaves, I fail. And Batty, I'm sick of failing. I know you don't like it when I kill bunch of people but look at where everybody is now. I bet most of them are in a mall, or a restaurant, or with a doctor, hoping to get high tonight. Society is dead. Civilization is ruined. We failed to inspire these people Batty" Joker sat down on a nearby curve and let out a sigh. Batman has never seen joker look so defeated.
"I don't know about you, but I'm doing my part to help the city. To inspire people. To motivate people to be better. Without your distraction, this city will rise again" Batman responded with confidence. But something tells me that he is faking those confidence.
"You gotta be kidding me. 'Inspire' you said? You are the real poison in the city, you know that? You are the reason why these people are not moving forward. You are making them lazier, fatter, and stupider. And 'inspire' you said? How dare you? Shame on you!" Joker seemed to have gained his energy back. Batman sat down next to Joker in silence.
"I... I don't know man... People look up to me you know? I feel... respected. Maybe it's because I didn't have parents when I grew up so I'm always trying to earn other's approval, but...it felt good to help out"
"Oh come on Batty! The last time bat signal came on was to rescue a kitten from a tree. That's not a respect. I know you are my enemy and all but honestly, you deserve more respect than that from these idiots."
"Maybe you are right... I smiled in the photo after rescuing the kitten but it was degrading. Don't make fun of me for saying this but... I was kinda hoping you would start something up again..."
"I will tell you what Batty, You and I, we retire today, right now. You take your girl to that fancy island you own. I'm gonna find myself a nice place to settle down too. I can't wait to get out of this city"
"What the hell, let's do it! Maybe it's time to let the next generation try. Well... it's been a pleasure working against you joker. Maybe next time we meet in this city, the city won't be dull anymore. Cheers mate!" Batman got on his batmobile and lowered the window. Joker waved his hand and smiled until batmobile disappeared from his sight.
Was Joker sincere? Or was he planning something malicious?
I don't know. I can never tell what's behind that smile of his. | 2018-06-20T23:52:05 | 2018-06-20T23:06:54 | 107 | 63 |
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