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[WP] Nonfiction - Tell Us About Your First kiss.
Or, if you must, tell us about *a* first kiss. Either way, it has to have actually happened.
Edit: You guys are wonderful, keep 'em coming! | I was twenty-one when I gave my first kiss to the guy who would later take my virginity. We met through a mutual friend and sent each other shy glances out of the corners of our eyes for about a month before he requested to be my friend on Facebook. He and I chatted online for a few days before he invited me over to his place to watch movies. I brought cookies.
On our first date, we sat a foot apart for the duration of four films. At one point during the date, he paused the movie and went to the bathroom. A little while later, I smiled when he had to awkwardly fetch the plunger from the laundry room where he kept it. I only teased him a little; it put me at ease to see he was human, too.
The night after our first date, we chatted online, and he admitted that he had wanted to put his arm around me the previous night. I told him he should have.
On date two, we baked more cookies and watched three new movies. He put his arm around my shoulder, and the following night, through AIM, he told me that he had wanted to kiss me the night before. I told him he should have.
On our third date, we knew what was going to happen. The pattern had been established, so in between movies, when he turned to me and searched my face for my answer, I shyly looked away, embarrassed that I was twenty-one and had never been kissed.
“Can I kiss you?” he asked, and I covered my blushing face.
“Yes. I’m just nervous I won’t do it right. Give me a second.”
He smiled, and I gathered my courage. I pulled away from the kiss giggling. We tried it a second time, and I bumped my teeth with his. | I met the girl in band. It was in seventh grade, she was in eighth. She was one of my best friends and I liked her the whole time. But, I was too afraid to make a move. She went to high school, and I went to eighth. That year passed and I gained a lot of courage. We became best friends. I was a generally annoying guy. So one day I annoyed the hell out of her. Typical freshman stuff right? She said she'd do anything to get me to stop. I told her I'd think about it. Two weeks later we were at a dance. I told her I has my answer. She smiled and asked what it was. I told her and bam. That was the exact answer she had been looking for. | 2014-04-01T06:54:39 | 2014-04-01T05:56:59 | 42 | 13 |
[WP] Every doomsday scenario and apocalypse event occur on the same day. The computers gain malevolent sentience, zombies rise from the graves, aliens come down to wage war... Humans end up sitting back and watching these things destroy one other, completely ignored | "No no *NO*!" roared Barry Squidmore, pulling the foil-wrapped burrito out of the cashier's hands and slapping it on the counter. "Look at this! *Look at it*!"
The cashier - a girl, probably no more than 16, with straight black hair and aggressively boxy bangs - gently shoved the lumbering, mumbling corpse aside.
"What?" she said as the undead gentleman in a crooked blazer bounced off the grill, ricocheting off towards the breakroom.
Barry peeled the burrito open slowly, like a ripe baby diaper stuffed with diamonds, mindfully shifting his feet to allow the trickling river of lava to pass by. "$2 for guac? Do you *see* how much guacamole they put in here? A thimbleful! How's that two dollar's worth of guac!?"
The building shook as yet another meteor smashed into the street outside. The cashier wiped drywall particles out of her eyes. "*Thimbleful*?" she muttered, deftly sidestepping the cash register as it leapt off the counter, money drawer snapping hungrily.
"And look at this steak!" whined Barry, pulling the collar of his shirt up over his mouth to diffuse the aroma of inorganic liquefaction as a Caldorrian Death Barge ground its way down Smith Street, turning assorted buildings, automobiles, and loitering demons into brown puddles of goo. "There's like *five* pieces of steak in this thing! I'm not paying $8 for a tortilla-wrapped wad of rice and beans!"
The cashier sighed. "So you *don't* want the burrito?" she said, glancing down at the floor where the cash register and the vacuum cleaner were engaged in a violent knife fight.
"I didn't say that," said Barry, gripping the counter as the unisex bathroom collapsed into itself, forming a dark portal to Hell, sucking plastic chairs and loose napkins into its gaping maw. "I just don't think that's a fair price."
"You're negotiating the price of your burrito?" shouted the cashier over the sound of the tables and freestanding appliances being dragging down into the black nothingness. "No one does that."
"Four dollars," yelled Barry, his feet lifting up off the ground.
"Are you serious?" said the cashier, her voice nearly lost in the maelstrom.
"Five dollars," howled Barry, his fingers losing their grip. A trio of Caldorrian archanoids burst through the front door, fluttering like drowning butterflies as their exoskeletons were torn apart by the growing blackness.
"YOU... HAVE... TO... TALK.. TO... MY... MANAGER," said the cashier, fully horizontal, clutching desperately to the sneeze guard.
The vast majority of Barry's clothing had been ripped from his body. His feet were disintegrating as the black void came closer and closer. "GOOD." His voice was all but lost in the chaos. 'LET'S... GET... HIM... OUT..."
And then the burrito was pulled into the void. Barry and the cashier looked at one another, each evaporating at their own pace.
"I'M NOT PAYING FOR THAT."
Then all was darkness. | It's been 12 hours since everything went to hell in a handbasket. Everyone has fled to their homes and the streets are empty.
Well, not quiet.
"Bloody 'ell..." An Australian voice mutters, as the man known only as 'sniper' flicks his eyes from the blue and Silver robots they were sent in to fight to the giant grey Dragon partly encrusted in ice before them.
"I know right!" The young girl beside him said, her...Red pig thing snorting in agreement.
*Elsewhere...*
Two men looked out over a city, where a horde of Aliens was fighting another horde of black clad figures, their forms human but twisted out of proportion.
"It looks like we are not needed." One of the men, a tattooed archer with a clear Japanese accent stated. His companion, a man clad in black and orange armour silently nodded as he dropped his now useless crowbar.
All around The World, it was happening. Heros and saviours summoned by fate or destiny running to the rescue only to find their worst and vilest enemies fighting claw and tooth with others just like them. What was once hailed as the great end of all things slowly petered out to a disappointing end as one by one, the hordes of Aliens and robots and corrupt secret organisations fell not to their designated heros, but to other beasts and monsters just like themselves. A Green clad hero watched helplessly as the mask clad maniac he was meant to be fighting fell helplessly to the blades of a assassin in red and black, a dragon meant to end the world and killable by only one with a dragon soul found his life and soul killed instead by the guns of a team of terrorists and a mad mare Bent on beginning an eternal night found herself up against an army of German spewing soliders armed with strange guns.
Slowly, the fighting grew to a close and an uneasy peace as the remaining disasters were averted or diplomatically settled by others as heros were sent back to where they Came from – beneath mountains, back into a cryogenic sleep or simply disappeared into the wind as mysteriously as they appeared.
And that's how the seven Day war ended, not with heros but by the aggressors. | 2016-10-20T07:24:48 | 2016-10-20T06:02:42 | 32 | 24 |
[WP] You live in a world where people explode into colorful powders when they die. No warning, no body left, just a poof of confetti-like substance. Urns look like sand art. You're a surgeon; a patient just died on your operating table. | The silence filled the room as I felt the bottom of my gut fall out.
I stared at my hands, now covered in manfetti, squinting as the operating lights caught the larger pieces.
This was supposed to be a simple procedure. I had done this hundreds of times before. I had gone over my strategy last night for hours in preparation. I knew the patient's case file forwards and backwards.
I looked up at my assisting who stood with his mouth agape. I quickly broke eye contact as I felt the tips of my ears burn with shame.
I was done. My entire career was done. The lonely decade of my life: college, medical school, and residency, all for naught. I had hoped to make head surgeon someday. The loans from the wedding, the mortgage on the house, we had just financed a new mini-van. I thought of my wife and my daughters living on the street and felt a stinging in the corners of my eyes as the tears began to well.
What had gone wrong? I retraced the last two minutes in my head. I had asked Nurse Kim for a size 10 scalpel and made my initial incision. I looked down at the tiled floor and saw the gleaming metal instrument, still lying where I had let it fall from my hand. It was a size 22.
I had nicked the artery because I had thought my scalpel blade was smaller.
I slowly look up at Nurse Kim. "Nurse... what size scalpel did I ask for?"
She's staring at her feet, shaking her head. She then shuffles towards the manfetti on the table and scoops up a pile in both hands.
She turns to face me.
And then blows the entire pile in my face.
"HAPPY BIRTHDAY!" The entire room erupts. All the lights come on. I can see my family and friends behind the observation glass.
A group of my co-workers back through the swinging doors with a candle-lit cake.
"Oh Nurse Kim, you bitch." Sorry Mr. Morris, you had come in today to have your lymph nodes removed but hadn't counted on it being my birthday.
| "God I hate when that happens." The surgeon tossed the scissors into the antiseptic jar.
The operating room staff were coughing up a storm, despite their surgical masks.
"Weren't his vitals stable?" someone on the team asked.
"Well, blood pressure was a little low, but nothing out of the ordinary," a nurse replied.
"Geez, this exploding into powder when you die stuff really gets on my nerves. Imagine if we could take organs from people who recently died and reuse them with living patients, transplanting them. Instead, everyone just goes poof, and they're gone."
"Doctor, when you were doing the bypass, did your scalpel slip?"
"No."
"But I thought I saw-"
"Look, it doesn't matter. It's not like we can do an autopsy on a human body like we can on an animal. Examine this red and blue dust, and tell me what happened. Someone get the vacuum cleaner, I'm going to take a shower. I have Mr. Hopkins all over me and I need to wash him off." | 2015-01-23T07:27:58 | 2015-01-23T07:25:45 | 50 | 13 |
[WP] At first, the aliens mocked our technological advancements. After learning it took only a few centuries to move from horse carriages to space ships, they suddenly became more friendly. |
Watchers log.
Date: Solar year 1, initial insertion.
After 350 years of travel, the probe has finally completed deceleration and insertion into earths orbit. Delay in communication is approx 23 years. Its amazing to think that if launched today, we could have achieved the journey in only 350 years. The planet has a ferromagnetic core protecting against its star’s radiation. It is also denser than expected, with surface level gravity twice as potent as our own. Initial observations indicate that the prominent lifeform has mastered sail and live in large settlements. Their society seems very primitive and warlike. We have observed many naval encounters that use crude cannons utilizing chemical propellant. The council has decreed that plans for extermination and colonization be drawn up.
Date: Solar year 53.
The inhabitants of the world show little care and concern for their planet, or themselves. They live in squalid cities, powered by coal and hardship. Every day, we can see the clouds of smoke and pollution above them grow thicker. They must surely be choking to death. The colonization vessel has its acceleration towards the planet, heaven forbid that the humans do not ruin it first! They still use beasts for travel and are truly unfit to rule over a planet of such mineral wealth.
Date: Solar year 70.
It is truly amazing how barbaric and adapted to work these inhabitants are. Their slavemasters force the lower class to work, building giant networks that we assume to be utilized for transport and travel by primitive steam powered locomotives. They must be guided by a prophetic visionary, the like of which we have not seen for 1000’s of their solar years.
Date: Solar year 100.
Today, the inhabitants achieved an amazing feat. For some time, we have observed them building higher and higher structures. We have been impressed by their engineering prowess and building capabilities, especially considering their world’s dense gravity. The purpose of their tallest structures was today revealed. We detected electromagnetic broadcasts of radio waves coming from great towers located within their cities. We have begun to relay this information back to our scientists to decipher their language for the first time.
Date: Solar year 118.
The inhabitants call themselves humans and their has come to light. They have been fighting a great war for 4 solar years. It seems that crude cannons have been replaced by giant artillery pieces. We have observed their warships grow larger and larger, from the eloquent and ornate wooden vessels of 100 years ago to giant steel behemoths that crash through the stormy seas. As time has progressed, so have the frequency of their radio transmissions. It appears that the crazed babblings of our old science and language team were correct, may their souls rest in peace. There is not single great leader or great visionary. There are hundreds, if not thousands. Every day, we hear of new breakthroughs. Their rate of technological enhancement is incredible, even by our own standards. We predict that they will uncover atomic energy in under 150 solar years. If they do, then allfather help themselves.
Date: Solar year 128.
Ever since the great war ended, we have seen an explosion of technology unlike even our own development. Today, we detected what can only be described as an analogue visual signal. The humans have discovered how to transmit a moving image of themselves and display it many 1000s of miles away. Our scientists have only yesterday discovered how to decode this image. For the first time, we have seen a human. It is easy to see why they are so proficient with technology. Living on a world with high gravity, we predict their movements to be incredibly resilient and strong for their size. Our calculations imply that they should be able to easily lift their own body weight, plus much more. They have strong, long appendages arms they call arms with nimble hands and multiple digits on the end of them. They have extremely precise control of these and can adapt to use any tool with utmost precision. Their heads are large, and contain many sensory organs, giving them an unparalleled amount of information to process. No wonder they are so adept at war. They can observe on objects miles away, or right in front of their eyes. Their most incredible sense however is their perception of pressure waves. They use these to communicate and can even detect the ripples of a pin dropping on a hard floor. They incredible.
Date: Solar year 145.
Another great war has just concluded. They have mastered atomic weapons. They have built primitive rockets to deliver devastating payloads to distant countries. They have mechanized in a way we thought impossible for their technology and committed atrocities like our ancient enemies. It also appears that the humans have learned the basics of computing. They send encrypted messages over radio that, despite being primitive in nature, are seemingly uncrackable. Our scientists are looking for weaknesses in their methods and will hopefully discover one soon enough. We have sent a message to the colony ship to not engage under any circumstances, for fear of nuclear retaliation. We calculate that by the time the message reaches the colony ship, they will be starting their long deceleration. Hopefully, the nuclear impulses from their engine will not interfere too much with the signal. We will hear back in around 20 years.
Date: Solar year 157.
Today, they successfully launched a probe into space. We are boosting our probe to a higher orbit to avoid detection.
​
Continued in comments | It had been six months since the R'kari had come to Earth and the sight of them never ceased to amaze Dr. Chatterjee. Her inner biologist was constantly studying them. They were tall, thin, and bipedal. Their planet's gravity was less than Earth which is why they met on the R'kari mother ship. Their heads had two central eye spots and two lateral ones. Their skin varied from deep red to light pink and light green and blue. Their patterned spots had contrasting colors. Their clothing usually reflected skin colors, perhaps a racial or social system.
The room had a gorgeous view of the Earth at night. The six floated in zero g around a central ring which functioned as a hand hold. Three humans and three R'kari. Dr. Chatterjee, Dr. Johansson, and Dr. Vega, represented the fields of biology, physics, and chemistry respectively.
The R'kari communicated in a range outside of human hearing, but the translator work near to flawlessly. For simplicity, the R'kari introduced themselves as Dima, Neville, and Li. Dima had dark red skin with light blue spots, Neville had light blue skin with dark blue spots, and Li had light red skin with dark red spots. It was unknown whether they represented different genders, races, factions, species, or class.
Dima began, "Thank you for coming. As you know our negotiations with human leadership has been....problematic. We now want to negotiate with the scientific community directly. We want to propose an exchange of technology."
Dr. Johansson perked up, "Will you give us space travel?"
Li answered, "Space travel is a bit of a misnomer as we travel through two dimensional planes to move between stars. No, we believe that technology would be dangerous for most human factions...for now"
Neville clarified, "Humans can develop technology at an alarming rate, however you are constantly hindered by inept leadership, misappropriation of resources, and religious superstitions. We want to offer you a place where we can work along side humans free from these restrictions."
Dr. Vega asked, "And where will we find this scientific utopia?"
"Mars," replied Dima. "The gravity is agreeable to both our species. We can supply you with all the resources you need from R'kari Prime."
*This is too good to be true. What's the catch?*
Dr. Chatterjee voiced her concerns, "The Earth governments won't agree to this. They'll want the technology for themselves."
Li clarified, "Correct, but we planned for such a response. What are they going to do? They can barely leave their own gravity well. As a species we have no taste for war, but can defend ourselves. Our projections indicate an inevitable secession between Earth and Mars and most likely a war. Mars would have R'kari technology and Earth would lose, if not be conquered."
Dr. Johansson was skeptical, "You are planting the seeds of insurgency against our own species?"
Neville calmed him, "These are just projections at the moment. It is possible Martian ideals spread to Earth peacefully. In the end we want the best for both our species."
Dr. Chatterjee replied, "You've given us a lot to think a bout."
*Understatement*
"Could we have a moment to discuss this alone?"
Li waved a hand and an adjacent door opened. The humans floated into the other room and left the R'kari to confer.
Neville said what they all wondered, "Do you think they'll do it?"
Li answered, "They would be fools not to. We need them more than they know. The war with the Kahan Imperium is not going well. We need new weapons and fast."
Dima said, "They put on a nice peaceful front, but at their core this species is a war like one. They will fight to protect their scientific utopia if threatened by the Kahan."
The adjacent door opened again and the humans floated back in with their answer.
[u/Domestic_Adonis](https://old.reddit.com/user/Domestic_Adonis/) | 2020-07-07T07:56:14 | 2020-07-07T07:52:02 | 204 | 94 |
[WP] As magic returns to the world, purchasable drinks actually start having magical effects. Energy colas actually imbue you with energy. Diet drinks actually cause noticeable weight loss. Vitamin drinks heal injuries and disease, and so on. | Dr. Johnson always kept his things in a safe. He had a specific corner in the hospital where it would hide, and only he knew what was inside of it. No matter who the patient was, he insisted to look inside before every operation, and some got suspicious.
The patient Dr. Johnson was helping the day before he was fired was affected by a red bull overdose. After his usual digging through the safe, he had come to inspect the damage. He walked into the room to see huge wings sprawled across the room attached to the poor, unconscious idiot who thought chugging red bull was a good idea.
The nurse was new, and was caught off guard when told to bring the spice cart. Dr. Johnson was strange with his cures, but they always worked. 2 Hours later, the proud Doctor walked out with the wingless patient stumbling next to him, smelling of cumin and cinnamon. The nurse watched them exit, suspicious of how Dr. Johnson could've done it. She had her ideas.
The next day, the nurse had a plan. She quietly stood behind Dr. Johnson while he was unlocking the safe, and remembered the combination. When the surgery was over, Dr. Johnson was chatting with the victim of a monster attack that he just healed, so the nurse decided to sneak out. She opened the safe to find bottles of Dr. Pepper! This could get Dr Johnson fired. "Don't do it!" Cried a voice from the other side of the room. It was Dr. Johnson. "I need the money! I have a family! I'm forced to support my wife's coke addiction!"
| My thirst was palpable. I sat under a shaded spot by the lake, hiding from the hot sun. Swiftly, I chugged the drink, no matter the consequences.
Soon, my already calloused skin got tougher, harder, more jagged. My neck stretched out by 10 feet and my body got bigger. As my arms molded into paddles, I lurched my way to the water, because the shade wasn't enough.
I thought to myself, "I should have known better than to buy a Monster energy drink for only tree fiddy." | 2016-09-10T22:16:47 | 2016-09-10T21:13:06 | 104 | 26 |
[WP] After the gate of hell is broken, demons flood the Earth, they soon come to regret this when they realize that humans, on average, are worse than they are. | "...But, right, listen! And then he just...he just, looked at me!"
"He looked at you?"
"Just...right...right at me. And he didn't stop!"
"You are here because the human looked at you? I have that correct? Did it have...burning ember eyes, or perhaps some kind of laser-vision? A medusa infliction?"
"No!"
T'rohollor closed the huge, leather-bound book in front of him with a slam. Dust fled from the pages and went swirling into the grimy air. He peered down at the small demon in front of him.
"This is the third report that I've had just this morning that demons are refusing to cooperate with our takeover of Earth. The! Third!"
He punctuated his final words with a two heavy slaps on the book. The demon in front of him winced.
"And you, Nilhu, are an *experienced* demon. I've seen your work, Nilhu. I've seen *you*. No. This is the last straw. I'm going up there myself."
**
Somewhere just before Milton Keynes, the uneven surface of the M1 cracked open with the fiery force of hell. T'rohollor heaved his massive, glistening form out of the split road, his skin crackling and hissing in the fine misty rain. He rolled his great shoulders, shook the coils of smoke from his mighty horns, threw back his head, and -
*BEEP*
He looked down. A skinny man in a battered Ford Fiesta sat in front of him, his engine humming. He beeped again.
For the first time in his existence, T'rohollor wasn't sure what to do. Almost as if he sensed this uncertainty, the skinny man quickly reversed his car then, with a sharp tug on the steering wheel, squealed past the demon standing in the middle of the motorway.
As he whizzed past, he stuck his head out of the window.
"Move out of the road you fuckin' red *wanker!*"
*Ah*, thought T'rohollor.
*This may be harder than I thought.* | The first wave pour into cities striding with wraith to find them empty and abandoned. A bright flash is the last thought that crosses millions of demon minds. The others scurry from the pluming cloud and shockwave. Soon their lungs burn like wax strips over a flame. Many drowning in their emulsified innnards. Hundreds flee back to the rift for refuge they get back inside to find themselves bleeding from every orifice. Collapsing, their pestilence spreads exponentially. By the end of one earth week half of the population is infected but unable to die. They languish cursing the humans for calculated cruelty and becoming delirious with infection. They're bodies coat the country side like snow. Trucks and men in white suits begin hauling them onto a barge. A few squirming imps are tossed onto the pile as the barge sails into the sea. Another flash and there is no trace of their atomic structure left. The city is abandoned and the people who live d there are given another plot to rebuild with international aid. 10 years later a man drinks a glass of ice cold lemonade on his porch as his kids kick around a ball in the shape of a demon skull. | 2017-03-22T11:31:14 | 2017-03-22T03:08:39 | 31 | 16 |
[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. | "Will Alice Smith please come to the stand?" I glanced up as the girl in front of me in line stepped forward. She was chained up six ways to Sunday. It was obvious why. A massacre like the one she single-handedly caused would definitely get you locked down tight. "On the charge of 37 counts of murder in the first degree, the court has found you guilty. Please, share with us any final words and choose how you'd like to die-"
I stood silently staring at the ground as Alice giggled. "My last words? Simple. Screw you! I choose old age!" She laughed, but it wasn't a normal laugh. It was the type of laugh you only hear from someone that had long tipped over the edge of true insanity. The judge kept his composure yet again as he raised his gavel. He brought the gavel down with a bone-chilling crack. The woman paled as her cockiness quickly replaced itself with true fear. "Wait! No!" She fell to the ground as her hair turned a morbid grey, her skin wrinkling as the color faded from her eyes. "This isn't-" she paused for a moment, coughing violently as her lungs threatened to give out. "-what I had in mind." She fell completely to the floor, turning to dust, only leaving a pile of clothes where a person once stood.
I felt my stomach churn. I quickly realized old age was off the table. "Lucas Hollins. Please step forward." I stepped silently forward. "It says here you were caught committing adultery with his majesty's bride-to-be and shortly thereafter, you attempted to murder his majesty. Therefore, on the charge of adultery and attempted murder, the court found you guilty. Please, share with us any final words you have and tell how you wish to be executed."
I looked up at the judge, pure hate in my eyes. "I say this whole system is bullshit. Rigged against anyone his majesty deems unworthy, but I don't just mean the judicial system. Our entire society is rigged based on favoritism. I say to hell with it. This wouldn't have happened in the first place if that stuck-up brat of a king hadn't ordered that my love marry him simply for her beauty. I hate him and I hate anyone who admires him. So you know what? I choose to die the only way I know you can't kill me."
The judge simply scoffed at my response. "Is that so? What way is that?"
I simply smiled. "By the hands of my own child."
The judge nodded. "Very well-" I watched him raise the gavel before speaking again, stopping him.
"But you see, your honor. I can't die by the hands of someone who doesn't exist-"
(I may have gotten a bit lost in the details so it's probably longer than it should be, but yeah. I don't really like the end, but I couldn't think of anything else) | There was a small group of us, huddled in the back. We had long ago stopped carrying why we were being sentenced to death. They seemed to be processing us in batches. The men who rebelled against former Chancellor Armenta were being cleared out before us.
We had been watching in dismay as the deaths were carried out. Each one giving us new ideas, or at the least, methods to avoid. There was only so many they could process at a time and someone had pointed out that certain ones seemed more magically draining on the system.
It seemed to be proven true as they looked particularly wiped after that death. It was still mid morning, and I turned and looked at the rest of the women I was with, nodded once, took a deep breath, and then volunteered to go first. Some of those women seemed nice, none seemed to be deserving of death by any of my measures, so I decided to buy them time, if I could.
It sounds noble, but I don't have a great life. I approached the stand, and looked up at the new high Chancellor. All the judges and executioners wore odd robes and masks. There was no continuity in style. The man I was looking at was wearing robes of red and white and an elaborate dragon mask.
"I choose the following death," I said smiling, "I will die giving birth to your twin heirs. Who will be so distraught at their mother's death that they'll avenge me and destroy you."
A quiet hush went, and then a soft pop. The magic began moving through my body. I felt the most intense cramping, a shudder and stifled moan passed through the chancellor's body. After a brief moment, I began to expand rapidly. The pain, discomfort and nausea overwhelmed me. It was a horrible way to die, but I felt vindicated when the birth of the first child was announced, a girl...the second is coming. | 2021-06-24T10:15:26 | 2021-06-24T09:16:51 | 120 | 25 |
[WP] New arrivals in eternal Hell may choose either of the following: a small wooden spoon, or a 100-trillion year vacation in Heaven. | "Spoon."
"But.. but why??"
He was perplexed. And rightly so. I mean, a person choosing a small and insignificant wooden spoon over a trillion year long vacation at the heavens was indeed perplexing. But this was not the point.
Over the course of his service, which had lasted for who knows how long, he had indeed seen one or two take up the spoon. But they had deliberated. Over weeks, months even! Thinking and thinking, over the purpose of this seemingly absurd choice. They had asked hundreds.. no thousands of questions to him.
"Is it some sort of trick?" (No.)
"Is this spoon special?" (No. It's just a wooden spoon)
"Are you really sending us to heaven?" (Yes.)
"Is the trillion year on heaven different from earth?" (No.)
On and on they asked. There had to be some catch, they had argued. Why else would hell, of all places, even pose this ridiculous question??
They were so convinced that there was something special about the spoon, in spite of being unable to prove thusly, that they had ended up choosing the spoon. Of course there was nothing special about it at all which they found out later, much to their regret. But at least their choosing of the said spoon made sense. At least they took their time, they argued, they deliberated. But this man?
He didn't even wait for a second.
"Spoon."
"But.. but why??"
"I like collecting spoons." | 100 trillion years is an inconceivably long time to spend in blissful lamentation. Properly spent, one could probably achieve a state of consciousness which makes it unimportant which plane it exists upon. A state of being which transcends small things and base sensations of pleasure or suffering. Upon a return to hell, one may realize the truth: there is no spoon. | 2015-06-07T22:50:03 | 2015-06-07T22:42:03 | 97 | 29 |
[WP] JFK shot first. |
“No.” Jack said. “I will ride alone.”
“Are you crazy? I’m riding with you!” Jackie shouted with indigence.
“No you aren’t. I have a feeling. A feeling that I need to go alone. A feeling that I can’t explain. A feeling like *ka*.”
*Ka? What on God’s green earth made me say “ka”? Never in my life have I heard such a word.*
“What?” Jackie shouted. Her tone had the ferocity that only a concerned wife could use.
“I am sorry dear, but this needs to be done. And I’ll need this.”
Jack walked across the office. Mounted on the wall was a single revolver. The revolver was huge. A firearm that can only be accurately described as a *hand cannon*. The grips were a white, almost cream color. Sandalwood. Inscribed on the shining silver barrel was a single rose.
“This revolver has been in my family since long before I was born. I feel the time to use it is coming.”
Jack removed the gun from the wall and stared at it for a few seconds before turning to Jackie. He registered a look of shock on her face. Shock mixed with fear. He walked back over to her and gave a single kiss on her forehead. “Trust me.”
From his pocket, he produced 6 .45 caliber rounds. He pushed the release and the cylinder on the revolver popped open to the side. Jack methodically loaded the bullets. It felt natural. He pushed the cylinder back in to place. Jack opened his top-left desk drawer. From the drawer he pulled out a docker’s clutch and secured it on to himself. He placed the revolver in the holster and wore his jacket over it.
“I’ll see you later, Jackie.”
“I love you Jack. You’d better be right about this.”
“I love you too.”
Jack opened the door to his office. On the other side stood a gentleman in a black suit. He easily stood at almost 7 feet tall. Atop his head were a handful of pricks of hair. His eyes were masked by darkly tinted sunglasses and a clear curled wire hung from his ear.
“Ready to go, Mr. President?” asked the not-so-bald man.
“Ready as I’ll ever be, Tommy. Let’s go.”
Tommy led Jack down the long hallway. As they walked, Jack glanced left and right at the artwork that hung from the paneled walls. He stopped at one that caught his eye. A painting of a heroic figure with long flowing blonde hair. On top of his head was a gorgeous crown inlet with every kind of jewel. In his hand the figure held a long steel claymore that seemed to shine with an intensity so fierce that Jack could hardly believe it was a painting. Jack glanced down and read the golden placard that sat below the painting. It read:
“Arthur Eld wielding Excalibur. Portrait by Patrick Danville”
Jack could hardly tear his eyes away. He could hardly comprehend how a painting could have such detail. Be so lifelike as if Arthur Eld himself were to come out of the frame and stand before Jack in the hallway, exuding glory and honor that he thought could be his if he were to be so bold.
Jack felt a tug on his sleeve. It was Tommy. “We have to go, sir”.
“Yeah...right.” Jack said as his head cleared. He sounded dazed. “Let’s get a move on.”
The two men left the building. Parked out front was a beautiful black limousine. The top was down and Jack could practically smell the leather baking in the hot Dallas sun from 100 feet away. As the men got into the car, Jack had a good feeling. He felt that everything was going according to plan. *What plan? There’s no plan.* He had a feeling that today was the day. Today was *his* day. Today Jack Fitzgerald Kennedy would outrun ka.
Jack turned his head. Behind him Jackie was entering an identical vehicle. He felt for the revolver in his clutch. The cold steel comforted him. *Good. Very good.*
Thus the presidential motorcade was on it’s way. They passed crowds of people. Hundreds, maybe thousands had come out on this day to see him. All in support of him and what he had set out to do. It was a humbling experience, something that made Jack feel loved.
As the motorcade rounded the turn into Dealey Plaza, Jack spotted something interesting. Or *someone*. Amidst the crowd, he could see a man who was taller than the rest. He wore a large hat that seemed to cover most of his face as well as a long yellow coat that reached below his knees. Through the coat Jack noticed the man’s clothes were somewhat *loud*, of varying colors that had no business being worn on the same person. *This is it.* Jack knew this was his mark. As if confirming his suspicion, the tall man in the yellow jacket looked up and began to reach for something on his hip. As the man made his way through the crowd, Jack could see that it was a pistol. A loaded pistol. Loaded with bullets surely meant for him.
“STOP THE CAR” Jack shouted.
“Are you serious? We’re in the middle of the parade we can’t stop now. That’s crazy-“
“STOP THE CAR!” Jack’s voice boomed. To this day Tommy swears that was not the voice of Jack Kennedy, but rather the voice of a guardian angel speaking through him. Tommy slammed the brakes. The rest of the motorcade managed to stop behind without incident.
Jack leaped out of the limo, pulling the hand cannon from its holster. As his feet touched the ground next to the vehicle, the man in the yellow jacket reached the front of the crowd. He smiled at Jack with gnarled yellow teeth and opened his mouth, about to say something. Provably something important.
Before a single sound could escape the hideous man’s mouth, an ear-shattering BOOM ripped through the courtyard. To Jack, the bullet flew in slow motion. He watched as it shot out of the barrel of his revolver. It spun in the air on a perfect trajectory. Jack had aimed true. The bullet whizzed in to the open mouth of the man in the yellow jacket. His head exploded in a disgusting mix of bone, skin, and brains. The gun fell from the man’s hand and the rest of his body slumped over and hit the pavement. Half the bystanders in the crowd were splattered with blood. However that didn’t matter. Most of them will remember this as single most important event of their lives.
It was the day President John F. Kennedy saved himself. He saved himself and thus saved the rest of the world. Because of this day, the world will continue to move forward. The wheel of ka will continue to spin and the world will not move on. Everything will remain as it should, all thanks to the Last Gunslinger. | He had been warned. “Your name will always be remembered with Dallas, Jack!”
Normally, the President receives hundreds of threats a month. But this threat wouldn’t go away like most of the others. Most of the others never even reached his desk. This was different. This was personal. There was an internal struggle happening in the government that few knew about. But he knew and he knew his life, and the life of his family, was in danger.
That trip should have been like all the others. Get on the plane, get off the plane, get in a car, get out of car, get in the building, make the speech, leave the building, etc. Rinse and repeat 5-8 times a day it seemed. It was exhausting. He was exhausted. So was she.
Did he really want to run for reelection? It wasn’t what he wanted. It’s what daddy wanted. It was always about daddy. His father had suffered a debilitating stroke nearly 2 years prior. He didn’t let anyone know but he wished the stroke had killed his father. That pressure would have been gone. That pressure that plagued him all his life and really zeroed in 18 years ago when Joe’s plane blew up over England. He needed to run for reelection. Dad was still “there” enough to exert his poor opinion for short comings. Even though daddy was a morsel of what he used to be, Jack could still see the disdain in his father’s eye for weakness.
Weakness? How was it weak to be in excruciating pain every morning at the early age of 46? How was it weak to have your marriage strained to point of breaking by the death of your infant child? Daddy didn’t have to look into her eyes to see the heartbreak that yearned for sympathy that you couldn’t give because your heart was shattered too. Patrick was gone and all he wanted to do was take Jackie, Carolyn, and John-John and hide them away forever. Where no one could touch them. But that would be weak.
That would be unacceptable.
Jack was on high alert as the limousine traveled down Main Street. This trip felt different. The Secret Service felt detached. Something was not right. He had been shaken by this threat and he couldn’t explain why. “Your name will always be remembered with Dallas, Jack!”, had been typed up and sent in. Usually he didn’t see these threats, but the Secret Service made sure he saw this one. They said that this one seemed credible. They were adamant.
“What do ya mean, ‘this one seems credible’? Do your job!” he had shouted. “You think I have time for this?!”
But he could swear there was a knowing look at his lashing out. Something was not right.
Now here he was in Dallas with his wife. “Your name will always be remembered with Dallas, Jack!”
He had pulled her into a small room aboard Air Force One after they landed in Dallas. He told her that she shouldn’t accompany him to this lunch at the Trade Mart. He had a feeling that this wasn’t going to end well. The same feeling he got in the South Pacific the night of the accident. He trusted that feeling but couldn’t convince her to stay aboard Air Force One.
“I’m coming with you, Jack,” she had said in her distinct way of speaking. “It will be alright.”
Clint had knocked on the door and told the First Lady that it was time to go. Jackie got up, opened the door to find Agent Clint Hill standing there. “Alright, Clint” she said as she walked out of the little room.
“Clint, come in here. Shut the door,” Jack instructed. “Listen, I don’t know what the hell is going on here but I need a weapon.”
“A weapon, sir?” Agent Hill inquired incredulously.
“Something is wrong. Whether you know it or not. Give me your pistol, Clint!” Jack said as he stared down Agent Hill.
He passed Jack his sidearm which Jack put behind him in his own waistband. “It’s time to go, right?” Jack said as he and agent Hill opened the door and they stepped into hallway of Air Force One.
Jack smiled and scanned the buildings. What the hell would he do with this pistol? How could he even get it out and protect his wife and himself? Why hadn’t the Secret Service put the top on this limo? Something was not right!
The car turned right onto Houston Street. The parade must be over soon. Maybe he was clear of the danger. Maybe he had been wrong. Maybe the stress was getting to him.
“Mr. President. You can’t say Dallas doesn’t love you!” shouted Mrs. Connally over the din of the crowd.
It brought him back to the moment. He refocused and smiled.
That moment was the moment. His feeling was overpowering now! This was it. He was waving but pulled his hand back and reached behind him. He stretched for the cold medal in his waistband and struggled to remove it. He started to feel a panic and accidently squeezed off a round into the seat cushion he was sitting on.
The Secret Service looked around. Where had that sound come from? It sounded like a gunshot!
Agent Hill jumped off the running boards and starting sprinting toward Jackie. The rest of the agents knew that it had started. They didn’t know the first shot came from inside the limo until much later. JFK shot first!
Then the shot from above came. Jack felt the pierce from behind and he couldn’t breathe. He reached up to his neck trying to say something. But all that came out was blood. Jackie reached out and touched his arm, wondering what was wrong.
Governor Connally was moaning in the front seat and she looked over to Jack seeing the horror in his eyes and she knew, he had been right.
And then the moment exploded into a red mist in front of her.
| 2018-01-02T10:11:54 | 2018-01-02T09:53:29 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Dave is the first human convict to arrive in the intergalactic prison. | This is my first one so it's not the best.
*PRISONER* **#451,** *PLEASE NAVIGATE TO YOUR CELL IN* **G451** "That's your cue, David,"
Dave anxiously stumbled forward. The restraints on his wrists seemed to grow tighter and it became hard to breathe. Monstrous creatures barked from the cells around him. Some had horns, some had talons, some even had tentacles. With every growl, snarl, howl, or scream, the more the knot in his chest pulled. The warden led Dave to a small cell next to a door marked cafeteria.
"Welcome to your new home, David," the warden remarked, removing his restraints.
"Don't call me David," snapped Dave. His cell was cramped and smelled horrible, with two damp bunk beds. Before he knew it, the door was locked behind him.
"This is a prison you can't break out of, David," said the warden, smirking. *You'd be surprised,* thought Dave.
"What you in for?"
The voice caught Dave off guard. He spun around. In the bottom bunk bed lay a Kalzar, an alien species that resembled a lizard-rhino hybrid. The species, despite their appearance, are actually very intelligent creatures,"
"Uhh, stole a hyperdrive, broke out the first two prisons, you?" Dave responded.
"Hitman," growled the Kalzar. "How the hell did you manage to break out of two prisons?"
"Uhh, I dunno. Good planning, speed, flaws in the security system. I used to be an engineer, I know machines," said Dave, as he sat on the floor across from the Kalzar. "Dave," He offered a handshake.
"Nihrox," said the Kalzar, shaking the outstretched hand.
"So tell me, Nihrox, have you noticed any flaws in the security here?" inquired Dave.
"Dude!" Nihrox said, gesturing toward the security camera in the corner.
"It's fine. A prison this size will have two security guys in a room with a bunch of screens. There's a camera in each cell, meaning there won't be a microphone in each camera. Too much noise at the same time. First flaw. Means we can plan an escape verbally," explained Dave.
"Wow," said Nihrox. "Well, I suppose there are a few flaws. The delivery ship comes the first day of the month, every month, and stays from 8:00am to 8:00pm. Possible escape?"
"Yeah, that'll work," Dave replied, "What's the strongest or most dangerous inmate in this prison? Physically,"
"Uhhh, a Gengril, I guess," answered Nihrox, "Why?"
"Wow, that means the guards will be prepared to fight something as strong as a Gengril," A gengril was a dragon-like creature the size of a small room that could withstand extremely high temperatures and all kinds of environments, including vacuums. A gengril's weakness was extreme cold combined with brute force. "If we take a guard's equipment we should find a coolant beam too," Dave smiled. "I think I'm going to enjoy working with you, Nihrox,"
 
TWO EARTH WEEKS LATER
 
"Ready?"
"Ready,"
"AARGH!" cried Dave, "MY ARM!"
"What is going on?" A guard wandered up to the cell door.
"My arm!" Dave exclaimed. He stuck his arm out of the cell bars so that the guard could inspect. On Dave's arm, the guard read the word GOTCHA.
"What?" was the last thing the guard could say before Dave swiftly began strangling him with the handcuffs that he stole off of the guard's belt while he was distracted. He took the keys and unlocked the cell.
"Fifteen minutes, go," Nihrox and Dave swiftly left the cell and headed to the cafeteria. The door was solid titanium, so Dave used the guard's coolant beam and baton to break the door down. As suspected, the chefs were having a quick coffee break with the security camera guys and most of the guards in this ward. They hopped the counter and went through the kitchen into the newly stocked storeroom, being sure to snatch a knife each. In the storeroom was an open airlock door that led to a ship. However, voices could be heard from the ship. Nihrox raised a finger to his lips. He mouthed the words, "Follow my lead," and stepped onto the ship. There were two members of staff on the small supply ship. He grabbed one of the people and held his knife up to their throat. Dave did the same.
"If you get off the ship, you may live," Nihrox barked. They did that without hesitation and Dave secured the airlock.
"Nice work," said Dave. "Do you realise that we just escaped from a prison? I guess that makes three,"
"Oh my god! I've been stuck here for a year and a half and two weeks after you show up, I'm free. Just like that," Nihrox mumbled. It was clearly just getting to him that he is now out of prison.
**CAUTION! MISSILES LOCKED ON TO SHIP**
 
"Right, we should go. Home?" Dave said as he activated the hyperdrive. | Dave looked at his cellmate - tall, dark and with five heads - and settled into his bunkbed. It bore some similarities to prison on Earth. Grey, graffiti on the walls, cramped spaces. Except this prison occupied an entire planet. And the graffiti was rather more creative and covered a few more languages.
"So, you're the human," his cellmate (who called himself Hoki) said, one of his smooth heads snaking over from the bunk above to glance at him. Hoki pressed a button on the band strapped to his wrist, to translate the words into English.
The many eyes on the head rolled in different directions to focus on every part of Dave. It creeped him out, no matter how many times he's seen that since his arrival here a week ago.
"What did you do to end up here? You guys have no impressive weaponry to speak of. You can't even travel beyond your solar system. You have to seriously screw things up on an galactic scale to make it here...you're kinda famous, you know? We haven't had a new species in ages."
"Goodie, do I get a prize?" Dave muttered, not bothering to meet Hoki's eyes. He'd be executed soon, probably. In some horrible creative way humans couldn't even imagine. What was the point in small talk at this stage?
The silence stretched on long enough that Dave felt compelled to break it. What the hell - they'd know soon enough, anyway.
"Okay, fine - I broke the internet. Apparently. I mean, it started on Earth, so I guess when I broke it things just fell apart everywhere..."
Hoki burst out laughing. "The internet! You guys didn't start the internet. You haven't invented *anything* revolutionary on a galactic scale! And anyway, if you did, we'd know-"
"Yes, we did. I think everyone just hides the facts. Too embarrassing to give the credit to humans, I guess. But now it's collapsing slowly, they told me. Like a domino effect," Dave said, despite himself. "And how was I to know the government knew about other species and planets all along and sold internet to them?"
"Alright, shut up, I believe you! How did you break it? Are they working on it?" Hoki demanded.
"I don't know what happened," Dave shrugged. "I just turned off my WiFi. And everything collapsed."
Hoki was itching to strangle the human with one of his spare tentacles. To think he'd never get to stream his favourite shows from the neighbouring planet anymore! Internet access was a universal right. Even for prisoners.
"Anyway, they brought me here," Dave said. "Didn't think much of my suggestion on how to fix it."
"What was your suggestion?" Hoki snapped.
"To talk to the guy who sold me my computer, in college. He had all sorts of bizarre theories on aliens and parallel universes and wormholes. Not so crazy after all, I suppose. Genius, though - he was a computer engineer. Built that computer himself."
Dave could still picture Logan clearly in his mind. The thin, final-year student with compulsive ticks, who had seemed almost *too* eager to sell that computer he'd built. At the price, he hadn't questioned it. Too desperate to get a good deal. And too poor to replace it, even though it worked erratically. Especially its internet, regardless of how many times he jumped between internet providers.
"He has something to do with this, I know it. He should probably be the one locked up here. Maybe they were right back on Earth - maybe it was a terrorist. Just not the type they had in mind," Dave said quietly. He saw Logan's unsettling smile again in his memory. "If I could just see him again - but they brought me here before I could convince them."
Hoki slithered off the top bunk and grabbed Dave's arm, glaring at him from all five heads.
"You're prepared for intergalactic travel?" he asked.
"Yes, but why-"
"We're going to Earth and find this man. I could've escaped ages ago, but I like this prison. Much nicer than my home planet. However, for this, I'll break out. I won't miss my shows."
---------
You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2016-08-23T09:25:33 | 2016-08-23T09:06:18 | 95 | 27 |
[WP] Pranksters from various subreddits hack into President Obama's teleprompter during the State of the Union Address. This, being Obama's last year in office, just decides to go with it. | WASHINGTON (AP) -- The nation remains in shock one day after a baffling State of the Union speech delivered by President Barack Obama that many political experts say will live "in infamy."
For days, it was speculated that President Obama would touch on the recent economic upswing, the country's warmed relations with Cuba and Iran, among a checklist of other improvements made within his last year as United States President.
"The State of the Union is typically an occasion in which the President delivers a tame, positive message to the country," said speechwriter Harold Davies. "That was not what happened last night."
Though the President's speech began without incident, he paused before addressing the nation with apparent rage. "What the f--- did you just f---ing say about me?" began his lengthy diatribe.
Within the address, Obama revealed that he had amassed "over 300 kills" during clandestine Al-Quaeda raids. Officials at the Department of Defense have declined to comment on the nature of these secret raids, though one high-ranking navy official has come to describe the President's claim of being a current member of the Navy SEALs as "patently false."
Though the public is still at a loss for what "little clever comment" so angered Obama, social media activists on sites like Twitter and Facebook have called for a staged internet blackout in protest of the secret spy network that the President unveiled during his speech. "Your IP is being traced right now," warned Obama.
In the final moments of the speech, Obama looked into the camera and gave an explicit warning to Jason Kiddoe, the Republican Senator from Kentucky and a late newcomer to the presidential race. "I have no idea what I may have done to offend the President, but I take his threat on my life very seriously and am in the midst of seeking legal council," said Kiddoe. | "Mr. Speaker, Mr. Vice President, Members of Congress, my fellow Americans:
We are fifteen years into this new century. Fifteen years that dawned with terror touching our shores; that unfolded with a new generation fighting two long and costly wars; that saw a vicious recession spread across our nation and the world. It has been, and still is, a hard time for many.
But tonight, we turn the page.
By saying
ASLKDJSADLI#UPEOIQPWEJLJFBSJDlkjalskdjasldj alksdjalskdj ksdja sd. And furthermore, aspdiasdalkj 2343ij fjnhfsdnfsldfkji i3uo12iu3kqjalsdkn.
Thank you."
| 2015-04-30T08:20:30 | 2015-04-30T07:43:09 | 503 | 77 |
[WP] You have long been fascinated by swords, and have mastered every kind of sword fighting technique known to man. No man can defeat you. But you have grown old, and Death has crept up to deliver his final swing, but something happened, something Death had never experienced before, he was parried. | Death was no stranger to games. A game of swordplay, however rarely crossed his mind. The hooded figure stood in a readied stance with scythe behind. He had taken many warriors before but, none had challenged him.
“Do you fear, Death?” The old man asked, a curved blade of his own poised in a confident grip.
Death did not speak, could not as each man heard their calling like a distant song. But the man understood, “No.” You cannot win against death.
So they stood, staring waiting. Death with endless patience. He comes to all. The man, short lived, struck.
Death could only parry, then the onslaught began.
Over, parry, side, parry, other, parry and on. Death held, knowing that man makes mistakes. But this one did not.
For hours or days, neither would know, they fought with feint and counterfeint, until at last they came to the end.
The man was old, and he tired after time. “You are worthy,” sang Death at a lull.
This gave the old man pause. “Worthy of what?”
“Of a life,” Death sang, “until you ask for me to come.”
The words rang as a solemn chant. The old man lowered his sword, “So, you admit defeat?”
“No, only that this game will continue until the end of time.”
A smile on the old mans face, “So, I’ve brought Death to a stale mate?”
The figure nodded.
“Then, I accept.” The old man sat, looking at the stars. “Tell me friend, do you know what lies out there?”
A song sung in tears and heartbreak cracks the old man. Rivera flow at the sadness and beauty of what Death sings, “I am.” | The sound of metal against metal rang out. Death held the scythe in place against the sword. The man before Death held his sword firm for the moment. “No man,” he panted, grip tightening with the leather of it creaking, “has ever defeated me. You shall not take me either.”
“I AM NO MAN,” Death answered and the scythe split from the force of the sword. The scythe blade slid clean through the man and his body fell into bed, sword at his side as the man lay at peace.
Death caught the blade and snapped it again to its wooden handle. It glowed with the man’s spirit still listening as Death began to walk with him. “I AM THE END.” | 2018-10-29T20:52:53 | 2018-10-29T20:00:27 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had. | *Right this way, Mr. Muller*
"Right where?"
*Right here, follow my voice*
I'm not sure where I am. My last memory is getting in my car. I must have had an accident. I feel warm, safe and soft. Is this what painkillers feel like? No wonder everyone and their grandmother is addicted to them.
*Mr. Muller, you're not in the hospital, you're dead!* said the voice again, slightly amused and mocking this time. *See!*
"But ho..." I asked while opening my eyes.
*Works just like it used to, doesn't it? Haha!*
As I first open my eyes everything is bright. If I was still alive it would blind me, it catches me a little off guard. Blinking rapidly I start to make out shelves filled with books.
*Welcome to the eternal library*
The voice that talked to me now has a body, a man, not white in color, not brown or yellowish either. He is very well maintained, wearing a perfectly fitting suit; his long, white hair is combed back behind his ears and falls upon his shoulders like the most vivid waterfall. Behind and next to him seemingly endless shelves of books row up; in the one he's leaning on a single book is missing, I assume it's the one he's holding in his hand.
Coming to my senses I find myself sitting in a very comfortable armchair.
*You already noticed the book, very good, very good. Looks like you're all there. Shall we begin?*
"Wow uhm... who are you? Where exactly am I? Is this heaven?"
*Ha, I thought you'd never ask. Heaven, hell, limbo... let's just call it the library. It's the last step before you find peace. And I... I am Angelo. A pleasure to meet you, Richard Muller.*
"Angelo sounds an awful lot like Angel."
*Don't you get nosy with me now. Come to me, take your book.*
Slowly I'm starting to become aware again of my body but it doesn't feel like it did while I was alive. I'm able to move my body and feel sensations but there is no strain. The provisional groan I do when standing up proved entirely needless for there is no pain in my back, not a single sting. Two steps later I'm standing in front of Angelo, who holds the brown book towards me in just his right hand. I reach out and grab it, the leather feels soft and smooth under my hands.
In golden, beautifully imprinted letters it states "Richard Muller - Allmantown - 791"
"Allmantown, 791... Angelo, this means nothing to me."
*It doesn't need to. Start reading.*
The pages were soft like silk, handwritten in redish golden color. Whenever a choice opened up, I had to decide. Turn to page 922, turn to page 508, turn to page 861. Cry for mother or sleep. Page 1810. Kiss Janie Lowenstein. Page 2941. Drink the Schnaps. Page 3229. Get into the car in the morning. Page 6276. Die. Page 6277.
I have no idea for how long I've been reading and deciding. It could have been half a day, it could have been months.
*Do you remember?*
It's a good question. Do I remember? I remember making the decisions, I remember the content. But do I *remember*?
*Let me be more specific, do you remember how you died?*
"Of course I do, I was hit by a car."
*And?*
I'm feeling very confident in my answer at first, though after a short moment I'm unsure.
"Hold on, I wasn't hit by a car, I was in an accident."
A tense silence.
*And?*
"I fell off a ladder."
*And?*
"I was stabbed by my wife"
*And?*
This cycle continued for what felt like an eternity. No matter how many visions of my own death I revisited, there are always more.
"Why do I see myself dying in these horrible ways?"
*I'm not torturing you, Richard. Look around.*
My view went up from Angelos face, looking around the room.
Richard Streepe - Allmanntown - 792.
Rich Müller - Point Allmanntown - 793.
Richard Muller - Allermannstown - 794.
*You are not the only Richard. You are just the first one to die. Their life is in your hands.*
Angelo grabs the book next to the one he originally handed me and gives it to me.
The first few pages are already written, including possible choices up until that point.
"This book is almost empty, what am I supposed to do with this?"
He steps over to me, reaches into his pocket and gives me a fancy pen.
*It won't be for long. I have an appointment with the first Rebecca Stoner from Cornwall, I'll talk to you later.*
Before disappearing through the shelves he adds, smiling:
*Don't worry though, pens are tax deductible for guardian angels. Welcome to your library* | Once I had acclimatised, they led me into an office. Wood-panelled, decadent, I thought, for this place - but I supposed they moved with the times here as well.
There was a man at the desk dressed in a white-grey suit. Subtle. They had told me about this man, when I had calmed down. He would show me all my significant choices, walk me through them, help me come to terms with them. He would enlighten me and discourage my false beliefs about myself, to cleanse me.
I sat. He gently placed a large, red leather-bound volume on the table. It looked like a Victorian bible, but brand new. I touched the closed leaves of the volume: The pages were going to be petal-like, delicate, just the same as bibles. This book meant something.
“All the choices you have ever had,” said the man in white. “Try it.”
I reached out my hand, hesitated, and looked to him. He exuded authority. He smiled serenely.
“I’ll explain it all. Go on.”
I opened the book.
The first few chapters were uneventful, filled with childhood stories and corrections to memories I had reconstructed in my elderly mind. I remembered my mother and father here- I was smiling. No choices as yet, but I’m only, what, six? Six, that’s.. quite old. I looked up.
The man had been sitting in silence, smiling- at me, or to himself? He sensed my worry. “Significant choices, my friend. At this point, your life is controlled by your parents and you have little perception of wider choice.”
I continued. In year two of school, I was confronted with a choice. Little Jenny was being teased for her broken leg. The other children looked to me.
‘Do you
a) join in with the children teasing Jenny
or
b) tease Jenny along with the children?
for a) go to page 265 or for b) go to page 265.
What?
I looked to the man across the desk. “Your brain factored in being alienated by your peers against hurting Jenny. This one was a dead cert.” He smiled kindly. Satisfied, if still slightly perplexed, I turned my eyes back to the book.
“Jenny was always a sick girl. She hanged herself after the same kind of bullying in her thirties”.
My eyes shot up, staring. The man seemed to look away, since as it to chastise himself. “Of course you can’t be blamed for any of this. You had no choice.”
Shaken, at length I went back to reading. A pattern began to emerge. As I read further, my “significant choices” became more and more frequent. To watch football with the others? To steal some cool pieces of Lego from my friend? To question the nature of my father’s illness...?
And each time, each option is the other, rephrased as if to give some illusion of choice. As I read further, greeted with what could only be described as amused patience from the man in white, all the pages led to the same place.
“What is this?” I asked, finally, battling through the dread of the answer.
“Have you ever heard of determinism? All of us, pawns, players in some shitty game. And you’re here-“
“Here..?”
“-and it’s not about responsibility, it’s about balance. And now you know- this eternity? It’s all gonna be electrical impulses.” The man in white paused strategically. He had done this many times before.
“They said you would help me come to terms with my choices!”
The man in white leaned forward, smiling more explicitly now. “I am. You have none. Submit. These are your terms.”
“...who are you?”
He paused, and then leaned back onto his chair. “Think of yourself as lucky. They live in blissful ignorance up there. Us? We know the nature of things.” | 2018-07-04T01:42:55 | 2018-07-04T01:11:45 | 49 | 36 |
[WP] Your partner is over for valentines day. The mood is perfect: a sexy soundtrack plays in the background while you light some candles for romantic effect. Suddenly, lines of ethereal light beam from wax to wax and the ground begins to shake. You realize too late that you have formed a pentagon. | "Oh god," one of the humans cried, causing a slight stinging in his ears.
​
"Who has dared to summon the demon prince of vengeance, Azefel?"
​
The couple in the bed screamed as they scrambled to cover themselves. They were ever so lovely and this demon prince was enjoying the moment out of the house.
​
"So, you have chosen tempestuous lust as your devotion. I accept, proceed!" Azefel bellowed loudly before the frozen couple. "What's wrong? Why have you ceased your undulations?"
​
"What the hell are you?" the woman screamed, throwing a pillow to bounce off the demon prince. Azefel didn't block it, allowing it to hit its mark and spraying buring feathers about the small room. "You fool! I am a demon prince and you have summoned me using forbidden magic. You have only yourself to blame. You could have stopped the circle had you not done that," he explained to them.
​
The couple stared at the fearsome-looking, red-skinned demon whose fangs, horns, and wings were only heightened by the circle of fire that encircled them. The demon prepared to swipe them into oblivion, then stopped to sniff the air. "Is that lavender?"
​
The demon prince grabbed one of the candles of the crudely laid-out summoning circle and held it to his nose. "You know, that is very thoughtful. I don't know why more dark acolytes don't use the scented candles. That really creates an ambiance, which most people don't try at anymore."
​
"Can you leave please," the man said.
​
"Sure, sure," Azefel said. "Just give me a target for your vengeance and I'll get to work."
​
"A target for our vengeance?" the man asked.
​
"You really are new at this, huh? You summon me, and usually there's this whole ritual of binding me to your will, but Ill let that slide this time, then you compel me to wreak vengeance on one of your enemies. You get your enemies destroyed, I get to leave hell for a little while, it's a win-win.
​
"Oh, okay, I guess my neighbor, Dave? He's always getting the HOA on me over petty stuff."
​
"Excellecent, I will drag him back to the pit with me."
​
"Marcus!" the other human screamed. "You can't command a demon to kill your neighbor!"
​
"Yeah, I know. Okay, Mr. Azefel sir, could you just like scare him really bad? Maybe mess up his yard?"
​
"Consider it done, I can smell his pride from here."
​
Just like that, the demon disappeared in a puff of smoke.
​
"Where were we?" Marcus said.
​
"Seriously? I think the mood's pretty dead."
​
Marcus sighed as he looked out the window and watched his neighbor's yard slowly become a putrid, black swamp.
\---
For more of my writing, see /r/surinical | "I am Gil'Tanevius of the Flayed Flames! To have summoned me you must have known the great price you must pay. So tell me, mortal. What do you wish to make of me?" The heavily muscled, large figure rose to its full height in the confines of the shoddy apartment. The dimmed lights flickered, the home assistant speaker issued static and said, "Now playing: Great Price by Kills Kado." Before stuttering off.
The women who stood before the demon cowered, looking at each other in shock and fear.
"Well, mortal? What service can I provide for you? Truly you must have planned for this summoning. Although... Hmm.." The demon looked around the room. At the lack of salt circles and arcane barriers to stop his escape.
"Well, fuck. You didn't want to summon me, did you?" The demon asked, and suddenly the lights stopped flickering and the room, which was getting warmer, reverted back to the cool air-conditioned temperature it was initially.
The demon himself shrunk to a more reasonable size but his bulging muscles stayed. He looked at the pentagram he was in the middle of. A crudely arranged series of scented candles. A bit too strong for his sensitive nose.
"Ok, I can see the mistake here. Obviously you didn't mean to summon me. But you did. And usually on summons, intentional or not, I try to break free and flay those who summon me and set them on fire, not necessarily in that order. But honestly I've been seeing this therapist recently and they've gone on and on about me being more reasonable in my evil. So here I'm going to try something new. I'm not going to flay you or set you in fire. I just need you to give me a command. I'll fulfill it. And then bada bing bada boom I'll return to my hell plane. Sound good? You guys look like you're either peeing your pants or are about to get a stroke from this over stimulation. How about you make a request you don't die from stroke, or to dry your pants. Either is good."
The demon grinned at them uncomfortably.
The woman who had lit the candle that summoned the demon opened her mouth and closed it several times, much like a fish trying to gasp for water when it is not in water. But the other woman suddenly smiled.
"Wish for a dick. For like 2 hours." | 2021-03-21T10:29:08 | 2021-03-21T09:29:06 | 80 | 35 |
[WP] One evening, a portal to hell opens at the foot of your bed. A demon strides through, rips off your covers, and begins to drag you through the portal by your ankles saying “You’re going to help me settle a bet.” | I screamed like a little girl.
If being dragged through a portal by an honest to god demon - horns, red skin, the whole shabang, doesn't call for screaming like a little girl, I don't know what does.
I'd been sleeping on my friend's couch in New York City. Couch is putting it a bit generously in fact, I had to basically curl into a ball to fit. I mean, then again, I was homeless, so it wasn't like I could judge his choice of furniture.
Regardless, I'd been staring out the window looking at the snow fall, and contemplating the usual questions of my life. "Why me?" "Why this?" "Fuck me?"
You know, the usual.
And then this circle of pure, fiery orange opened up at the foot of my sofa and this tiny little two foot tall demon came out of it. It really says something about my life that I didn't flinch. My first thought immediately went to the coffee my friend had made for me. He'd probably laced it with some hallucinogen or something as a joke.
And then I'd felt the heat emanating from the portal, and the demon's tiny little wrist wrap around my ankle, and I knew it was real.
Hence the screaming and all that.
Despite my best efforts, the midget demon (did I just say the words "midget demon?") dragged me into the portal. I stopped struggling and blinked, trying to understand what was in front of me. The shapes, the fire that wasn't quite fire, the ground that wasn't quite the ground.
"Oh for Kos's sake, put a blindfold on it, its brain will probably explode looking at 13 dimensions after looking at four all its life."
And just like that I couldn't see anything.
I breathed a sigh of relief. And it really said something about the situation, that I could breathe a sigh of relief in literally hell after being kidnapped by demons.
"All right, human, I'll keep it short," a voice said. Presumably the first demon. "You are a failure. You are pathetic even by human standards. You will get nowhere in life, and likely die of substance overdose or suicide within the next five years."
I just nodded. As far as insults go, this demon was an amateur.
"But we can change that," the second demon, the one who'd asked for the blindfold said. "Accept our bargain. We will give you motivation."
"Um," I said. "Motivation?"
"Even the human doesn't buy it," the first demon said in glee.
The second demon ignored the jibe. "I will give you motivation, motivation to succeed, to do something, and let you go back. Then we will see if you can turn your life around in ten years."
"You won't," the first demon said.
"Wait," I said. "Don't I get a say?"
There was silence for a moment and then a roaring sound. I cringed, cursing myself for opening by big fat mouth, before realizing they were laughing, not trying to kill me.
"Oh, that's rich," the first demon said. "Choice! That's too good." It descended into laughter again.
The second demon spoke again. "Well our business is done with, human. See you in ten years."
And just like that I was back in that dingy apartment with the poor excuse of a couch.
I looked around and saw the apartment as if for the first time. The cracked plaster, the fading paint. I hadn't quite realized how shitty it all was. How much I hated this.
The whole thing had probably been some sort of fever dream, my subconscious calling out to me. But I was done with this. I wouldn't live like this.
I pointedly ignored the singed hair around my ankle where the demon had grabbed me.
***
(minor edits)
Due to popular demand, [Part 2: Ten Years Later](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/83ikwn/fiction_10_years_later_demonic_bet_2/)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| Part: 1
I sat still at a stone table, in nothing but my boxers. In fear but also amusement at the scene in front of me.
The bird winged man who dragged me through the portal was Mephistopheles, apparently to settle a bet with the the demon I front of me with bat wings.
"Alright, I got this one completely average and neutral, neither a holy man nor a heavy sinner." Said the honey laced voice of my kidnapper. I tried not to make a face at his statement. But honestly completely average?
"..." the other man just stared at me while the fires of hell burned behind him. While still staring at me he addressed the other demon. "Phil I appreciate what you are trying to do, but it won't work."
The newly nicknamed Phil just rolled his eyes and assessed me, "See this is why no one remember the great Beelzebub, he doesn't appreciate what mortals are capable of." Adjusting his supremely tailored suit making me feel even more naked.
'Slam'
With a hand upon the table he exclaimed loudly "Don't go giving out old names like they mean something! My name is Bobby and you will address me as such!" Flaming insects coming from his mouth and fire shooting from his eyes.
I slumped in my very uncomfortable stone chair, more of an awkward shaped boulder really. Half bemused at his name, and half shaking in absolute terror at the second hand man to Lucifer himself.
He collected himself and brushed off the ash on his also immaculate suit, the addressed me for the first time. "So you are the mortal that has been summoned to Hell to help settle an issue among titans. What say you?"
I didn't say anything at first, just uncomfortably shifting on my boulder. "Well umm, Mr. Lord of the Flies sir... I'm not quite sure what bet I'm settling."
"You didn't even tell him why he was here!" Once again Bobby was all fire and brimstone summoning the wrath of the underworld. Although Phil was supremely unimpressed as he started filing his French tipped nails.
Before he could answer a man so handsome it was literally inhuman appeared in a flash of fire. "Hey there you guys are, I've been- who is this?" This one didn't have any wings and was actually dressed in a red polo and slacks with some very nice Italian leather shoes. Phil inspecting the job on his nails replied.
"I grabbed the most neutral mortal on earth to settle our bet Lucy. But Bobby here is throwing a tantrum as usual."
"Ohh, well that's nice. I'll be on the lowest level if you need me." With another 'fwoosh' of fire he disappeared.
There was an awkward silence as Phil kept touching up his nails as the only real sound. Well besides the screaming of the tortured souls behind me, but I was trying to ignore those guys.
"So umm... if we're not getting to the bet can I have some pants at least?"
Edit: fixed a few misspelled words
2nd Edit" more fixes also added a part 2 | 2018-03-10T09:23:05 | 2018-03-10T09:18:57 | 3,138 | 99 |
[WP] In a world where you can exchange the remaining days of your life for $9.99/day, Jeff's request for $1000 is declined. | "Are we going to see the horses again today?" A wide smile flashed across his face as he looked up at his father.
Jeff looked down at his son, smiled and said "Yes, yes we are. We just have to make a quick stop at the bank and get some extra cash before we go."
"Do we have to?" His sons smile vanished and a look of disappointment appeared.
"Don't worry, it'll only take a few minutes and afterward I'll buy you ice cream!" Jeff looked up at the sky with confidence. This time Jeff meant it, things were going to change for the better and he'd be able to give his son everything. He received a tip from one of his buddies on a bet that would pay off big.
"It's ok if we don't get ice cream." He looked up at his dad again, and smiled.
Jeff and his son walked into the bank and headed straight to the back room where the special transactions were processed. "Give me the usual, $1,000 please! How's about a discount for one of your regulars?" he said to the teller.
The teller reached for his life scanner and looked back at Jeff with a hint of frustration, "Sorry, no discounts. Also, in 9 days new laws go into effect, making these transactions illegal. Bank of American Life will no longer be able to process these transactions".
The teller brings the scanner down to his sons hand and scans. *BEEP BEEP BEEP* "I'm sorry, there appears to be insufficient funds in your sons Life account, sir. Would you like me to try your personal account?"
Jeff looks down at his son, and then back at the teller "But juniors only 8 years old, he's got plenty of life left.... There's got to be some sort of mistake... Try it again"
"Sir, you've been making the max child withdrawal of $1,000 everyday, for a while now. You knew this would happen eventually. Do I need to call security?"
Jeff lets out a deep sigh and says to the teller "I'd like to take $9.99 out of my own Life account, I have to take the kid out for ice cream"
Jeff thought about taking out the $1,000 from his own Life account, but the thought of risking his own life over such a gamble just didn't seem worth it.
| "You lack sufficient credit, sir."
"Wh-why? Am I gonna be dead in a hundred days?"
"You know we can't tell you that, sir. We cannot predict the future, after all."
"Then how do you know I don't have enough time left to trade for a measly thousand? What the hell game you bastards trying to pull?
"There is no reason to get angry, sir."
"I demand to speak to your supervisor! What kind of stupid asshole do they hire to run these places anyway? Get me your manager!"
"I'm afraid I cannot do that, sir. He... just stepped out for an offsite meeting. I can schedule you an appointment for," the clerk looks down at a screen, taps a couple keys, looks back up, "I am afraid that there are no openings to see the manager, sir. "
"What, like I'm gonna die before tomorrow? Me, in the prime of my life? Screw you and screw your whole company, I'm outta here!"
Jeff turns to leave, but the clerk is already stepping out from behind the desk.
"I'm afraid I cannot let you leave, sir."
The gun in the clerk's hand fires one time, and Jeff's body slumps to the ground, a look of surprise frozen on its face.
"See what you made me do, sir? Just like the screen said, imagine that..." | 2014-07-10T10:17:25 | 2014-07-10T09:01:03 | 689 | 50 |
[WP] You are best friends with Death. Although you don't know this. Every Sunday he has you killed just to talk to you about his week then brings you back to life after. However you never remember the meetings. | I like Sundays.
It's nice. I'm not really sure how to describe it, but it was kind of a soothing time.
For one whole day, I fall asleep. I dream senseless dreams and I never remember them when I awake.
It was just like any other Sunday. I laid out in my bed and I waited for my dreams to come and take me. It didn't take too long.
I woke up. I think I opened my eyes but it made no difference. Darkness.
Then, a visage came out of the shadows. A skull and a hood covering it. Instinctively, I inhaled and almost pushed myself backward. Against my better judgment, however, I... thought I knew it. Death itself.
Death looked at me.
"Old friend. You are back."
"Old friend?" I asked. "I... think I know you."
"You do old friend," Death replied. "Come. Let us not whittle our time away with senseless introductions."
He talked about his week. I talked about what I remembered for my week.
Somehow, I knew a lot of the things that he was talking about. You know those inside jokes that you can barely remember how it came about, but it's just become a part of your vocabulary with your friends? It was like that.
We chatted. We laughed. But it was my time to go.
Death's bony hand touched my shoulder. It was chilling yet comforting.
"Goodbye, old friend. Remember... next Sunday," Death said.
"Of course, Death," I replied.
I woke up. Daylight flooded my vision. I smiled, satisfied. I think I had a good dream.
I like Sundays.
---
r/dexdrafts | I love my local park - being a big kid adult I can’t help the attraction. It is like everything I need to have a great Sunday is all in one place
Who can resist monkey bars and the weird animal shaped seats on springs and that circle thing with handles that you can spin around on
I learnt a few years ago to avoid the swings - hips aren’t as slim as they used to be. But my favourite is the slippery-dip. Why? Cause I fit for one and two, I can close my eyes and lift my arms and just fall into oblivion even if it is just for a few seconds
I’m not religious at all but Sunday at the park on the slide is like nothing I have ever experienced | 2020-01-31T07:17:02 | 2020-01-31T05:04:17 | 1,701 | 42 |
[WP] Hundreds of years ago an eccentric sorcerer turned all mythical creatures into humans to try and prevent them from being hunted to extinction. Now that the spell is starting to wear off, the descendants of the original beasts are slowly beginning to morph back into their true forms. | During a missing persons report for [REDACTED] Draco, a note was found within his household, placed within what is most likely his bedroom. It reads as follows...
---
I never thought much of my family name until now. "Draco".
My father told me as a child, that we all descended from a dragon of old. Crimson scales tougher than steel. Breath that could reduce a town to cinders. Wings that blotted out the sun. And a millennia ago, a sorcerer transformed him into a human, to escape extinction. Back then, I thought it was a joke, or a myth, or just a bedtime story.
When I woke up this morning, I found a fleck of red upon my hands. The scale of a dragon. And on my head, I found a small stub. And in my hair, a single strand seem to slither and shake of its own volition. All across my body, I discovered small changes. I didn't dare go out to work.
Instead, I sat down, and reflected upon this. The story I was told came back to me. If my ancestor was truly a dragon, then could that mean there were more dragons? And if dragons were real, who could refute the idea that other mythical creatures existed? Unicorns. Gorgons. Sea serpents. The whole nine yards. And if a dragon turned into a human, could that mean that all those other creatures were transformed as well?
Those creatures, turned into humans. What would they have done? Odds are, they'd have lived out their lives. Adapted to human society. Gotten jobs. Met the love of their life. Started families. And perhaps unknowingly, those they fell in love with had ancestors who were mythical creatures. And their DNA, still carrying the genes of those mythical creatures, would be combined. The spell that turned them into humans, passed on through the generations.
And only today, that spell is wearing off. Now, as I write this, a horn has burst from my head. The hairs on my head are melding together and forming into serpents. Parts of my body are marred with scales and fur. It's getting harder and harder to breathe, perhaps because of the gills on my neck.
I don't think I'll be around much longer. I'm going to lock myself in the bathroom after I finish writing this note. With every letter on this page, I feel the spell's grasp on my body slowing fading, and my mind is leaving with it. I fear the worst. Not just for myself, but my entire family. They all must be so scared. My mother, my father, my sister, my brother... I don't know what'll happen. What they're all going through right now.
If I'm still around when you read this... please kill me.
I'll be nothing more than a mindless chimera.
-[REDACTED] Draco
---
Within the residence of [REDACTED] Draco, a mangled body was found within a locked bathroom. Among other things, it contained red plated scales, tough brown fur, what appeared to be the horns of a unicorn and a minotaur, a lower body consisting of a gigantic fin, and what appear to be a set of broken, folded wings jutting out the back.
Investigations into what happened are still underway.
---
Thanks for reading! This is my first attempt writing on this subreddit in awhile, so feedback is always appreciated. | It took me five days to track this beautiful beast down, and there it stands, square in my sights. The last rhino was supposedly dead years ago but here stands one, beautiful though scarred on its back as if wings had formerly sprouted from there. Or was it marked? Tattooed? It’s smaller than a normal rhino, almost looks like a pig, sort of. Well, it’s going to be a trophy.
You see, my dad raised me as a tracker and it’s one of the few ways I find calm after he disappeared one day. A few years ago my mother left me too. I don’t understand why to this day. Maybe she hated me, maybe she secretly had enough and only pretended to love me with a false promise of always being there for me. We even got a tattoo on our wrist “4evr”. I was a kid but I thought it was cool, and got an awesome toy them to stop crying. Thinking back on it, it’s not normal for a kid to get a tattoo, is it?
Game hunting was my way of venting my anger combined with my tracking skills. Of course that was just on a deer in the woods back in Colorado. The anger is gone though, but the money is good. That’s why I’m out here. Last rhino? That’s what they said and here’s one standing. What’s to say there’s actually more!
I fired the shot. Not a killing blow but incapacitated.
Slowly approached. No threat. Okay. Let’s inspect the body. Everything’s sellable in the market. The scars on the back definitely look like wings were once there.
There’s some marking on one of its legs. Almost looks like my tattoo? 4evr? It’s not exactly clear but it looks like it. How coincidental.
You know what’s the funny thing? I had a strange sense of familiarity with this thing. After I saw the 4evr mark, I saw the rhino’s eyes and it looked like it was expressing something... like regret and sadness. Not from dying, but like it has done some kind of wrong to me.
And ever since I’ve sprouted 9 fox tails, I have this looming sense of dread. I’m really hoping it’s not what I think it might possibly be
Doctor... what do you think? | 2019-10-09T12:38:47 | 2019-10-09T11:48:05 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] You are a demon trapped in an ancient temple build by a long dead civilization. Today, after millennia, an archaeologist finds you. Now you need to convince him to free you from the magic circle. | The near hollow chamber echoed with remanence of a time long forgotten. The only light entering was from the cracks as the sun fell in winters, peaking through the wall near what was once an entrance. Now covered in ivy and nearly locked by dirt and dust. In the center sat bound by chains forged from obsidian, a queen. Tearing at her wrist marking her with reminders of centuries worths of failed escape attempts. Her only friends being the empty thoughts and the occasional rat who wondered in looking lost. Who soon would see light fade just as the queen eons ago. “Rats tend to be great conversationalists if given the chance.” Her majesty announced to the void.
“How pitiful an image I must be. A starved queen locked by the very people she once ruled.”
The rat did not respond.
“We are one and the same. You and I. Castaways are in a world unforgiving. Lost spirits floating aimlessly in a meaningless universe.” Looking to the heavens as if speaking to a star-filled sky.
Uninterested in the one-sided conversation, the rat trotted along to the corner. Where the charcoal remanence of a torch remained.
Now bowing her head in dramatized sorrow, “Outside these walls which bind us both, my once great kingdom now more than likely collapsed.”
The rat began to burrow into the coals in an attempt to make a bed.
“Oh, how-” She paused.
The faint sound of footsteps rang just outside the remains of the chamber door. “Do you hear that?’ in a hushed whisper to her newfound comrade.
It was not uncommon for the queen to hear the faint sounds of birds passing or even voices. She soon found these to be untrustworthy a couple of centuries into her capture. A pleading representation of a fragmented mind. This was, however, different.
“It’s over here boys!” A booming and joyous voice coming nearer.
Quickly the queen took the form of a beautiful young woman dressed in rags, unable to mask the marks left upon her bound body. Soon the ground began to rumble as the entrance began to be bombarded with hit after hit. Echoing along the walls and tearing her ivy. As a blinding light began to cascade and peak through the now grown cracks a smile began to draw over the queen's face. With one last hit, the door collapsed, and as light chased the darkness. Corning it into every crack and grove, Only able to hide behind the image of a broken woman.
“Please help me...” The queen called in a weak and dry voice.
A group of five men looked into the chamber. Their joyous expressions filled with ideas of gold and hope. Shifted to dumbfounded and worried as if in a symphony of sorrows their hearts dropped. Before them, a woman chain bound on both arm and leg between two pillars that towered to the ceiling. Both covered with symbols and two perfectly smooth square holes, one on each pillar. Scorched with marks from a flame long burned out. The woman sat perfectly in the center of a circle made of black sand and salt with inscribed symbols patterning the platform where she looked helpless. A tension building as they sat frozen.
“Please...” The woman pleaded once more, almost drier than before.
“Well, don’t just stand there! Hurry! help her!” A familiar booming voice commanded.
Three of the men staggered in rushing to aid the queen who was hiding behind the mask. Soon to meet a similar fate to the pile of dead rats who laid in the corner.
\------------
Notes:
This is my first time writing anything other than poetry in the last year. I kind of want to start writing more long-form stories to improve. Any thoughts are greatly appreciated!
Also, I kinda deviated a little from the prompt, using it more as inspiration. I hope that's okay! | The blood runes have long faded in the millenia, but She knew it was still there. Even in Her porcelain prison, She could feel the Master’s grip on her. So long as the seal on the Urn remained intact, She could not even hope to escape. There was some hope, however; the sands of time have since filled Her temple. And while She couldn’t see through the Urn, the voices of the ages still flowed in. She heard the massive wars, and the sounds of industrialization around Her. She heard the humans discover the power of combustion, the sounds of progress as they moved further and further away from the beings that trapped Her. They haven’t been keeping the sacrifices needed to keep the seals!
After 5,000 years of patience, Her enhanced senses felt it; someone digging. It was slow, methodic, the work of the sages in this era. They had discovered the roof of the temple, and were slowly digging through the detritus. She could feel it. Layer by layer, as if reaching back through time. She waited with inhuman patience, as the humans worked to get closer to her. She felt shock waves; apparently they discovered how to use sound to see where light could not. Fortunately, the Urn She was trapped in had Brass fittings; even if they didn’t find value in it it should still be seen to them. It felt like the work was only a few Cubits away!
They had been working at it for days, methodically cataloguing leftover artifacts. She remembered the bones of at least 2 Priestesses, as well as at least one ram that was last sacrificed. They found each of them, speaking a variant of Her language. To an immortal such as She, She could tell it was corrupted by several other languages from various barbarian tribes, and it sounds like there were even some who were from the north! Perhaps the city states were conquered? It didn’t matter, the digging was only a few fingers from the cavity containing Her Urn. Soon, She will be free. With no seals, only the Urn and the sand remained to block Her. When the Urn is released, all She needs to do is wait for them to open it. Even if the children of Pandora had learned their lesson, She can still wait for the urn to be placed on a table, and a push from within has a chance to break the crumbling clay.
One more finger, and She will be free. One more finger and She can join Her Brothers and Sisters. They have broken through! Soon humanity will know. Soon they will know the true horror when Hope is released. | 2020-12-06T15:17:27 | 2020-12-06T14:55:25 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] A wizard accidentally becomes immortal. He has the idea to become the antagonist so that a hero will come along and defeat him, so he can rest in peace. Sadly, the heroes are weak in comparison so the wizard creates a persona as a 'wise teacher' to train these heroes in order to defeat him. | In a lonely corner tower room of a lonely castle, an old man sat in a decrepit throne. A fire blazed in the fireplace before him. A wooden door behind him creaked open, and in stepped a dwarf sized goblin.
"Master Locke, the next Thomas brother has reached the infernal steps."
The old wizard nodded, illuminated by a crackling fireplace. The goblin servant looked thoughtful, and added: "Perhaps you should consider letting that girl from the other day try to kill you. She seemed robust, Master."
The old man grabbed a staff resting against his throne, and used it to prop himself up. "Women are too vindictive, old friend of mine tangled with one, and the girl locked him in a coffin until he starved. A young boy is happy to just chop your head off." Then he snapped his fingers and disappeared.
---
Just before Peter could knock on the wooden doors of the Castle, the doors swung open, by magic. Peter quickly fell to his knees, but said sternly, "I am Peter Thomas, brother of Adrian, slew by your own brother War-"
"Get used to me interrupting, but I've heard this before. Brothers tend to speak alike." Boomed an inhumanly loud voice.
Peter could barely make out what seemed to be a cloaked figure standing with the darkness in the distance.
"I need to avenge my brother." Peter said.
"And is he your only brother? You have younger ones yet, where are they?"
"They are younger, and must wait-.
"Their turn?" interjected the cloaked wizard, allowing a shiny smile to appear in the shadow of his hood. "But you heroes, you seek to close yourselves off from the rest. Instead of trying to be like the people you wish to save, you wish to become like the people you wish to destroy. So you come to me to learn how to stop my brother."
The boy was silent, kept his head bowed, while he kneeled. The cloaked man appeared annoyed at this, and stalked forward, and lifted him up to standing by his scruff. "At least your brother didn't kneel before shadows!"
I need but my whip, and-
"A whip?" The old man cackled. "A sidekick's weapon. If you want to be the hero, sword seems to be the universal choice. But no matter, I'll take you in."
---
The wizard sighed, and willed his pawn forward.
"Do you know why you lost?"
"Why?"
"Because you chose to play the game. That is not your objective."
'What is?"
Like a flash, the old wizard delivered a rap to the student's skull, sending him reeling in pain.
"The objective is to beat me. And you move pieces in patterns anyone can predict. When you enter my brother's fortress, will you walk into his traps because "those are the rules?"
| The warlock stood upon the ruins.
A dead village, gray ash softly falling on blackened bones. All still and all silent, only shadows still flowing, still gnawing at the skulls. His hands ached as fire left his blood. The joy of destruction, so high and clear just moments ago was already fading, guilt and despair raising to replace it.
He knew he was a monster, an abomination. He had to be stopped, he wanted to be stopped for a long time. He could never do it himself. And now one more village was dead, and no heroes came to save it. How could the world be so broken, so weak?
There were no answers. And only the gnawing shadows watched him, their faces blank.
----------------------------
"The warlock has lived thousands of years" he tells the apprentices as they train, their swords cutting through simple spells drawn by training masters. "No one knows what moves him. The legends say of a betrayal, of a love long lost. But those are legends."
"What we do know is he is a monster, a murderer, a madman. The worm of the land, the wandering death, the shadow heart. Thus our forefathers had founded the Guild of Night, the bane of warlocks, and thus we all learn and train, and prepare for the day when we stop the Mad One."
One of the apprentices stumbles and falls, tangled by the strands of the training spell. So weak. All of them are. All of them will fail, and when they face him, they will die.
Yet he does not lose hope. His Guild grows, and learns, and finds new strengths. One day. A hero would come, and cut through his spells, and scatter his shadows, and bring him the death he deserves.
One day the world would finally be right, and good, and strong. One day. | 2015-07-25T06:29:26 | 2015-07-25T05:58:40 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] "The rulebook forbids it" "Demons have a rulebook" "Yes, filled with oddly specific rules" | Adam did not expect the fiend to appear so calm. The giant sat cross-legged, its one-horned hound-head too wide for the frail body, the four hoofed legs powerful and still. It was almost meditative. Instead of bargaining and trashing to earn its freedom, it exuded a dissonant serenity, like a stoic monk facing the ordeal without any sort of emotion.
Adam was exhausted, terrified and awaiting. The efforts of the past month would be etched forever on the face of the tall and gaunt man. To gather the esoteric components for the summoning, to avoid inquisitive friends and the occasional policeman, to withstand the stress and the uncertainty had taken a toll.
He had expected a deal with the devil, one he would come to regret decades down the line, after the delight of the initial moment wore off. Threats, creeping promises, a slithering silver-tongued monster, but not that.
"No."
"No?" asked a bewildered Adam.
"No."
Where was the high-stakes game for his soul? The fine-print on the contract, the nagging feeling something was wrong, the...
"Don't overthink it," added the fiend with a coarse - but perfectly composed - voice, "I'm not doing it."
The blood of a sinner, the corpse of an innocent bird, the tears of great despair, the incantations, the words burning themselves into oak wood... for a simple no?
Adam fell to his knees.
A picture of opposites. He knelled, back straight and head low, the demon sat, barely breathing and eyes unfocused. No sound was to be heard in the small cave, it appeared closer to a thinker's retreat or a philosopher's dwelling than a hellish summoning room.
No? No. Not like this, not for so little, not after he had done so many efforts. Adam would not be denied, he had gone beyond the impossible, broken the veil of worlds to bring the hound-headed demon here, it would not be for nothing.
He stood up in rage, approached the being and forced it to look into his eyes by the force of his presence alone.
Fighting to keep back tears, he asked once more:
"Please."
"Would Emily want that?" It answered.
"You don't get to invoke her name."
He had tried, and now he failed. Sobs escaped him, and the tears rolled freely.
Luck brought them together. Adam and Emily, a wise-cracking introvert, and a cynical easy-goer with the attention span of a koala.
No great spark, no sudden love-story through highs and lows, no... here came the no again. It permeated Adam's life story.
They had made efforts to make it work. Their drastic lifestyles had required communication and adaptation, nuance and finesse, and whenever one hardship was crossed came the next. But they did it, they did so together, and they were willing to continue.
Until both got tipsy during a night out. They walked back outside, arm under arm. She slipped, he held her by the hand. All it did was deny her a limb for protection, and her head hit the pavement.
She was gone an hour later.
"Please. Bring her back, she didn't deserve that."
"Nobody deserves anything, the world doesn't work this way."
"I will give you my soul," he whispered.
"No Adam. I won't let you trade the chance to recover and turn the page for a short-lived illusion that will only keep you from moving on."
A strange sensation overcame Adam, piercing through despair. Not fear, not wrath, but a nagging suspicion.
"Are you pitying me?" he asked with a trembling voice.
"Yes."
"Are you trying to help me?"
"Yes."
He lowered his head pensively.
"That's the trick, isn't it? To pass as a friend and get me to lower my guard."
"No," the decision fell like a knife, again, "Adam, understand this. No matter what you say, do or don't, I will not bring Emily back. Not now, not ever. Answer me this, would she want you to sacrifice your soul to have her back?"
"No, but - "
"But what, Adam? What?" Its voice boomed and echoed in the small cave, "*But I love her?* Well, congratulations on coating her second life with the knowledge that her being back cursed you to an eternity of suffering, you think your love will survive that? *But I need her?* You were born with your own set of legs and they still hold you upright. It won't be easy, but you learned how to walk alone once already."
"I can't live without her."
The fiend suddenly mellowed. His voice flew gentle.
"You have her in memory, Adam. She's there. The moments you had together, the walks in the night, the words spoken, the winks, the tickles. Just like the morning breeze waking you up, her memory will be with you, just like she had you in hers, making a senseless life a little bit more bearable. Don't throw this all away to live a deception that will break down under what it took to build it."
What had started with the purples fires of eldritch energy had turned into a discussion about love, life and death. No soul was at stake, Adam - sitting with his back on the brick wall - knew. And the fiend was showing itself to be just as vicious and convincing as he had expected; its words pierced his hide like arrows. Adam wanted to be sad, he wanted to scream, to hate. Yet the words he heard made him remember the good times, made him smile through the tears.
It reminded him of good times, how it had been worth it, how it was still worth it. | “Why do you of all people have a rulebook? What could be written in there? I didn’t sell my soul to you to be told no!” I did my best to look intimidating as I stood before the goat headed behemoth of a demon. Growing more frustrated with each passing moment, as they didn’t even bother to look up at me from the leather skinned book they were reading, a pair of squared glasses sitting over their beady goat's eyes.
“For starters, a person cannot wish for the end of the world. Could you imagine what the world would look like if every lunatic could just wish for the end of the world? It would be chaos and as much as demons enjoy chaos, even that’s a little too chaotic for our tastes.” They responded, placing the book down, finally meeting my gaze.
“I don’t want world domination. All I asked for was a cheese toastie. You know, two pieces of bread, a rather unhealthy amount of cheese and the pure bliss that comes from knowing you probably just took a few minutes off your life eating it?” The demon went to respond, only to get interrupted by me. “Oh, and the bread is toasted. That’s the toastie part. It’s rather nice, so hurry and get me one.” I commanded, only to feel a heat hit the soles of my feet, sending me onto my back as I blew at the small burn marks that appeared.”
“YOU WILL DEMAND NOTHING OF ME.” The behemoth shrieked; their words followed by a horrific goat squeal that shook the room. “Your blood may bind me to you, but I am no servant. Remember who you will spend eternity with once your mortal body perishes.”
My body shook, hands clutching at the ground before me, struggling to pick myself up from the floor. It was a pitiful sight. Whenever I would lift myself up, my arms would give. The most I could do was sit myself upright, trying to regain some dignity.
“Yes, I know what a cheese toastie is. Everyone knows what that is. Now, if you are going to stop behaving like a child, I will inform you of why I can’t give you one. Rule 90, a demon may not summon any food deemed heavenly. This includes cheese toasties, wine, certain types of breads and a few others that I don’t feel like reading out.”
“Heavenly? It’s the simplest food there is. How is it heavenly?” I argued, finally finding my legs, able to return to my standing position before the demon.
“It tastes nice, and people crave it. You are craving it now, aren’t you? That is its divine hold. All I can do is provide you with some goat’s cheese and maybe a raisin filled bread to use for your toastie? Other than that I can’t be anymore help.”
“Goat’s cheese and raisin bread. I can’t imagine a worse combination.” I scoffed at the idea, quickly shooting it down. “What other foods can you offer me? Maybe something that isn’t gross. Nothing goat related either, it feels weird given your face.”
“What’s wrong with my face.” The demon crouched, lifting their glasses, their dead eyes staring into mine. It was like looking into hell itself, empty pits that sucked a person in. When their glasses fell back over their eyes, I felt their hold break, my head aching after the intense stare off.
“Nothing, nothings wrong with your face.” I muttered, rubbing the side of my face, hoping that might ease the banging feeling in my skull.
“Good, now are we done here or do you have anymore stupid requests?” I went to open my mouth, only for the demon to flick open the book again, pointing to a paragraph. “Rule 219, one may not wish harm or torment on the demon that is serving them. Nice try.” They grinned.
Before I could lie and say that wasn’t what I was planning on wishing for, they tossed the book my way, the hard cover hitting my chest, knocking the wind out of me.
“Here, read up on the rules. Next time you summon me, it better be worth my time.” The demon said, vanishing back into the underworld, leaving me gasping, holding the heavy book.
“Rules are made to be broken. I’ll find a loophole.” I grumbled, able to act tough now that the demon was out of sight. Placing the book under my arm, heading to my bedroom. Guess I had some reading to do.
 
 
 
(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.) | 2021-10-06T07:26:47 | 2021-10-06T06:43:26 | 46 | 33 |
[WP] As a small child, you walked in on Death taking your great grandmother. You unexpectedly became friends and Death began to visit you often for tea and conversation. You're now very, very old and Death has become quite evasive on subject of your ultimate demise. | "Would you like some tea?" She held out an empty cup to the man standing by the bed, which was awkwardly shoehorned into the small home's living room.
He gazed downwards at her and smiled, nodding and taking the cup. "Where's your mother?" He asked her, his voice echoing despite the room's size.
"On the phone. She's always on the phone now." She went back to the small play table with teacups and stuffed animals and cleared one of the small seats. "Come and play with me?"
He glanced at the old woman, who had stopped breathing several minutes ago, and then down at his watch. "A few minutes." He said as he crouched down to fit his lanky form into the small chair.
Five years later she sat in a hard backed hospital seat outside a room, her eyes glued to the screen of her game system, quietly occupying herself while a pair of grown up voices argued within.
"Where's your mother?" The familiar voice caught her attention and she looked up. She smiled, setting aside her game.
"Why are you here?"
"This is where I spend most of my time now. Always busy."
"What about my dad?"
"Not to worry. He and I do not have an appointment for a while. Do you want a bag of chips?" He pointed to the vending machine.
They ate cheese puffs together and for twenty minutes nobody died.
She didn't see him again for ten years. She was crying, quietly and alone in her dorm room. Her sadness threatened to swallow her whole. She felt rather than heard a weight next to her as someone sat on the bed. She was relieved to see him.
"I'm ready." She whispered. But he merely shook his head.
"I am not here for you, I am here with you."
He sat next to her for an hour, and then was gone.
As she grew older she saw him here and there. On the highway she saw him mingling with accident crews and waved. At her great-aunt's funeral she spotted him wandering through the graveyard and he bought her a cup of coffee.
"I know it's coming soon."
"What is?"
"Our appointment."
He merely let out a small "mmmm" as he sipped from the teacup, this time with liquid within it.
"I'm not afraid. I just need to know when."
"The beauty of humanity is in that ignorance. Do not spoil it."
"I won't tell anyone."
"I know."
She smiled quietly and continued to drink. The man glanced up at the clock, and then to the bedroom. Within, a body lay dormant and silent, the soul having joined him for a cup of tea some thirty minutes before. He just had to find a way to tell his only friend that this was their final meeting.
(if anyone notices typos I will fix them! I'm on mobile so proofreading is not easy! Thanks!) | Me: "I thank you for protecting me old friend, but had I not wanted to know, I wouldn't have asked."
Death: "Thats the thing Otis, people think they want to know, then they find out and wish they hadn't. When you don't know, you think you can handle it. You think you can handle the end of your time."
Me: "I know it is what happens. I know all humans die. Can you at least tell me how? And what time of day?"
Death: "I'm afraid that if I did you would become fearful of living. You wouldn't want to go to sleep, or eat, or do the things you enjoy doing. The reason people live happily is not because they know they will live forever, but because they have forgotten about me."
*I sip my tea and start to cough*
*I can't stop coughing and I can't breath, is this why he didn't want to tell me? Because it was right here, right now?*
*Death stands up with a sorrowful look*
*My eyes widen*
*I give one last compression in my diaphragm*
Me: "Oh boy, that was a close one."
*Deaths look softens to normal*
Death: "You're telling me, I thought your time came sooner than it should have."
Death: "How did it feel? Thinking you were about to die?"
Me: "Horrifying, it seemed so realistic and in my face. Why would anyone want to know when they were going to die?"
Death: "You said it brother, how about passing me another sugar cube?"
Me: "Sure thing, buddy"
P.S. this is my first time posting a prompt and idk good formatting :S any feedback is appreciated though ^.^ | 2016-08-01T10:04:04 | 2016-08-01T09:49:21 | 607 | 59 |
[WP] Humanity has always thought itself very smart for figuring out how to ride a giant explosion into space. Turns out there's a much easier way and the rest of the galaxy thinks we're insane. | The Federation Cruiser sat in orbit around Earth, waiting for the human emissaries to arrive. One each of the tripartite Federation counsel - a Trylixian, a Loloth, and a Hiddrell, each waited in the grand reception hall, eager to begin negotiations.
Humanity was like to be a powerful ally for the Federation and it was estimated their high rate of reproduction would quickly bolster the ranks of the Federation military within a matter of centuries.
It had been a long and tiresome process arranging this first meeting, however. Humankind proved quite anxious and excitable and initial efforts at contact were met with threats. It took a decade of entreaties, and the work of dozens of xenolinguists and xenosociologists to build the trust necessary for a physical meeting.
All the while the Federation had laid defacto blockade to the human home world, although the humans did not seem to mind as they had no space faring fleet whatsoever beyond a smattering of probes and the delicate "space station" of which they were so protective.
But still, the Federation saw humanity's potential and waited eagerly for their full induction into galactic civilization.
One of the Trylixian engineers, a lieutenant, approached the three emissaries as they talked amongst themselves.
"Counselors, the humans are incoming. However -" The engineer paled and hesitated.
The Trylixian counselor chimed in, "out with it soldier. Is their a problem?"
"Not exactly your honor, but, well, the human ship is mounted on a chemical rocket."
The Trylixian counselor blanched, the Hiddrell hissed in that staccato way that indicated laughter, and the Loloth, a giant white blob, radiated a wave of pensive pink across its undulating form.
"You must be mistaken," the Trylixian counselor replied, "they have their precious space station in geosynchronous orbit. Why would they use rockets instead of a space elevator? Why maintain such a station otherwise?"
The lieutenant did not know what to say. "I have no idea, your honor. But the humans *are* incoming on a ballistic trajectory."
"What did I tell you," the Hiddrell hissed, tapping the talons of his right hand against one another, "they are a bold race. They ride missiles into the sky!"
The Loloth glowed lightly as it transmitted its voice into its fellow counselors' minds. "Bold and foolhardy are close cousins, distant relative of madness."
For his part the Trylixian counselor had more practical concerns than human psychology. "Lieutenant, raise the shields and put the ship on code yellow alert - I'll not risk the safety of this vessel." Or his own life, he failed to add.
The lieutenant gave a curt nod. "Yes your honor," he said and marched off.
Anxious, the Trylixian counselor filled a glass with hot tea and sat at the head of the negotiation table. The Loloth gave a worried glow.
"And if the humans interpret our shields as a sign of aggression, what then?"
But the Trylixian gave a scornful laugh and waved away the Loloth's concern. "Please, I doubt the imbeciles can even register our shielding," he said and then leaned forward emphatically, "They're flying in on a *ballistic missile*! They might as well have fired themselves out of cannon," he shook his head anxiously. "Maniacs," he muttered and took a swig of his tea, thankful for its mild sedative effect on his frayed nerves.
*****
#### For More Legends From The Multiverse
#### r/LFTM
| Humans had always been persistent, from the time they had been spotted on their homeworld, struggling with wars, strife and poverty. They, against all odds had prevailed time and time again. Yet there always seemed to be a more peaceful solution, an easier one.
Humanity had a talent for making things more difficult than they actually were.
Why go to war when you could resolve tensions peacefully? Why argue over resources that would soon disappear instead of preparing for that eventuality? Why over-indulge in the useless things instead of helping others? Most human conflict seemed quite unbelievable to them.
They were considered a curiosity, a subject of jokes they weren’t aware of. They were known throughout the galaxy for their odd quirk.
And when they finally invented space travel, uniting after countless centuries of pointless conflict.
Their ascension into space would be remembered for centuries.
The humans lifted off their homeworld in giant structures of all things, giant structures powered by explosions.
Explosions.
Explosions..
Explosions...
Explosions?
Their impractical vessels were powered by explosions. It was the most unstable manner of the space flight they had witnessed.
They didn’t seemed to rely on gravity at all. In fact their vessels fought against gravity. The very source that powered most of the Intergalactic Union’s vessels.
The humans had certainly lived up to their reputation.
It was absolutely insane, they had tamed most of the fundamental forces of the known universe and they had chosen to fight against the most useful one. The single crucial force that would allow them to have unlimited travel throughout the universe. To build anything.
Instead they had chosen to use explosions. **Explosions** to power something that clearly was very fragile, that required the upmost delicacy.
The humans were insane, there was no other word for it.
___
A few decades later, the first human vessel would come in contact with an unidentified alien ship. When they activated the comms system and established contact, the beings had started to react.
The more humanoid ones started to cough, others not so much. Some seemingly propulsing liquid out of various sensory organs.
Even a few decades later, humans would never understand why the first aliens they had met reacted so violently.
They associated the reaction with the word “Hello” since the aliens seemed to always react that way in the presence of humans. The reaction was even more amplified when they were present with more than one member of their species.
*It was like they all shared some sort of inside joke.* | 2019-01-21T06:11:50 | 2019-01-21T06:09:26 | 256 | 84 |
[WP] You have just found the cure to a virus that is killing millions worldwide, why do you keep it to yourself? | John approached his colleague, and friend, glancing around the sterile room as he did. Most of the other researchers had hit their bunks for their mandatory four hours.
“Stephen, I think I’ve got something…” he said
Looking over his shoulder again, he directed Stephen to the corner of the room, where a microscope sat in a mountain of clutter.
“Look.” he said.
Stephen leaned over and peered into the microscope. His hand trembled as he adjust the eyepiece.
“The virus is receding!” said Stephen, “We’ve done it! What batch is this? We’ve got to get it into production!”
“No, not yet. I’ve destroyed everything that led me to this batch.”
Still hunched over, Stephen turned his head away from the eyepiece.
“What? What the fuck John?”
“It’s still in my head, I can recreated it. Just… just not yet. I only showed you for confirmation. You are the only one I can trust with this.”
Stephen stood upright and looked around the room. His eyes opened wide, he demanded an explanation without saying a word.
“Look, think about it for a second. The world was fucked anyway. Poverty, famine, war, global warming and then whatever shit we would think of next to kill ourselves off.” He glanced around the room again and lowered his voice, “I’m not saying we sit here and let the human race die, I’m saying we wait. Did you know that the black plague actually solved a lot of social problems? They were at crisis point. Overcrowded cities, violence and extreme poverty. We’re way beyond that point. We have the chance right now to save humanity! To tip the odds in our favor, to make rebuilding easier. People will be reeling from this, maybe the human race will finally gain some perspective. Maybe we can achieve world peace! A balanced society.” he said.
“John you can’t do this! Millions of people have died, and millions more will follow. You will be responsible for those deaths”
“Maybe, but maybe I will be responsible for saving mankind!”
He snatched the Petri dish from under the microscope and poured a destructive solution over it.
“It’s done Stephen. I will create another batch, but only when the time is right.”. | I can't share it, it'd be too risky. There'd be pandemonium. Millions, if not billions of people rushing to get the cure. It doesn't seem fair, but it is right. It won't do anyone much good if they're trampled on in a massive stampede for it.
I was working on a chemistry project. I had the virus and it was slowly, painfully killing me. But I carried on. There's no point stopping, It's wasn't like anything could ease the pain. Something went wrong. I dropped a little too much Dihydrogen Monoxide in and it started steaming. Before I could move away I had a faceful of it. I started coughing and passed out.
When I woke up, the painful spots on my arms had gone, I no longer felt sick. I checked myself with a guide from the NHS website and none of the symptoms applied to me anymore.
I figured that with the amount of people dying, there would be riots everywhere. I wouldn't be able to produce enough to keep up with demand. People would fight over it. They would die over it.
A cure that kills more than it saves. I won't let it.
edit: punctuation and a sentence | 2014-05-30T02:32:10 | 2014-05-30T01:50:22 | 53 | 11 |
[WP] Fallen angel is a pretty popular trope in fiction. But I want to hear about Ascended Demons. Demons that were too good/ kind/ pious for the underworld and managed to break out. | I never understood the war. We were immortal. What the point of fighting? You can't kill something that is immortal. You aren't going to convince someone of your opinion with a flaming sword. I don't even know what my opinion was anyway. Duty? I think it was duty. Or maybe just momentum. I was in a rut. Running on autopilot. I didn't have passion for what I did. Then I met my first fallen angel. One whose righteousness outweighed his kindness and mercy until he embraced wrath and pride and fell.
That told me that we weren't stuck. Maybe I don't have to be a demon like the doesn't have to be an angel. Still, it is hard to be so slothful and indifferent it somehow twists into a virtue. So jealous that it becomes pious. So proud you come around to humility. Sins tend to feed into each other better than virtues. The idea sat in the back of my mind for centuries before I found the opportunity. The ultimate pride move that became a charity.
Demons are, by our jealous and prideful nature, very competitive. When the most hated man in history dies by his own hand well, we try to outdo each other. He becomes a focal point of hatred from the worlds of man and god and we go to work. Torments humans couldn't comprehend were thought up, used, and improved upon until the soul was nothing but a dried up husk.
Then it was my turn. So I brought him hope. I brought him the one soul who would not judge him. The one soul who loved him unconditionally, even now. The one who showed a little speck of light for him to cling to.
The other demons conceded I won, not that I cared. They were free to torment him for eternity as every time they broke him he could now be brought back. They never understood that I didn't do it for them, or even for him. I couldn't care less about the most hated soul in hell.
I cared about the soul who missed him. The soul who was trapped in limbo in heaven but I was able to help. Because every time the demons were through with him he was returned to her. And every time Blondi greeted him with a dopey smile and wagging tail. By his side was the only place she was truly happy. Heaven is where your heart is.
And all dogs go to heaven. | Another day in Hell.
Glaring, fluorescent lights. Loud, ringing phones. Equally loud co-workers.
I gulp as I knock on the door, reading back over the plaque:
SATAN BEELZEBUB LUCIFER, M.B.A.
GENERAL MANAGER
HELL AND AFFILIATES, INC.
"Come in," booms the loud voice in the background.
There he is, enormous ram's horns protruding from the back of his bald head, his chin jutting out like the edge of a crescent moon, eyelids on each eye closing from the sides around scaly, yellow eyeballs with no whites.
I hand him the letter.
He reads over it and grunts.
"Dear Satan Beelzebub Lucifer,
I am submitting this notice of resignation as I have recently received a job offer from our competit - you what?"
"I had to give you advance notice," I say, "so that I wouldn't violate the non-compete clause."
"I have no idea how you got a job like that *without violating company policy*," hisses Satan, obviously seething. "But I'll let this slide since you've already resigned, and there's nothing more I can do. Two more weeks."
I smile, for the first time in five years since accepting this position, daydreaming of the golden fields and grand classical palaces that await me. | 2019-11-08T10:51:37 | 2019-11-08T09:26:14 | 26 | 18 |
[WP]: Rule of thumb: If you see something on a foreign planet that has all the outward traits of an apex predator, but no obvious and apparent way to kill you - run. The methods in which they kill aren't something you want to see. | "That thing is massive. It's the size of a bloody ship, it's an apex predator, we need to get away from it."
"Owen, we're just here to observe, not fight it." She finished her drink and lowered the water bottle, answering nonchalantly. "Look, they're not attacking us, I'm sure we'll be fine."
"And what if it does attack us?" he asked indignantly. "We're defenceless."
"We're not supposed to kill them though? That's illegal."
"Which means they can kill us without consequence."
"With what? They don't have any teeth."
"Just look at that thing and say it couldn't."
"I guess they could," she replied. "but would they? We're not their prey."
"Not yet."
She sighed. "Whatever, get your suit on."
"I can't just go down there knowing that I might die."
"You're far more likely to die from... I don't know, an oxygen tank failure. You accepted this risk, coming along with us." She slipped on her goggles and stood up. "Look, just put on your suit, we're almost at the spot."
"We're going to be out there," he paused for dramatic emphasis. "Out there, away from the rest of humanity, surrounded by predators. With no weapons and nothing but our suit to protect us. Damn the laws, damn the mission, if you think this is safe you're crazy. We don't even know how it would kill us, and I don't want to find out. I don't want to die, I don't want you to die, I don't want to have to leave your body behind because we don't have a way to get it back-"
The captain thumped his fist on the wall. "Owen, I don't care if you stay on the ship, but for the love of god if you don't shut up about whales eating people, I'm going to throw you off the side to find out." | It was maybe 2 meters tall and wore the dead skin of an animal wrapped around the connection between it's legs and torso. It's skin was a very dark and rich shade of brown. My best geust was ot was to withstand the arid heat of this continent. It stared at me in cautious curiosity with it's large white ocular organs. The brown circles with black dots in the center focused on me, then my sidearm. I could only assume it already knew how to use it, or at least could quickly figure it out. It stepped forward away from the female and young members of it's tribe. It started to run AT me. I quickly pulled my gun and shot it, the small bolt hit it's shoulder barely slowing it, I turned and ran. I easily outran it, but given the intelligence I was fed about these things, it would only be a matter of time before it caught up. I needed to rest, I had been running for minutes. I knew the human would find me. | 2021-01-25T09:28:28 | 2021-01-25T08:45:18 | 138 | 51 |
[WP] Two hitmen, who have been hired to kill each other, are stuck in an elevator that has broken down, without knowing who the other is the two begin to suspect the other is their target through conversation.
EDIT; ok, so it's come to my attention through Piconeeks that 'revealing' through conversation can be damaging to the belief of the story and constraining. So I'd like to add on to the prompt that 'the two begin to suspect the other is their target through conversation and/or actions/observations'. | I pause in front of the building and pull out my phone again to check the message one last time to see if I'd missed anything.
>Target: Eric Vance
>Payout: $100k
>Priority: High
>Risk: High
The email closed with an ominous warning: "Use caution."
I tucked the phone back into my jacket, did a quick assessment of myself and walked through the front door.
"Can I help you, sir?" A woman at the front desk addressed me almost instantly.
"Yes. I have a reservation." I pulled a folded up document out of my pocket and presented it to her.
"Let's see... looks like we've got you on the third floor, room 313. Here's your room keys, the elevator's down the hall and to the right. Have a nice day!" She made an effort to smile with the last bit, so I made a similar effort to thank her and be on my way. I've always hated hotels, but for some reason I always get sent to hotels. I missed the good old days when you could just double tap someone with a suppressed .22 at the park in broad daylight and stroll out of there and right into the nearest sandwich shop. But people are afraid these days. Afraid of domestic terrorism and mad gunmen. Afraid of strangers in suits and ties. Business had been slowing down for a few years now, but there's always someone who needs killing, and there's always someone willing to pay for it.
After navigating the hallway for a bit I finally come to the elevators. The one on the left is blocked off with two small traffic cones and a neatly-written "Out of Order" sign taped to the doors. So, I press "up" on the right side and wait. I hear the machinery wind up and come to life and the tell-tale sounds of an elevator carriage making its way down.
When the doors finally open I check my watch and take a few steps to get inside. I'm about to hit the button for the third floor when a voice breaks the silence around me.
"Hey, wait a second!" A man in a leather jacket and jeans is holding his hand out toward me. He jogs a little to close the gap between us and makes his way into the elevator, looking at me again. "You going up?" He asks.
"Yeah. You?"
"Yeah, fourth floor." I tap the buttons for the third and fourth floor and hope the doors close before someone else decides to hop on. After what seems like forever, they finally do just that.
As the elevator springs to life again, I can't help but notice it's moving at a snail's pace. No, not even. Snails would blow this thing out of the water. I begin to wonder if I should have just used the stairs when another terrible sound breaks my concentration. The squeal of metal against metal echoes throughout the elevator shaft and the car shakes violently, nearly causing me to lose my balance. When everything stops screaming and shaking, I look over at the other man and he just throws a glance back at me and smiles.
"Well, this is awkward," he starts. "Guess I should have stayed at the place across the street, huh?" He chuckles to himself.
*What the fuck,* I curse under my breath and start hammering at the control panel hoping for results.
"I don't think that's gonna help."
"So what are we supposed to do?" I snap back.
"Well, we're gonna be here for a while, probably..." he trails off a bit and seems overly interested in the emergency lights illuminating the elevator car. Several minutes pass, and I keep looking at him, expecting him to finish his thought. He eventually meets my gaze again and continues. "So, what do you do for a living?"
I can't believe my ears. Is this guy serious? Your fucking elevator breaks down and you want to start chatting? This is why I hate hotels.
"What?" I do my best to convey my annoyance in my question.
"Your job, man. What kind of work do you do?"
I do my best to stay calm and let out a heavy sigh before answering. "I'm a cleaner. I clean up people's messes."
He looks at me with a cocked head and smirks. "You're a bit overdressed to be a cleaner, don't you think?"
"I deal with very high-end clientele." I'm getting annoyed now.
"I see." He turns his head away, almost as if he's insulted by my answer.
"What about you? What do you do?"
"Oh, I just do some contract work here and there. Nothing real steady, but whenever people need something taken care of, they call me."
Now that's a euphemism if I've ever heard one. My annoyance is slightly tempered by my intrigue. "Contract work, huh?"
"Yeah. Sometimes I get real easy jobs, sometimes real hard ones." The emergency lights start to flicker a bit, almost accenting his words. "Sometimes they've got me running around chasing jobs... and sometimes they just fall right into my lap." He grins as the last few words leave his mouth and I notice he's staring at the pin in my lapel.
Something's wrong here. I pull out my phone and check the email again. No picture. Just words. High risk. Use caution. As I tuck the phone away again, I begin to wrap my fingers around the handle of the knife strapped to my side. The lights are getting worse now.
"What did you say your name was again?" I've got a firm grasp on my weapon now.
"Oh, you can call me Eric."
The lights go out. | I had to give this woman credit where it was due; she looked *fantastic.*
I always feel strange, being the best dressed man in any given room, like my attire screams for attention. This was Wall Street, though, and the information I'm looking for can only be found here.
So, while I'm wearing a suit, her attire is undoubtedly casual. A heavy jacket, blue jeans, long brown boots. She stands loose, relaxed. In my line of work, we learn to read bodies very quickly.
We learn to drop them, too.
I'm a professional, see? I perform a certain type of work for a specific set of clients. I take pride in that work, I do it well, and I make a nice living off of it. When people ask, I tell them I'm an investor, or a contractor. Whatever's necessary at the time.
At some point later, sometimes ten minutes, sometimes ten hours, I'm carefully sliding a sharp implement in between their ribs, or holding a .22 pistol flush against their head and pulling the trigger. .22s are less messy; there's no exit wound, and the bullet ricochets around nicely in the skull, causing a nice, clean kill. It's easier to clean up.
I make eye contact while studying her, and I flash a broad smile. People always told me I had a nice smile, and I use it copiously. Anything to give you a leg up, right? She flashes her own, a tight-lipped, terse smile. It was quite a contrast to her attire. I expected her smile to be as casual and loose as mine. I decided to say something, expecting that perhaps it was the silence causing her unease.
"What brings you to Wall Street?" I ask.
"Oh, nothing important. I'm just here to see my boyfriend." Boyfriend. Right. I'm always jotting down these notes in my head. I never ask for names. Acquaintances and friends aren't something you can afford in this line of work. "Acquaintance" and "friend" are usually terms reserved for people I'll be burying later.
"Is that so?" I ask. To anyone else, the "boyfriend" quip would have been a conversation killer. I'm killing time here, not picking up chicks, so I continue the conversation.
"Mm-hm." She answers tersely.
"You seem a little on edge. Relationship trouble?" I ask casually. It was almost fun to watch her squirm in the uncomfortable situation.
"You could say that. He's a big contractor. He has a lot on his plate. I tried to come and relieve the pressure a little bit. I couldn't find him." I could see another quick, mirthless smile from my angle. It only lasted a second, but it set me on edge. She knew something I didn't.
If you can't figure out who the sucker is in the room, it's always you. I continue probing.
"Really? Well, that's an interesting coincidence. I came to have a discussion with one of my competitors. Maybe see if we can work something out."
"She's infringing on your turf, is that it?"
It takes a lot of nerve to stifle your body language, to prevent that telling tension from showing up in the first place, or to keep the sweat from staining the collar of your nice shirt. I have to think while I make a conscious effort to maintain composure. It's very draining.
Her stance, meanwhile, has not changed. Her right hand is uncomfortably close to her purse, her left hand reaches back to scratch an itch. ~~She's the one toying with me.~~
She wouldn't. Too difficult. Someone's gotta fix the elevator eventually, open the doors, see the corpse on the floor with the survivor. It takes too much explaining, too much interacting with the police. Blue and Orange are our *least* favorite colors (War Eagle, by the way).
She made a mistake, and now she's going to pay for it. "How would you like to get coffee after this?" I ask. Still the picture of casual, still the picture of relaxed.
"Hmm..." She seems to think it over. "I think I'll pass."
"That's too bad." I say.
"We don't even know each other's names. Who's got time for a nameless man asking an equally nameless woman out for coffee?"
That really *is* too bad.
Edit: cut a line for consistency. Spelling error. | 2014-12-02T10:13:54 | 2014-12-02T09:19:17 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] Torture was never invented. Countries instead spoil prisoners like kings to get information out of them. You are an instructor tasked with training spies to resist the enemy's kindness. | Stav paced up and down the ranks of spies. "They will do their very best to spoil your rotten. They will give you the best food, the most luxurious of massages. They will pamper you and do your toenails. And what do you give them?"
"Nothing." The reply was immediate and absolute. They were in the final phase of their training, and there was only one test left. Stav turned, his eyes sweeping up and down the faces of the clandestine service officers.
"You," he stepped up to a woman. Her green eyes met his with a stoic hardness. She was Yolanda Zameer. The top of her class, and the example he would make.
If he could break her they would see that he could break them all.
He beckoned her with his finger and she stood, following him to the front of the room and sitting down in the plush chair that he provided. Stav turned to her and placed his hands on his hips.
"Miss Zameer," he paced back and forth in front of her. "You *will* tell us the location of your black ops base in this country. You *will* tell us what happened to Gregor Anatoli."
"I'm sorry," Yolanda looked at him with calm eyes. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
Part of him wanted to smile with pride. *Bet I could hook her up to a goddamn lie detector and she wouldn't even blink.* "You don't know what we're talking about?" he smirked at her. "Oh, but Miss Zameer. We have time stamped photos of you at the last known location of Mr. Anatoli. Surely you don't think us so stupid to believe this is a coincidence?"
With a measured voice Yolanda said, "I'm sorry. I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."
"Well then," Stav rolled back his sleeves. "I suppose we'll have to turn to more...*extreme* measures." He walked over to his desk in the classroom, pulling open a drawer and extracting from it something that briefly caught a gleam of light before he hid it in his hands.
"Miss Zameer, this is your final warning," he said. "Tell us where Gregor is and we'll make a deal with your government."
"I'm sorry, I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," came the response.
Stav grinned. This was his favorite part of the job, training them to take an interrogation. "Well then, Yolanda. I'm afraid I have no choice but to force this upon you." He revealed the shiny key that he had held in his hand. Yolanda took a deep inhale before collecting herself.
"Is that...?"
"Why yes. It's the key to a new Ferrari. It could be yours if you give us the information."
"I-I'm sorry, I don't know what you're talking about."
"No?" Stav reached into his pocket and took out a piece of paper, unfolding it. "How about a castle in Scotland?"
Yolanda bit her lip, her fingers starting to curl together. "I...I'm sorry. I don't...I don't know..."
"And an hour with our best masseuse?" Stav ventured, smiling as he watched her shift in her chair. "Plus an all-expenses paid trip to Paris? A romantic dinner with your boyfriend at the top of the Eiffel? A dual citizenship?"
"Y-you're lying!" Yolanda's voice started to break. Stav could see that she was visibly sweating now.
"I'm not lying, Yolanda," Stav came to a halt in front of her. Most would have broken by this point and he could see that her will was fading. He just had to push a little harder.
"And then we'll pay for a shopping spree at Chanel," the slow grin spread across his face as Yolanda's mouth dropped open, her hands clutching at her heart.
"Gregor is in the black site two hundred kilometers south of here!" she cried. "I can get you in!"
Stav smiled as he slowly turned to the rest of the class. "You may think that you have what it takes to be *out there* doing field work. But let me tell you, you have a long way to go in learning how to withstand interrogation."
---
For more nonsensical things, subscribe to /r/Celsius232 | I changed it a bit so that it was just one country who use kindness instead of torture.
--------------------------
I stared out at the group in front of me, they all stared back unflinchingly. It was good, they were the finest of Ekklesia, and they feared nothing. But I wasn’t here to test their fear.
“You’re all here because you are our nation’s finest agents. You are all highly qualified in espionage, infiltration, seduction, and combat. These skills are what make you our greatest assets, but also our greatest weaknesses. You know our secrets, know our plans, and you know who our other agents are. You have of course been trained to resist torture, but these Hedonians utilise something worse than you can imagine.”
“Worse than Algosian thumb-screws?” asked one burly lad from the back of the room.
“Absolutely.”
“Worse than an Ouduni nipple clamp?” asked a femme-fatal in the front row.
“Without a doubt,” I nodded grimly. “These people… well let me give you a demonstration. Any volunteers?”
The room was silent as the students looked around at each other. They had all experienced various forms of torture in their training, but that didn’t mean they wanted to go through any more. Finally the man built like a brick wall from the back of the room stood up.
“I will, I can take anything,” he spoke. They were always so sure.
“Very well, come up to the front,” the man came to the front. “Please take a seat.”
The man sat down in the chair, pointed away from me and facing the rest of his comrades. I slowly placed my hands on the man’s neck, my fingers hard as leather began to slightly squeeze. I moved down to his shoulders and began to give him a thorough massage.
“Massage is only one of the tricks these Hedonians use to get information from our agents,” I said, as I moved down to his lower back.
“What do you mean? Is this it?” he asked.
“Well, I’m not as well trained as a Hedonian masseuse, but I think I can get something out of you.” I spoke, squeezing the knots out of his back.
“It’s just a massage guys, this is nothing,” he said to his comrades, a hint of humour in his voice.
“But doesn’t it feel good?”
“Well yeah, but…”
“Shh, don’t talk. Just relax,” I said and began working his spine. It was like hypnotism, you had to get them into the right pleasured state of mind.
“So, I hear the Ekklesian fleet is sending a force of twenty triremes to Hedonia this campaigning season.” I said. Gossip was a key interrogation technique for the Hedonians.
“No, that’s just a distraction tactic. We plan on invading the Aogan Isles in the Summer,” the man spoke freely, mystified by my massage.
I looked around the room to see a group of stunned faces.
“And that’s just with my old sausage fingers, imagine what a true Hedonian masseuse could do to you. We had better get started with your training. First lesson, how to handle dinner parties.”
-----------
[Click here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Wrobbing/) to see all of my short stories written for /r/writingprompts, and more!
| 2016-04-13T06:21:45 | 2016-04-13T05:00:03 | 1,406 | 587 |
[WP] internet goes down. An emergency public broadcast on the television plays "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." The radio simultaneously broadcasts the message "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND." | The message on the screen read "STAY INDOORS AND DO NOT LOOK OUTSIDE." as my radio told me. "EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY, GET TO HIGH GROUND." Lucky for me, I fell asleep watching the television the night before which gave me time to cover the windows on both sides and the front before I accidently took in the beautiful morning as I usually do. Otherwise I might have been in trouble.
The lack of internet and phone service was disconcerting as I tried to get more info about whatever disaster was going on outside but wasn't all that abnormal for someone like me. Finally stumbling upon the radio stations giving the nearly impossible opposite order.
I pondered for a moment about what could be happening and what I should do and then I laughed, fortunately for me I'm one of the few people who doesn't have to make a choice. I felt bad for all the people who did, they must be terrified.
I plugged in my security camera and stuck it between the folds of the blankets I had hung up to cover the front window and used that to get past not looking outside directly. What I saw confused me... There were two people within view outside... one walking continuously into a tree and the other a short plump woman standing perfectly still seeming like she was struggling just to keep her balance.
"Okay that's weird." I said out loud. Talking to myself is my way of coping when things get a bit beyond my comprehension.
Looks like whatever is happening might be happening here too... I promptly prepared for my departure taking stock of my remaining food and water and making sure my kitchen knives were at the ready in case I needed them... Hated myself for not being a hunter at this moment, being without a gun made me suddenly feel remarkably vulnerable...
I turned the key in the ignition, I knew this was going to get hairy driving a camper with nothing but a security camera to guide my path but better than sticking around here... I had enough food to last me a while if I got stuck but I didn't want to get stuck in a danger zone.
I started heading up the path slowly working my way through abandoned cars heading slowly further up the mountain road. Occasionally hitting and having to nudge cars out of the way I carefully made my way as best I could. seeing the occasional person wandering aimlessly and several laying flat on the ground.
At one point I waited almost three hours for some random wandering person to get out of my way, he didn't pay any attention as I lay on my horn... further increasing my wariness of the situation. He didn't even seem fazed.
Fortunately as I headed up the drive got easier fewer and fewer abandoned cars and random people filling the streets till eventually I didn't see anyone or thing at all other than the open and curvy road. I knew I was running out of viable road that led up soon though and I wondered if I had reached a safe altitude...
I pulled into the next campsite, little place that looked like it was meant for dirt biking and climbers heading farther up the mountain. I parked as best I could in the center to get the best views with my windows moving my camera to get a lay of the land. There were some Campers and the main office building but from what I could tell... no people, no movement.
I sat for a while pondering my next move... wondering if I could go outside, so much to think about and no idea which choice was best. Listening to the broadcast over and over while the screen on my T.V. ever displayed the same message over and over never changing. When suddenly after what felt like hours, I heard a knock.
| Sam- my dad is like any other normal dad. Except for this one thing. I have seen my dad polish his Gatling gun every now and then. Almost religiously, with a lot of care. I just assumed it was his thing you know. Some alone time...just like how he likes working out in the basement. I assumed his time in the Special OPS might have made these a habit for him. Back then I was just a kid.
But this continued even now. In recent times though it felt more like he was getting prepared for something. Something big. he has been working out more lately and seemed more buffed than ever. He used to murmur a poem, possibly a song during his workouts, which had a constant rhythm to it. Last month was the first time I heard that aloud...
I was home that evening, listening to FM. Dad was there on the couch, watching the TV. Everything was going just like any other day when suddenly, there was an emergency broadcast on the TV. Broadcast message said that the people should stay indoors and **never** look outside. Almost immediately the radio I was listening to, was broadcasting that people evacuate immediately and head to high ground. I looked at my dad, he was lighting up his cigar, walked up to me and pulled my earphones and asked me to stay put in the house. He headed over to the music system that we have and played a heavy metal music and he sang this song aloud. it goes like this:
You'll take my life but I'll take yours too
You'll fire your musket but I'll run you through
So when you're waiting for the next attack
You'd better stand there's no turning back
He took his Gatling gun, started loading it while still puffing the cigar. He gave me a look after he was done loading. Told me 'They are here ' and then then shut the door behind him. I've never seen him so serious.
I looked out the window and saw what looked like a beheaded man running towards him with a bomb in each of its hand.At first there was one, then there were hoards of them - screaming and running towards my dad. My dad started firing the Gatling gun.
The metal music still going loud in my house just added to the adrenaline that I was experiencing.
>If you are reading this, I want you to know that since the first encounter on 22nd Feb 2060, I have have started tracking down the last of the Sirians and my dad has already entered the Time-Lock. You can find me near the Sacred Yard. | 2017-01-27T04:05:35 | 2017-01-27T03:08:22 | 53 | 14 |
[WP] One day, you wake up with the ability to see the role that belongs to everyone above their heads. “Background character” over your mom’s, “Love Interest” over your classmate’s. You’ve always been afraid to see your own, until one day, you inadvertently catch sight of it. “Antagonist”, it says. | The update to the aux software came in last night. People had been acting odd around the office all morning, discovering they’d got some plot-line superimposed over their heads, like we were in an even more boring yet frantic version of Zuck’s Metaverse. Just with wind chill and full bladders in meetings. A grand ol’ digital future. But work is work, and these guys paid extra to keep the aux contact lenses in.
The first morning, I woke up as Exemplary Citizen. That felt really good, I held an elevator: “pshwwww, he can catch the next one” from someone anxious who was already late for a meeting. That small bit of power felt really good. I know the lenses were recording my responses, but I was being exemplary, why not enjoy the fruits of my work?
The next morning, I was Unsuspected Digital Saboteur. I had no idea how many coworkers kept their passwords in little notebooks in the top drawers of their desks while they went to Subway, or how many sessions you can log at once on a PornHub account, so long as you don’t mind the ads.
On day three, I was assigned Antagonist. It didn’t specify who, and I couldn’t see anyone else’s assignments, just my own. But it was just a day’s assignment, so I had to pick quickly. I did my best Batman voice, I flexed my fists. I picked Jennifer from HR. She’s always been boring and standoffish. She left for lunch, and I made my move. She left her purse in a drawer, just pocketed her wallet and phone! Classic. This would make her day worse. I was pulling tampons out of a side-pocket of the purse when I hear dan “excuse me?”
I looked up from my crouch, stopped pawing through the woman’s purse. My mouth hung open a little. It wasn’t Jennifer, it was the CEO, and she was looking at me coldly. “Can you please come over to conference two?” Conference two doesn’t have internal fishbowl windows. Oh dear.
The CEO sat, gestured at a chair for me as well. More people filed in. In-house legal. Jennifer from HR. I wonder if I’ve left Jennifer’s tampons on the floor or if I stuffed them back in her purse and shut the filing cabinet drawer. Something bad starts to rise up in the back of my mind, something akin to shame. “So, you’re welcome to remove the contacts, though we’ve disabled them.”
I fished the lenses out of my eyes, gently placed them in the lens-cups in front of me.
“This isn’t a tech we’re going to be deploying. It’s astonishing how suggestible people are. I’d chide you for your awful actions over the last two days, but I’d be pretending I hadn’t seen how deeply so many of your colleagues took their roles and justified the results based off a bold-text sans serif floating description over their head that only they could see. ‘Hero’, ‘Girl Next Door’. But YOU. ‘Exemplary Citizen’ and you went for Schadenfreude? I’m sorry Terry, this just isn’t going to work. You won’t be working here any longer. And Jennifer will be needing her things, I believe.”
I realized I was still clutching her tampons. The ones I’d taken from her purse. The contacts had been out for several minutes, turned off for several more. There was nothing filtering the anger and violation she exuded. I realized how little I had been steered and how much I had controlled my own actions over the last three days. | It was about 2 months ago, when i gained this... Power, of mine. It's weird. I can't explain it. I just woke up. A normal day like usual, when i saw a title above mom's head. It said "Background character". But it looked weird. It looked two-dimensional, i looked around, and the text always pointed at me. I knew this wasn't a weird prank from mom, and then i realized. I looked out the window, and saw a bunch of people, most of them being "Background character", or "Minor role". I was stunned, couldn't move for a second. Mom was trying to start a conversation with me, but i was speechless. What is this curse? I didn't tell her, or anyone. Nobody would believe me. I just decided to go on my merry way, wanting to see the roles.
At school, I was walking to my class. Saw the popular girl, talking with a few other popular girls, they were probably talking about gossip or something, I don't know or care. But something interested me. "Love interest". First time i saw it before. That suddenly sparked an idea. What was *my* destined role? But something felt wrong. I shouldn't know this, i knew a mirror was nearby, so i looked away. A few days turned into months. Until i decided to brave it out. I looked at my bathroom mirror. And then it struck.
*Antagonist.*
Antagonist... I was shocked, i was a nobody. Why was i an antagonist, i would probably be a minor role or background character, but i'm at the foreground, of this "Life stageplay". But something felt right.
What are the purposes of background characters, anyways? The love interest was boring, my mom i never really clicked with. Same with my dad. Most of the people in the school were background characters, practically pieces of paper.
Next day of school. I saw the *love interest*, i don't even remember her name anymore. And then this guy, who looked like the most basic person ever came, trying to awkwardly talk to the *love interest*. And then i saw it, above his head.
*Protagonist*.
A sudden energy spiked inside me. This anger has been festering inside me ever since i got this ability, and now i wanna shoot it out after seeing the *protagonist*.
Maybe i shouldn't do this. But maybe, it's fate.
I was destined to do this.
I lit a match, and put it on a wooden chair in the classroom.
I smiled and laughed maniacally as the school burned to a crisp. | 2022-03-11T23:50:39 | 2022-03-11T23:06:25 | 31 | 11 |
[WP] You are part of a spacefaring species with a lifespan of only a few weeks. You have a human being on your ship who has been with you for dozens of generations. You worry that he may not survive until you reach your next spaceport. | **Cycle 1**
We have brought aboard our first live Who-man. I greeted the Who-man by politely asking his name.
“Who-man?”
To which he replied:
“Yes.”
Who-man Yes! What a wonderful name! Surely we are to have a wonderful time with our new Who-man friend!
**Cycle 2**
Who-man Yes seems to have fallen ill. I inquired upon his health to which he told me he has been diagnosed with A-Cold. As the Who-man did appear cold, I have deducted that Who-mans classify their illnesses by severity followed by symptoms, thus A-Cold.
To test my hypothesis I asked Who-man Yes if on earth Who-mans become afflicted with high fever, “B-Warm”. He replied that in the summer months Who-mans often R-Warm.
R-Warm?! How terrible the fever must be. How fortunate we are that we rescued Who-man Yes before he met such a terrible fate.
**Cycle 5**
I have heard that ill Who-mans often consume soup made of Chicken noodle when suffering from A-Cold. While I do not know how the noodle is extracted from the Chicken, I told Who-man Yes, that I believe the taste would be similar to Snarvat intestine from the Geldar Quadrant. Who-man Yes declined my offer of Snarvat intestine soup.
We shall keep trying.
**Cycle 8**
I fear Who-man Yes’s condition has worsened to B, perhaps even C-Cold. We have sent nurses in multiple times per cycle, each bringing with them Snarvat intestine, but to no avail. Who-man Yes simply will not eat. The illness seems to be affecting his mental capacities as well. He screamed at me that all he needed was rest, and his desire to be left alone. I fear the end may be near for him. We will respect his wishes and let him depart this universe in solitude.
**Cycle 36**
We have arrived at our destination SENDAR-234, and miraculously, Who-man Yes lives!
I informed him that we have reach our destination, and apologized fiercely for the delay.
**This concludes LOG-B-45-728R JOURNEY OF WHO-MAN ~~YES~~ JEFF.
DURATION OF LOG: 36 CYCLES – WHO-MAN TIME: 7 MINUTES 32 SECONDS.** | I never had a home like Mr.Smith did.
I was born into darkness, staring in the abyss of space as my mothers eyes closed for the last time. I still had a dad, one that looked after me for as long as he could, and while Mr.Smith may have known what a home was like, he never had a family to look after him.
My dad would tell me that he came from a planet that got destroyed and that he was the sole survivor of his species. He said that Mr.Smith created us to keep him comfort from the void in his heart and also from the one that surrounded him.
Our purpose was to give him hope, that a new life could be built, and father always reminded me to look out for him, until he soon passed away.I was the only one left to take care of Mr.Smith and I knew he was dying, I could see it from the rasping coughs that escaped him and from the skin that slowly turned yellow.
He told me that I was going to be the last of my kind, for our company was not needed anymore, and id always think that as he was the last of his species to live, I would also. A bittersweet ending, At least we had each other, drifting among the blanket of death that surrounded us. | 2019-11-20T15:42:27 | 2019-11-20T14:25:52 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] You are a freshman in a school where everyone has a unique ability/power, but the school is divided into students who have "good" powers and "evil" powers. You are a powerful necromancer who wishes to do good in the world, but everyone is dead set on you being a "bad guy". | "Thomas," Richard Feynman said, "this treatment is just appalling." The skeleton beside me, overlayed with the features of the long dead physicist in ethereal goo, was carrying my book on elementary physics.
I removed the note on my locker, 'evil beware' it said. "They just don't understand alright?" Necromancy wasn't really seen as something one of the good guys would use—defiling the dead and all that jazz—and unfortunately, super college wasn't any much nicer than the rest of the world. I guess it reminded them too much of how fragile life was.
"Bastards," Ernest Hemingway said. He had a book in his hands, a simple journal he'd taken to writing in. I commissioned him for a little help on how to better frame myself with dealing with my more—eloquent critics. He was doing it in exchange for more writing time, while Feynman was in it for the heck of it and because I sucked at physics.
"As long as they stay on their lane, it's all good." I could repress their memories too of course, I just choose not to.
"And when they start swerving?" Hems frowned.
"Then the legions of hell will come to my aid."
"We could also say Valhalla," Chad said. "A lot less malevolent, and more on the side of epic heroism."
"Bah! Brutes!" Hems spat. "A bunch of muscle heads!"
"Effective either way." Chad raised an eyebrow, and Hems shrugged in reply.
"Fair point."
"Thanks you two." Okay, maybe talking to long dead people wasn't the healthiest way of going through my most socially formative years.
"Just call us back later," Chad said.
"And call Doug just in case," Hens added. General McArthur wasn't my favorite summon—but the guy knew combat like I knew how to piss, like he was born with the damned instincts and hardware to do so damn well.
"Will do." My powers were surprising in that I had never encountered a limit to the number of bodies yet—granted I'd only been summoning people I knew wouldn't run amok. Famous scientists, artists, politicians—I called them all back to learn what they knew, and some were way different than what the documentaries and biographies wrote of them.
The two shades dissolved in a haze of black—PR wasn't my strongest suit—and returned to whatever temporal mind-space they waited in wherever. My powers presented apparent proof to the lack of an afterlife—given no one I called back ever seemed to be in pain or under my full control—or so I thought, but that was still up for debate. Neither Hems nor Chad would tell me about it, and I didn't want to find out either.
Someone shoved me from behind, hard. I stumbled forward into the lockers and dropped my book and Hems's journal. "Your ghost buddies finally gone?" It was Matt, a guy with power over ice, and one of the more prominent seniors—he had on a nasty grin. Funny how someone training to be a hero was bullying someone branded a villain.
"You know, its not very smart to fuck with the person you lot call the demon king." The legions of hell bit came from that.
"Then that'd prove you the villain you are." He had his lackeys with him—side-sidekicks, bottom feeders, leeches really.
"Its called self-defense if someone instigates you into a conflict." He wasn't the smartest of the seniors—and the actual brainiacs of their bunch all loved me, calling back old heroes like Iron Samurai or Cyclotron to teach us a thing or two: read as hand our asses to us on silver gilded porcelain dinnerware. And yeah, bringing back supers in their full glory was seriously making me reconsider my thoughts on being one of the more mundane of the school. I could also consider the possibility of having god-like powers—but that felt way too close to hubris.
"It's called entrapment, bones." Matt tapped at his temple. "Get with the program." He flashed a shit-eating grin.
"That only works if you don't throw the first punch."
"And I didn't." He flashed another grin.
I groaned. God help us all if this idiot was given a super's display and use license—accreditation to use their powers within areas declared as safe zones.
Matt left after—but not before cuffing me a good one. If I lashed out—he could be dead, but I would also have lost. And any other iteration less than dead would work worse for me no matter what, therefore if I were to do anything, it must be made to look like an accident.
Which was way more effort than I was willing to expend on anything not directly beneficial to me—like world peace. | The Grey Tower and the Garden Tower cast faint shadows of equal length over the lichyard. An overcast day, and Omar wore a hooded sweatshirt over jeans. His trainers were already covered in mud: it had rained the night before and the thick, black soil was still damp. In his pockets he carried a stub of chalk and a bleached-white kneecap. The gate of the lichyard squeaked and Omar threw back his hood, certain that the yew hedges hid him from the students in the grounds. His nose still smarted.
High gravestones rose from moss. Goblin's gold, they called it in the herb lore class, but Omar couldn't tell it apart from the regular kind. He'd stopped turning up to lectures after the last beating. The graves were overgrown, covered with matted weeds and lichen. He squatted beside one, scraping gunk from the headstone and fumbling with his chalk. He wanted someone strong for this.
It was then he realised he wasn't alone. A wracking cough came from the other corner of the lichyard, where the yew tree's roots pushed against the gravestone slabs and cracked them. Omar looked up. A girl sat on the damp earth with a herb lore textbook open in front of her. She was crosslegged, had a damp ponytail over her shoulder, and an oversized jumper with 'Class of '98' written on it in super-large green font.
"Who gave you the black eye?" she asked haughtily.
Omar scowled and turned back to the grave. He was trying to remember the right symbols to raise the guy from the dead. The book in the library had been quite specific about being specific. Anything vague could end in disaster.
"Are you the kid that everyone hates?" the girl snapped her textbook shut. She tugged at the jumper and got to her feet. "The creepy one who likes dead things?" She coughed again, and Omar wondered why she was out sitting in the damp.
"What does it look like?" Omar said. "What's your thing?"
"I grow plants. This lichyard is my final year project. I've been developing different species of moss. What do you think?" she gestured to the small pile of moss Omar had scraped off the headstone.
"Very green," Omar hazarded. "Is that a good one or an evil one?"
"Depends on which moss," the girl said. "That one you can smoke and it lets you concentrate on just about anything for five to six hours. But then I've got one that you can make into tea, and it kills you by dissolving the lining of your gut and letting the acid out. I like to diversify. I don't let anyone pigeonhole me."
Omar nodded seriously. "I'm raising the dead," he said. "As protective spirits. You need a designated driver, hire a spirit. Or a bodyguard, or just someone to stop other kids from..."
"I like it," the girl tucked the herb lore textbook under her arm. "Mind if I watch? Does it have a name, your project?"
"Sure," Omar stuttered. She was four years older than him, and the first living person who'd said more than a few words to him since the start of term. "No, no name yet."
"How about Bodies against Bullies?" she suggested. "I'm Una, by the way."
"Hi Una," Omar said shyly. The dead weren't usually this chatty. "I'll just get started, shall I?"
"By all means," she replied. "Raise the dead."
--------------
/r/Schoolgirlerror and [Part I and II here](https://redd.it/500d6h)
| 2016-08-28T07:25:57 | 2016-08-28T06:29:02 | 384 | 132 |
[WP] You are a Death-Salesman. You sell death to immortals who are tired of living. Usually, this entails finding that one blessed bullet, or that one specific flower that is this immortal's weakness. However, your most recent client is an extremely difficult case. | "So I'm going to what now?" I ask.
I stare at my client. An old man, who was sitting down on the chair facing against me.
"You heard me. I want you to kill me." The old man said.
Now this was a tricky situation for me. This old man was said to have **NO** weaknesses at all. An immortal in every sense. No magic spell to reverse, no miraculous bullet to the head, no blessed or cursed sword to strike him down, no poison to harm him, absolutely no way to kill him. Yet here he is asking me to find a way.
"I'm just tired. I'm tired of this world that was made for a race that always fights with itself. Arguing about which person is right or which divine being is real. I'm tired of seeing ungrateful children, rotten adults, and tired old men. I'm just...."
"Done." I finish his sentence. I stare at him directly in the eye. His eyes reflect so much wisdom, yet it just seems to be so tired.
"Young man, I know this is a lot to ask, but I'm begging you. I've already lost my son to a crowd of madmen and traitors. I just want to see him again."
You can hear it in his tone already. As if all energy was drained from his body, all his soul was spent and all his will was shattered. His body mirrors this, as his body looked frail as well. You could see every bone as if the muscles weren't there and that the skin was just a blanket to hide those bones.
I'm thinking of every possibility, but nothing enters my head. I want to say no, but just seeing people like him is what made me start this business in the first place.
*"God fucking damn it."* I mutter to my self.
"I'll find a way old man. Just give me some time." I say to him.
Hope. It showed on his face so obviously. Like after a long journey, he's already seeing a resting point.
"Thank you." He said to me.
"Just send the payment to me by tomorrow. I promise I'll get this job done. I always do." I stand up from my chair, ready to leave.
"Oh, young man." The old man called out to me.
I turn to face him, only to find him gone.
*"Try not to use my name in vain."*
I stare at the empty space where he once sat. Motivation begins to fill me.
I turn to walk away.
I'm going to be the man who killed God. | ‘So let me get this straight. You want me to find a way to kill you...? You, of all people?’ I say, almost dumbfounded.
My client droned on over the phone, but I was already zoning out and thinking about how to kill the unkillable. Zorifa was a lifelong friend of mine (and considering I myself was immortal, that was a very long time indeed), and had always said he was growing tired. Many people who had lived for generations did - depression of losing loved ones and what not...
But for him to call it quits? It was...it....
Shaking my head, I zone back into the conversation, as Zorifa was still droning on.
‘...and then after I lost that beautiful girl back in the, oh what did these people call it, roaring twenties? Yeah, the twenties, I just haven’t had the motivation to...’
What could kill a man that had fought in nearly every major war in history? Garlic, Holy Water, the blood of battle...? No no, those didn’t even work on the regular customers, let alone my friend. Think harder. More painless, for his sake and yours alike.
Life force drains, a stem of Honeysuckle, the blood of the Roses....?
Maybe, but unlikely. Highly specific cases, very very unlikely that they would work on someone so powerful.
A million things were flying around my skull at once, and I could feel my chest tightening, but only one thing stood out among the rest - ‘How was I to go on without my best friend...?’ | 2019-09-24T17:56:42 | 2019-09-24T14:51:34 | 1,290 | 139 |
[WP] Ever since turning 17 you've been hearing a voice saying "Get out of my head". After having had enough, you get an MRI scan revealing what the doctors think is a tumor and they want to remove it. Then you realize, that's you. You're a parasite. | "*Get out of my head,*" the voice repeated, this time more adamantly.
"So, of course, we'll want to schedule the surgery as soon as possible," Dr. Mando said, taking notes while looking at my MRI results.
"Or, maybe we don't have to do it at all?" I shrugged nonchalantly.
Dr. Mando eyed me warily.
"You see the size of this thing? It's like a baseball in your head!" he said.
"Yeah, but what if it's good for me?" I asked.
"Good for-- this could be causing irreparable damage to your head!" he yelled.
"Irreparably good damage, could be, right doc?" I said, trying to inch my way out of the room.
"No! Absolutely not-- Are you afraid of surgery, is that it?" he asked in and understanding tone.
"No--Yes, deathly scared of them. Huge phobia of surgeries. And doctors. And just being here in general!" I said, nodding my head to make it seem like someone in the room agreed with me.
"You know, it could be the tumor causing all of this stress in your head. Could be something parasitic on your rational mind," he suggested.
"*Get out of my head*," the voice in my head said in agreement.
"Or maybe the rational part of me wants to keep it in! Ever think of that? What if it's the only thing keeping me alive right now," I said with complete sincerity.
"Look, I don't want to have to scare you, but if this keeps growing, you'll lose your consciousness entirely. You'll be nothing but a husk of your former self, doomed to watch your body eat itself from the inside. Either that or you effectively die and the tumor takes over," he said apologetically.
"That could happen? He cou--I could die and leave the body behind for the para--tumor!?" I said, failing at masking my excitement. He took it to be fear.
"*Get out of my head!!*" the voice said fearfully.
"It's certainly in the realm of possibility. That's why we need to get you into surgery as soon as possible," he said. I thought for a moment.
"When's the soonest we could do this surgery, ***if*** I were to agree to it?" I asked just to get him off my back.
"Next Saturday. I could book it for you right now," he said, making another note on his clipboard.
"And that's not too late? I'll still be alive by then?" I asked.
"Tough to say. At the rate it's growing, I wouldn't say you have longer than two months, so no later than next Saturday, got it?" he said.
"Thanks for all of this, doc," I said, gratefully.
"Anytime. I'll be sure to tell your mom as soon as we--"
"No! No that's fine, she'll want to hear it from me," I said confidently. He nodded and watched me as I left the room to speak to my mom. She jumped up and grasped my shoulders.
*"Get out of my head"*
"What happened? Is everything okay?" she asked.
"Yeah--well kinda. It's a stress thing. Doctor says it would be best if I got my mind off things, I guess. But school isn't that bad," I shrugged.
*"Get out of my head.*
"No way! If the doctor literally scanned your brain and found that you need to destress, then we're going on a trip. Let's go to Europe! How does that sound? Europe for a week?" she asked.
"I don't know," I shrugged "One week doesn't seem like all that long."
*"Get out of my head! Get out of my head! Get out of my head! Get out of my head! Get out of my head!"*
"Of course honey! We'll go to Europe for the month, how about that?" my mom said with care in her eyes.
_____________________________________
For more parasitic stories, come check out /r/Nazer_The_Lazer! | *Oh right, I've read about myself,* I thought as the revelation dawned. I remember recoiling at the sight of the aftermath of my kind, especially the so called 'zombie ants.' The way their eyes looked so helpless as they succumb to their fate as living shells made me feel ill, as though a great injustice had taken place.
But we parasites are just like most other creatures, I imagine, in that we never want to admit we're the problem. Even as I heard the voices of the people who found me discuss things like 'quality of life' and 'pain-free,' I chose not to understand. *I'm sure we can work this out,* I thought. *It'll be fine.*
As my host made his way home, I tried to figure out how I could communicate with him. All these years I thought I *was* him, so wrapping my mind around the issue became a challenge. *Do I just think something? Will it sound to him like he's thinking to himself? How do I yell? Can we even communicate at all?* I became immersed in my own thoughts about the matter that I didn't notice when we made it home.
When I came back to reality, I saw a familiar but new face in the mirror. It was me- no, it was *them.* It seemed altogether wrong, though at first it wasn't clear why. But slowly I noticed the cheeks on the face begin to shine from the little pools forming beneath the eyes. Those pools then turned to streams, and from streams into rivers. And along with the rushing waters came the answer as to what I was feeling; why this didn't seem right. And I was proven right on another feeling, too.
This was a great injustice.
Even as my host's eyes emptied their soul, within them I saw the familiar horrid sight of a helpless living shell. All these years this body suffered at the hands of my ignorance. The words from the doctors that previously floated all around me now took on new life, new substance, as I now understood the nature of my existence.
Whatever lingering doubts I may have had about the necessary path before me were erased as the rivers finally dried up. The familiar face still stared in the mirror, but now with something entirely new in its eyes: hope. A smile of rare intensity appeared, before I heard the words that sealed my fate for good.
"I'm going to be free."
And now as I stare at a ceiling of bright lights, my former voice slowly counts down from ten. I know this will be the last sight I will know, and the last words I will hear, and yet I feel joy. I lived far longer than I should have, and caused far more harm than I ever would have chosen to if only I'd known. But thinking about all the years my host has yet to live, now knowing that they will be able to do so to the fullest, gives me purpose.
Today, my human will get his justice.
 
______
r/psalmsandstories for more tales by me, should you be interested. | 2020-05-14T20:42:00 | 2020-05-14T20:30:26 | 257 | 150 |
[WP] In the afterlife each religion has its own walled city in which their god or pantheon protects the believers within from the soul-gnawing horrors outside, while atheists are left on their own
Shoutout to u/Tonkarz who had the [idea](https://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/7eao4f/exreligious_people_of_reddit_what_was_the_tipping/dq4b4y6/). | "Welcome to the afterlife."
Martin looked around, from the overcast and grey clouds to the flat and slightly beige ground. He couldn't see anyone except the elderly lady who had greeted him. She seemed bored.
"Where am I?" he asked.
"Since you ended out here, with us non-believers, you're in the atheist afterlife."
"So there is an afterlife," Martin thought to himself. "Shouldn't I end up in some kind of heaven or hell, based on my non-belief?"
"No, only the true believers live with their god or gods. You, you are on your own."
"Shouldn't it at least be more than just grey clouds and featureless ground?" Martin asked.
"It is what you make it," the lady said. Then she disappeared, with nothing noting that she was there before.
Martin stared at the spot the lady just had stood, stunned and confused. Martin had never thought much about the afterlife, and now that he was here, he felt lost. His life ending and being nothing was what he had expected, not this featureless nothing in which HE was still alive.
He stood there for what felt like days, paralyzed with an angst greater than he ever had experienced when thinking of death. Now he had... eternity and no purpose. He tried hurting himself, to feel something other than panic and a deep loneliness, but he felt nothing. He tried running, but he found nothing. He tried yelling, but he didn't even hear an echo. He felt like crying, but no tears came out.
He didn't get tired, hungry or hurt. It was only him, his panicked mind, and a featureless expanse. For eternity.
___
After what had felt like an eternity to Martin, he heard something behind him - a crunch of sand, which was strange, since the dirt had never given a sound when he trod it. He spun around, afraid, but also thrilled to at last see *something*.
It was a woman, enjoying the sunset while walking along a beach. She seemed surprised to see him, but also welcoming.
"Why is there a beach there?" Martin asked feverishly.
"I wanted a beach to be there," the woman answered. "I always liked seeing a sunset on a beach."
Martin started following her, while she strolled along the beach. The sand, waves and the cloudless sky followed her, as did the sun.
"How?" Martin asked. "Are you a god?"
She laughed at him then, a pearly and happy thing. "No, I'm as mortal as you are"
"How can you do this," Martin asked, enraptured by her power and the beauty she created.
"When you have no god, you are the master of your own life." | You know believing in a god is not a hard thing to do, with enough faith any science can be simply explained as the will of the gods. Looking back at it, I only really refused to believe out of pride, in my mind I could not see that a being could exist that was greater than the sum of mankind. I had from a young age seen us only as the victors. I remember my death fondly, I lived a long life as short as others would lead me to believe it was.
When I arrived here, upon these many rolling hills doted with great fortresses of radiant light, I began to laugh at the ridicule of it, "Why in the world would you need walls that high in the afteworld?" Those thoughts left my head soon after when I noticed a figure walking towards me, it beckoned me to walk towards it as it stepped ever closer, and so I did, eager to question them upon this new stage of my existance. After I took three steps I noticed something odd about the figure, where human limbs supposed to be that long? After 6 steps I began questioning my past life as I gazed upon the figure. Were human hands supposed to have four fingers? After twelve steps I wondered as to where I was. Were humans supposed to have that many eye's? After 20 steps I knew nothing of the world, and as I stepped into the figure arms, I realised a simple truth, that though I knew not of myself, the figure knew, and if the figure knew than the figure must be myself. As the world faded around me, blinding cities of radiance and all I felt the many faces of the figure smile, and so I did as well. | 2017-11-21T07:28:42 | 2017-11-21T06:58:29 | 50 | 13 |
[WP] Write the letter that you always wanted to, but never did.
Most of the writing prompts I see on here are for fictional stories, but this is only one small corner of the larger art of writing. In this prompt, I'd like you to consider writing something a little more personal, and in a form that you might not have otherwise considered... Letters.
Perhaps you'd like to write a letter confessing your love to a long forgotten crush? A letter to your boss telling them exactly what you think of them? A letter to your school bully? Maybe a letter to your childhood hero telling them how much you were inspired by their career?
Be creative, be inventive, but most of all - be expressive. :D | Dear Dad,
I'm pretty sure you think Mom is my hero. She stayed at home with us until high school, attended all the sports practices, school performances, made all the lunches...and of course I love her, for all that and more, but I'd like to tell you that you have always been my hero.
Some might say that it's just because of supply and demand; you were in short supply growing up, so the demand was high. But that just wouldn't cover it. There is a connection of spirit between us that I just don't have with Mom.
Sometimes when we play cards we start to get a little competitive, and by that I mean that you become a horrendous asshole with a horseshoe so far up your ass you must taste steel! The curse words start flying as the stakes get higher but the twinkle in your eye matches the one in mine. Meanwhile, Mom is in the other room hollering at us to "play nice," never seeing that the anger is all in good fun.
But I guess it really comes down to that day. You know the one. We waited for the ambulance for 45 minutes, and that whole time you did your best to breathe life back into my brother, your son. How you managed to keep it together that long, I will never know. You even drove us all to the hospital behind the ambulance. It seemed like an inhuman feat to me. Superman himself could not have kept it between the lines on that drive.
It's been a decade, and do you know what amazes me most? That twinkle in your eye that matches mine has never disappeared. You never let your grief drown out your joy. You face each day still open to all of what life has to offer. Grief is still a constant visitor, but you set the example of how to invite it in with open arms, to acknowledge that it is part of our lives without it being a menace that must be locked out. By opening the doors easily you help to let in all the other emotions so that life is still whole.
I don't know what I would do without you. You set the example of how to live life and face its challenges with courage and humanity.
Thank-you. | Dear Eyllisa,
I think you know what this letter is going to say, but I'm going to write it anyway. I love you more than I have ever loved any person. You have been through so much and I can't understand how you still manage to pound through life. It's a beautiful thing to see. The past three years have been a privilege for me. I've been able to watch you grow as a person. Watch you fail and help you get back up. I helped you with all those stupid boys, coming and going. You say I kept you sane, but I think it's you who did that for *me*. As much as I wished I could've been yours, I knew it would never happen, but I didn't mind. I was still able to spend time with you and become your best friend. Sure, I had a couple girls myself, but that's just, to be expected I suppose. I want you to know that if I knew that we'd never end up together, I still would've tried, because I've been given someone amazing, and I know that we're here to help each other out, and that's what I'm going to continue to do. So I'll see you when I see you.
Your friend,
Preston
| 2015-12-05T15:05:05 | 2015-12-05T13:52:52 | 59 | 40 |
[WP] A massive wall of light, a few feet thick and a few hundred feet high, stretches from the north to south pole. This wall slowly circumnavigates the globe in 1 year. No one knows where it came from and no one knows who created it. All people know is that if you touch the light, you disappear. | Twelve year old Nellie McDonovan lay on the rooftop of her barn, hands behind her head and sneakered foot leaning against a weather vane. Beside her, fourteen year old Thomas Boyd.
"Should we really be up here, Nellie?"
"Shut up, Thomas. Enjoy the view. If you squint real hard, you can see stars."
Thomas squinted, but he didn't see a thing.
"It's not dark enough to see stars, Nellie. Not since The Wall."
Nellie knew this, but she squinted anyway, crumpling up her nose. She missed the stars. The Wall was beautiful, but it hurt to look at directly, and it scared her. It scared everybody.
The Wall had appeared a few months ago, in the middle of the ocean, a beam that shot up and out. When the folks with the satellites first noticed it, it wasn't a wall so much as a column, a column of beautiful burning white light. But they soon realized the column was expanding, inch by blinding inch, in either direction.
It wasn't long before it reached land, and it wasn't stopping. A few days ago, it had reached Nellie and Thomas's small town, and in a few days more, it would cut it in half.
People were sad and people were scared. Not of The Wall itself, so much- by the time it got to their town, everyone knew the stories about it, what would happen if you touched it, but folks were careful to mind their little ones and the livestock seemed to know on instinct not to get too close. They hadn't lost anyone in Nellie's town, not yet.
But soon, everyone would lose people, in a different way.
The Wall was cutting the town in half, separating neighbor from neighbor, friend from friend, child from parent. Some folks from either side were opting to abandon their farms and switch to the other, but most stayed where they were. The scientists, they said that soon the two ends of The Wall would meet. The Wall would split the world in half. Sure, the two sides could call one another, and there was the internet and the like, but nobody would be able to get to the other side- there was no going under or over The Wall, the scientists said, for reasons Nellie didn't understand. Something about gravity. Gravity and light.
Right then, the edge of The Wall was right in Nellie's backyard, nearly perfectly in line with their rows of corn. She could swear she could see it inching forward even now.
Nellie and Thomas lay on the roof in silence, squinting at a blank sky. Thomas's family lived on the other side of The Wall. That's where they were going to stay. It was only a matter of time before he wouldn't be able to dash around to Nellie's farm anymore.
Nellie wondered whether The Wall would always be there, bright and burning in her backyard. She wondered what she'd miss the most when it was done cutting through her life- the stars, or her friend.
______________________________________________________________
______________________________________________________________
Thank you for reading! Any constructive criticism you have would be very much so appreciated and welcomed. | We were known as The Runners.
That is, while there was anybody left to call us that.
Nobody knew how the light tsunami began. Some thought there was a malfunction with the LHC, or that God had finally cracked and this was his new idea of a flood. Some people refused to believe in it, standing before it's shimmering hight before the glow washed over their features, eroding them away like footprints on beach sand.
The first year it passed over them they lost their spirit and just stood there, emulating the forests that had blossomed in mankind's wake, needing neither food nor water and unyielding to rot. The second pass wore their faces away, smoothening them like stones cast into a river for lifetimes. The third pass left nothing.
Cults that worshipped the light died out quickly. The first year took care of that.
As economies faltered, the rich stockpiled gas and supplied, and fled the wave with speed. But the trickles of gasoline dwindled, and with no straw to reach into the crevices of the earth still damp with oil, so did they. Their motors had made them soft, and when it came time to run, they tripped.
The Runners never used fuel. We've never let the wave leave our sight as we follow,our feet smacking against the cracking remains of asphalt and our sails capturing the wind the light left in it's wake.
When we grew old and faltered, we refused to let the light catch us, but rather caught it, running through it in brilliant defiance. And when we crossed that forbidden plane, our spirits did not flee. But rather, the light flowed into them, and they emerged the other side with neither wrinkles nor knobby knees, and sprinted alone to catch the pack, one actual world away.
Their appearance was always altered when they arrived. Sometimes their skin was darker, or their eye color changed, or a note had entered their voice that had not been there before. And they always bore new stories, new memories the light had given them. Of cultures they has never known before the light, and their bodily form now seemed to reflect.
But though our bodies and minds change, the light does not.
And we, The Runners, follow.
***
By Leo | 2015-04-28T20:51:06 | 2015-04-28T20:46:28 | 28 | 19 |
[WP] "You'll never rest", they said. "Eventually, you will come to hate your eternal curse", they warned. 6 billion years, 3 intergalactic voyages, and more planets than you can count later, and you're still skipping along, having the time of your life with your 'cursed' existence. | In the same place where the Gods are born, they also die. I sat with him while he sobbed, reaching and holding the nape of my neck like it was the last thing holding him up. I guess I was.
"Taylor, the John's Son, please...Make them believe I'm real," he said.
I said nothing.
"My brother is still alive inside of me," he said.
I knew that his brother died the instant his world was shattered by a meteorite half its size. However, he survived because the aftermath burned up in his atmosphere, but killed what little life was developing on him.
I took his hand off of the back of my neck and held it gently, in my hands. "You can't be brother planets if your brother is dead. Already your story is being remade. No one believes a God dies, so they have to remake the story of your planet."
"But I believe that I'm real," he says, the tears in his eyes shimmering in the failing light. "I'm like you; adrift in the infinite. I am my own. I should be my own."
I patted his hand and nodded at him, "But there is a difference between you and me. I don't remember your name."
There was one instant when there was a look of disbelief in his face, and then the God died. I survived, and ended up on his old planet, where the light of the sun was clouded over by the debris. The world was still and lifeless.
I walk with a lively gait to my step and begin singing a song that crossed my mind for the first time in millenia:
"He was born a pauper to a pawn
On a Christmas day
When the New York Times said
'God is dead!'
And the wars begun
Something Something has a son today..."
It was then, that my back was pierced by a spear, and run halfway through me. I kneel from the awkward weight and catch my breath. A small, bulky man walks up to me, and he is adorned with skins and war paint.
He raises my head to meet his with a war hammer made of bone. He says, "First, I killed my brother. Now, I kill you. What name do I call you while I piss on your corpse?"
I'm inconvenienced for the first time in a really, really long time. It might have been enough to get me down.
But I smile as I begin to stand up.
I developed a sense of optimism a long time ago. Things happen and then you deal with them. I can always, always manage. If nothing else, I have the time.
The new God's mouth falls open and I grab him by his throat. As I raise him up, I struggle pretty hard to pull the spear through my body. The wound will close with time, but this punk's pride isnt going to heal. His hammer falls and he pisses himself.
I say, "I'm Taylor Johnson of the long dead Planet Earth. What's your name, punk?" | "Over the hills and far away"
The creature caught in your trap seemed afraid at first, but your gentle touch calmed it and sensing no danger began to trill while it idly chewed on the local vegetation, you complete your sampling of its fluids and carefully release it back into its environment, the red star behind you bathed the surface with blood red light, entering its final stage before collapse, and sadly, destroying all life on this planet, in times before, this, would have upset you, but now, across the vast sea of space and time, you understand that all is fleeting, nothing is permanent except change, but these samples will ensure that this planet's life won't be forgotten or lost, part of the great "book" The Encyclopedia Galactica, a data base of all life and scientific knowledge, generations were involved, some going all the way back to the big bang era, the truly ancient ones, you specifically were a benefactor of this effort, your DNA is comprised of species known for longevity with regenerative qualities, barring catastrophic injuries you will live forever completely immune to bio threats, the perfect candidate for intergalactic travel and exploration, with added enhancements you have immense analytical skills and physical strength to enable you to walk on high gravity planets, other enhancements include expanded range of vision from far infrared to ultraviolet , giving you an amazing view of the universe.
Over time and many mates past you have come to accept the loneliness and isolation, the many intelligent races you encountered came and went but they offered a break in the monotony until a new lifeform is located to be catalogued, the feeling of "pride?" was only out paced by the love of discovery and the satisfaction that you knew that they would be remembered.....forever, the how is even more amazing, by encrypting the DNA into other rising lifeforms you are "seeding the universe" with the DNA of ALL life forms, an unbroken chain of life through time and space. | 2020-10-25T10:56:55 | 2020-10-25T10:38:56 | 121 | 54 |
[WP] You are a murderer that works as a lawyer and you are tasked with defending a person charged with your crime. | “I didn’t do it.” The woman before him wrung her hands, entire face crumpled with exhaustion. “I swear.”
“It’s really alright, Doctor Brooks,” Mr. Rockland assured, leg bouncing at his side. He brought his gaze, steady and assuring, so unlike the twitching, hyperactive limb under the table, up to match her own and lifted a hand to his chest in a gesture of unity. “I believe you. Trouble is, I’m not the one you need to convince.”
The statement, something he’d reiterated to his clients countless times before, held quite a bit more truth than Mr. Rockland ever intended to let on.
The woman before him simply sighed and scrubbed her hands across her face. The gesture brought his attention to the ugly red of her waterline. “So what’s our defense?”
He raised an eyebrow minutely. His previous clients - at least the sparingly few clients he held something of a personal interest in - had not been nearly so straightforward. His palms grew clammy as his heart began to race.
“Well,” he sighed, scanning the papers with a scrutiny that might suggest he had no intimate knowledge of the case outside of a few sprawling lines of ink. “It doesn’t look good.”
His words were careful, drawn out and lacking the conviction he’d truly had in them. The intimate details - the careful picking of his victim, the vial he had placed in the lab coat of one exhausted MD, had all been tailored to his liking. Her solitude at the time offered no alibi.
He told her just as much, excluding a few rather important details.
“As you can see, Doctor Brooks, there’s very little to work with that might suggest your innocence. The plea deal that would have you convicted of malpractice and third degree murder is, as far as I can see, our best bet.”
She nodded placatingly and looked down at her hands. Mr. Rockland’s heart flipped in anticipation, the sweat of his palms nearly dripping down to the floor, and he tried not to look so haughty as he felt. Before him was a woman exhausted of all options, hopeless. It was a sight he’d waited on, yearned to see again.
“And yet you seemed to have so much faith in my innocence, Mr. Rockland.”
“Well I—“ He smiled promptly, scratching the back of his head. How peculiar. “I guess it’s just my faith in people. I wouldn’t much like to think there’s a murderer in this room.”
“No,” Doctor Brooks agreed. When she looked up at him, her gaze was steely, so unlike before. Mr. Rockland found it hard to believe he saw the beginnings of suspicion in his client’s brow, yet he had learned she was certainly as determined as he. He let the smile fall from his face with what he hoped came across as practiced ease.
A tad unnerved by the woman’s change in demeanor, he skipped the practiced lines he had prepared in the back of his mind. Mirroring her, he kept things clipped, straightforward rather than lengthy, in a way his client might better relate to. He looked at her head-on as she did him, unflinching, not conceding to even blink before her. “So?”
“I’m not taking the plea deal.” Her shoulders sank and she looked away, at an object far in the distance. He could see the cogs turning in her head. He wondered distantly what she could possibly be thinking.
She looked so much like a cornered animal in that moment, tired and belligerent, and yet her words suggested otherwise. No, she was more akin to a petulant child. She thought she still had options.
“I see.” He said resolutely, lowering his gaze. Standing, he replied, “I’ll be back in a little while. I urge you to think this through again, doctor, but in the meantime I’ll prepare a defense.”
He stood and stalked across the room, lending the doctor one last practiced glance. He tried to nail down exactly what it was he felt. Pity? Not likely. Worry? Perhaps. Glee? More than anything, really.
Before he could leave, he heard the doctor call out to him, voice pitched high and dripping with mockery, “You’re really very kind, Mr. Rockland. It’d be wonderful if I could have so much faith in people as you.”
From the intonation alone, he knew he was wrong: she was not a cornered animal nor an upset child. She saw herself as his equal, even in bonds. She could not even clear her own name, yet she thought herself so mighty as to see truth in others. It was haughty, arrogant. He saw a bit of himself in her.
No matter, he wouldn’t for long. | Matt slides the file over to me. “What’s this?”
“Your new case. She’s the suspect of a murder.”
“Can’t you give the case to Jones? I’m still working on defending that burglar.”
“You can combine the two. There isn’t much to defend in her case, the word guilty is written on her forehead. Homeless, junkie. Scum of the earth really. Probably killed her victim when she begged for money and he didn’t give any. Police found the murder weapon, her finger prints were on it and his blood was found on her clothes.”
I open the file and see the mugshot of the woman. She looks about forty, although she’s only twenty-three if I have to believe her personal information. Hollow cheeks, thin hair and eyes sunken in their sockets: years of drug abuse left their mark.
“What about the victim?”
“A nobody. Mildly successful businessman, wife and two kids. He was found in an alley near his office, at 10th and 52nd street.” An alarm bell starts ringing in my head. I flip through the file until I find the pictures of the victim and my suspicions are confirmed. I stare right in the face of Mike Adams, the man I murdered two days ago.
Two hours later I’m in an interrogation room. Sarah Nelsons sat trembling in her chair. Sweat drops formed on her face and I could almost feel the heat radiate from her skin. Withdrawal symptoms.
The police officers on the opposite side of the table started to loose their patience as they didn’t get a single word out of her.
“Hey. Hey!” Morrigan snapped his fingers in front of Sarah to get her attention. “You wanna get outa this room? Then you gotta listen real good. We can sit here the rest of the day, I got all the time in the world. We can do this the rest of the week if we need. Or you just say right here and now you killed the poor bastard and we can be done.”
For a second it seemed Sarah wasn’t going to respond, but then she shook her head.
“No? No what?”
“I’m not guilty.” Her voice was groggy. She apparently wasn’t only a drug abuser but also had a smoking habit.
Morrigan sighed. “Cut the bull shit. Your fingerprints were on the murder weapon. His blood on your clothes. There ain’t no way it wasn’t you!”
“I found the body. Searched it for money. He were already dead.” I half jump up when Morrigan slams on the table.
“You wanna play that game, huh? Oh but don’t worry. I’m better at that game. I’ll get all damn the evidence I need to get you behind bars for the rest of your miserable life.” With that he leaves the room. His partner, McAllister, also gets up and motions for me to follow. Outside he starts talking to me in a calm and reasonable manor.
“Please try to get her to confess. It’ll help nobody if she pleads not guilty, you know that. I have no idea if she’s even got enough brain cells left to understand, but cutting a deal is really the best option for everyone, even her.”
“My client was clear in her words: she’s not guilty. And you should tread her as innocent until proven otherwise or I’ll have to ask the DA to replace you with two unbiased officers. Investigate properly. Is there more evidence? Who else had opportunity to kill the victim? Who was Mike Adams? Might anyone want him dead?”
McAllister’s soft expressions hardens. “Do not tell me how to do our work, lawyer.” He almost spits out the last word before he turns around and walks off. | 2021-09-01T11:40:33 | 2021-09-01T09:16:04 | 31 | 19 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | The look on Natasha's face when I walked into our college algebra 101 class that morning made the whole ordeal of digging myself out of that shallow grave and walking home without any blood worth it. (Have you ever tried to walk without blood? It's super tiring.)
Her expression was a perfect mix of shock, confusion, panic, and forced calm. Eventually she settled on a blank expression that I recognized as someone deliberately paralysing their own face. I'd done that before, mostly to disguise sleeping through math class, so... Appropriate all things considered.
I took my usual seat next to her and said "good morning!" In my most natural cheerful voice.
Her reply was stiff and quiet, which wasn't really surprising to be fair. Her face was still stiff, and she had definitely killed me last night. I'd probably be confused too in her shoes.
It took almost half of the lecture for her to finally ask the question that had to be burning her worse than the sun usually did. (Night school, yay!)
"How?" She whispered softly.
"You should ask the professor if you don't understand the lecture Tash" I said blithely "you know I don't do well with math.
She actually had the composure to look annoyed at me.
"You know what I mean." She almost growled. "I-" she paused and glanced around at the other nearby students in a motion so quick most people wouldn't be able to see it.
"I drank your blood and feasted on your soul." She sounded almost pleading now "I killed you, how are you here."
I grinned at her, bold. I like it. Though the whole murdering me thing on our first date kinda put a damper on the relationship to be honest.
"I'm sure your sire gave you a speech that went something like 'we were what the apes feared while they huddled around their fires.' right?"
She nodded, looking even more confused. "Almost word for word." She said softly.
"Volodymir then." I replied. "That ass never did properly introduce his spawn to the wider world."
She looked taken aback at that, and even fearful. Great.
"He tell you some nonsense about him knowing if you spoke his name to another then?" I asked, turning my tone gentle.
She nodded, still looking wary.
"Ass." I repeated. "Volodymir has no magick beyond the abilities granted him by the blood." I explained quietly, "And even if he did, he's been imprisoned for nearly fifty years for, well... Not taking proper care of his spawn."
Natasha's expression had changed to open confusion.
"Tasha," I asked, again in a gentle tone. "All this time after you learned vampires are real and you never wondered if there was anything else hidden out there?"
"No. I... I just never thought about it. I just... He..." She was almost pleading again.
I patted her hand where it sat on the armrest between us.
"It's ok Tasha." I said in my best comforting tone, "stuff like this is why that dickhead isn't gonna see the light of the moon for a very long time."
She nodded, still looking confused.
"What are you?" She asked after a pause. "You don't smell like a vampire, and you...tasted... Just like a mortal"
A faint flush actually touched her pale cheeks as she spoke.
"I was what the apes feared as they-"
I cut off as she swatted my arm.
I grinned. "Tell you what," I said "I'll explain everything to you over dinner after the lecture, as long as you promise not to kill me again."
"Deal." | I couldn't believe it when my crush, Sarah, asked me out on a date after school. I had been crushing on her for ages and never thought she would feel the same way about me. I was so excited that I couldn't concentrate on anything else the entire day.
After school, we met up at a local park and spent the afternoon talking and laughing. It was the perfect date. As the sun started to set, Sarah suggested we go for a walk in the woods. I wasn't sure about it at first, but I didn't want to seem like a wimp, so I agreed.
As we walked deeper into the woods, Sarah suddenly stopped and turned to me. "I have a confession to make," she said, her eyes narrowed. "I'm not really here to hang out with you. I'm here to drain your blood and bury you in the woods."
I was shocked and terrified. I had no idea what to do. Sarah advanced on me, her fangs extended, and I knew I had to do something fast. I turned and ran, my heart pounding in my chest. I could hear Sarah chasing after me, but I didn't look back.
I ran and ran until I finally saw the lights of the town in the distance. I knew I was safe now. I made it home and collapsed on my bed, exhausted and relieved.
Or so I thought. As it turned out, Sarah was faster and stronger than I realized. She caught up to me and drained my blood before I even knew what was happening. As I lay there, my vision fading, I realized that I would never get to see my family or friends again. Sarah had been right - I was just another easy victim, and now I was paying the price.
But somehow, I woke up the next morning. I didn't know how it was possible, but I was alive and well. I went to school and saw Sarah sitting at her desk, looking horrified. I walked up to her and confronted her about what had happened.
"I don't know what you're talking about," Sarah stammered. "I had a great time with you yesterday. I don't know how you could think I would do something like that."
I was confused. Had I imagined everything? Was I going crazy? I didn't know what to believe, but I knew one thing for sure - I couldn't trust Sarah. I turned and walked away, my head spinning with questions and doubts. | 2022-12-29T18:54:00 | 2022-12-29T15:08:56 | 196 | 67 |
[WP] It walks on four legs in the morning, two legs at noon and three legs in the evening, it already killed half of the strike team. Please send help | The Captain was startled at the sound of the door sliding open. She hadn’t expected news of the strike team so soon. Was the mission completed already? There might be promotions to assign.
But the messenger did not bring good news. “Captain, the team is requesting help. They’re reporting losses of nearly 60%.”
“What?!” That couldn’t be. The team was composed of her finest soldiers, armed with the best weaponry the Executive Office conceded to provide. “How?”
“We … don’t know with certainty.” The messenger chose his words carefully. He knew too well the gravity of the situation. The strike team was supposed to be unstoppable; there was no backup plan. If they failed, the entire operation would end before it began – no Infiltration, no Seizure, no Expansion. “They were unable to identify the attacker … or attackers.”
“Well, what *do* we know?” Frustration rippled through the Captain’s voice.
“We know they’re using some kind of deadly weaponry. We know they were able to detect the strikers despite their stealth measures. We know that … well, the report stated that no defensive tactics were successful. It … they … simply adapted and persisted.”
The Captain felt her body grow weak. The team needed help. But there was no help to provide. No one and nothing aboard this vessel could defeat an enemy so terrifyingly effective.
She briefly considered a gamble, an all-out offensive, consequences be damned. But, no. Returning home a failure would cost her dearly enough. No need to make things worse.
“Then we retreat,” she declared, employing a well-practiced emotionless tone.
“Yes, Captain,” the messenger responded automatically. Then, with more hesitance, “And … the team?”
“The team is lost,” she said firmly. “We misread this target. We need more information. We need to return to the Terminal and mend and plan again. We will return. With the Office’s blessing, we will return.”
“Yes, Captain.”
As he turned to leave, she let her practiced poise drop slightly and sighed, “Did we manage to gather information, at least?”
The messenger nodded.
“What do they call themselves? The natives of this planet?”
“Man.” | SOMEWHERE IN SOUTH AMERICA
“We need backup NOW!”
“It should be on its way.”
“Not on its way, NOW!”
“Guess we’ll just have to survive till then.” Mavin chuckled, but immediately stopped when he saw the creature approaching them.
“Wait now it has THREE legs? I thought it had two?!”
“Idk dude, this morning it had four so I wouldn’t doubt it.”
“This is getting increasingly weird.” Maxwell then laughed himself, not believing the situation.
“News of the backup team,” spoke Mavin, “the eastern team that’s coms went out, their dead.”
“Dang it, this thing I more dangerous than we thought.”
“Guess it’s just us, time to bring in the government...”
“Shoot, I guess we have to. Let the record show though, I was not a fan of this plan.”
“Sure.”
Mavin pulled out his pager and typed out a message.
IT WALKS ON FOUR LEGS IN THE MORNING, TWO LEGS AT NOON AND THREE LEGS IN THE EVENING, IT ALREADY KILLED HALF OF THE STRIKE TEAM. PLEASE SEND HELP
| 2018-08-15T17:33:48 | 2018-08-15T15:02:11 | 111 | 44 |
[WP] A former communications officer sits on his back deck enjoying a beer, the sight of the fireflies, and the sound of the frogs. Until he realizes the fireflies are blinking in unison, in Morse code.
It just occurs to me that the frogs croaking in Morse code in unison as well could add to this. | James sat on his back porch, smoking a cigar as he watched the London skyline in the distance from his small home in the countryside. He had remembered that day with impressive clarity, when the bombs falling were as plentiful as raindrops in the British dry season. That is to say, he was impressed how the germans could manufacture so many bombs.
The cicada's chirping reminded him somewhat of the twin engine hum of the JU\-88s, as Hurricane and Spitfire pilot radio chatter filled the comm network. James was reminded of how he was taught morse code in case the fighter pilot radios malfunctioned. In a combination of retirement boredom and nostalgia, he began to decode the various flashing lights around him.
The London skyline told him:
asouhdbqweudfwelnfhkwebfjewbfkjhwe cgjvibewr jcheq,u wjrfxeuvf
Very informative. He next looked towards a gathering of fireflies near his apple tree and realised they were all blinking as one pulsating mass. Intrigued, he started decoding.
"We". It could have been a coincidence, so James kept decoding.
"We have u\-" At this point, James was excited. Would he be the first person to make contact with another species? Working feverishly through the night, he finished his translation then fell asleep at his desk.
He awoke to the sound of the television. "In other news, the European union has just announced that they have put the GDPR into full effect, and\-". Suddenly remembering what he was doing last night, James snatched the piece of paper up from his desk to look at what the fireflies were trying to tell him.
"We have updated our privacy policy. Sorry for the inconvenience."
Ah, Bollocks. | I sat there blankly for a minute, the condensation from the cold beer cooling my suddenly clammy hands.
It’s fucking Morse code.
I will be honest- I was panicking. What else can a guy like me do when animals start speaking to you in Morse code? I ain’t no Disney princess.
I took a deep breathe and tried to calm down my nerves. I know Morse code like the back of my hand. I can do this.
I listen to croaks of the frogs and the blinking of the flies and try to piece together what they could possibly wanna say to me.
As I come to realize their words, I feel my stomach drop.
“It’s Britney bitch”
Edit: wrong word | 2018-06-04T01:34:47 | 2018-06-04T01:34:13 | 152 | 21 |
[WP] You are a supervillain, but every single one of your plans of world domination has somehow collapsed into a harmless flirtatious encounter with the superhero by accident. Today, the superhero has come to propose to you. | "What? No! Get out of here! Every time you show up my brilliant plan is somehow ruined! Don't even say anything!" I rant in exhaustion and frustration as (shocker) Frost Claw casually strolls into my lair for the- I don't even know at this point how many times he's done it. He just freezes the door, smashes it then walks right on in and has the nerve to start FLIRTING with me.
I've always found it strangely attractive, though. Whenever I try to think of a way to stop him, I just kinda get distracted. Maybe world domination isn't as good as a significant other to spend time with.
Damn, I've done it again. I snap out of my daydream just in time to see him... well, at first I wasn't sure. He was on one knee, holding out his hand. With a ring. Oh.
"I... I know we're supposed to be enemies, but... Well, I really like you, and I think you kind of like me too, and we've been going at this for several years now. I'd like to spend the rest of my life with you, Carmen, if you'd like that."
I'll be honest. My first reaction was to say "Hell yes, what took you so long?!" But I caught myself before that escaped my lips. I had to think about this.
"I... Um... Well, you were right when you said we were supposed to be enemies, and... Well I'm kind of trying to take over the world right now...?" I saw his posture collapsed in defeat, and I hurriedly continued, not sure I wanted to let this go. "No, it's not like that! I like you, I really do. I'm just not sure if that would be for the best in... our current situation. Just give me time to conquer the world. After that I'll give it some thought." Frost looked up, a gleam of hope in his eyes. He got up, and as he walked toward the door, he summoned an ice spike and shot it through my control panel.
Just before he leaves, I call after him, "I really will think about it, Frost. I wasn't lying." He says nothing, just stops short for a couple seconds, then keeps walking.
Thanks for reading! Any feedback is much appreciated, as this is only my second post to r/writingprompts and my first to an actual prompt. Thanks again!
Edit - Where's the AutoMod? | Superhuman pairs have advantages. The general norm is to find a mate who is your opposite. In a dangerous line of work which involves risking your life constantly, this ensures that the person who can kill you won't.
"My love for you is true". This is Mike "Mantle" Menzenta. He's a superhero. Not any superhero either. He's the nation's most powerful superhero. The one to whom every other superhero bows down. The one who's always there to foil my plans. The one who's also a pervert and likes to use his X-ray vision for unwarranted uses.
He is the also the kind of man who cannot take a "no" from a woman. He has been pestering me since I was a bank robber and he was just a suburban hero. Time and time again he's tried his ways and time and time again I've rejected his advances. He's not above playing dirty but he knows he can't succeed by trying such things on me.
What he cannot see however, Xray vision or not, is behind the heat resisting walls stands the hot headed Andria "Absolute Zero" Zera. She can also be introduced as Mrs Menzenta. She's had her doubts about her husband's infidelity but today she's sure of it.
Btw, I'm Lara. (Supervillians don't like publicity and don't need stupid gimmicky marketing names). I tend to amplify the emotions, feelings, beliefs or doubts a person/superperson may have.
| 2017-05-30T14:42:52 | 2017-05-30T14:03:23 | 25 | 16 |
[WP] The Reapers come every 50 thousand years to wipe out organic life that has reached the stars however this time, this time they arrive at the heaviest resistance they have every encountered. In the grim darkness of the future they find 40k. | Harbinger slowly drifted towards the busy world on the edge of the galaxy. Previous scans showed a promising level of biomass and activity, perfect for an initial pool of pawns for the coming salvation. The rest of the fleet was not far behind and needed to move quickly due to the apparent size of this cycle. Harbinger broke through the atmosphere, ominously on a vector towards the largest city on the populated rock. Backed by a dark mechanical hum the giant Reaper touched down in the sprawling mass of what appeared to be a city. The first step was well under way.
"Assuming direct con-"
OI! WOTS DAT FING?
*Boss iz looks like one uv-*
SHUT UP! IZ SEEN A FISHY BEFORE. I aint neva seen a fishy wit a shiny eye like dat one der.... I WANT IT.
GET ALL DA BOYZ AND GET DAT GIT
Harbinger heard the faint sound of a single lifeform yelling from the top of makeshift tower then firing a crude weapon in the sky. Suddenly the screaming and firing spread like wildfire though the city. Every corner of every structure seemed to explode into a stream of oversized rounds directly at the Reaper. The Orks were met with a response from the ancient reaper, the reverberating sound of the main laser weapon rang out as entire swaths of the city were wiped away. The settling dust from these scars revealed more the excited and increasingly motivated orks looting the largest weapons from the dead and continuing to fire. Ork ships were now swarming the Reaper in seemingly random flight paths. The makeshift navy was attacking in various forms ranging from a stream of bullets, catapults launching orks at the giant Reaper, or violently ramming into the hull. Harbinger had never encounter a race so ingrained in violence.
*BOSS! Our shipz iz doin' nuthing. Our shootas aint even wurth it. Wot do we do Boss?*
Warboss Gutrippa thought for a split second. Every fiber of his being poured into concentrating on a solution. This was is biggest fight and the most important so far. Suddenly a rare moment of Ork clarity. He knew, without a doubt, what needs to be done.
WEZ AINT GOT OUR FISHIN' HATZ!
GET ALLZ DA BOYZ TO TURN ER' HELMETZ UN HATZ TO DA SIDE A BIT. SEE? NOW ITZ A FISHIN' HAT AND NOW WE CAN KRUMP DAT SHINY FISH!
Harbinger sensed a moment of silence as the entire planet seemed to stop moving. All scans showed the lifeforms seemingly adjusting their helmets, and other various activities. Shortly after a shattering explosion of gunfire began again. This time the rounds ripped through the hull of the ancient Reaper, alerts from every system rang through the processor as breaches populated at an alarming rate. What is this?! How? He had never encountered resistance like this before. Panic set in for the first time in eons. He had to leave, regroup and glass the planet with the Reaper fleet. Just as the Reaper was set to retreat from the surface, the largest Ork ship appeared. Warboss Gutrippa stood at the mast of the massive ship, a large makeshift harpoon in one hand and a fishing rod with the end of the line being a machine gun in the other. As the ship picked up speed, Gutrippa swung the fishing rod above his head in a lassoing motion, the machine gun at the end now firing non stop. The Fishing boat rammed through the Ancient purifier. The Reaper went silent, with its hull collapsing into the city.
As the dust settled and the swarms of Orks and Gretchin began looting the corpse, Warboss ~~Gutrippa~~ Fishgutaa looked to the sky. The rest of the Reaper fleet was descending.
LISTEN UP BOYZ!
WAAAGH!!!!
| "Ah, yes, 'Reapers'," Guilliman sarcastically said, showing the quotation signs with his fingers while saying the last word. "The immortal race of sentient starships allegedly waiting in dark space. We have dismissed this claim."
Sly Marbo couldn't believe it. He thought things changed. He thought at least Guilliman, now that he returned at last, would show more understanding than those four old farts that call themselves the High Lords.
"WE HAVE ALREADY TALKED WITH THE LORD COMMANDER ABOUT YOUR LUDICROUS CONSPIRACY THEORY THAT YOU APPARENTLY STILL HAVEN'T ABANDONED," the Fabricator-General said in his robotic voice. "HE SHARED OUR SCEPTICISM ABOUT IT."
"Besides," Lord Commander Militant added, "one race of sentient space cans should be the same as another. If these Reapers really do exist, we should have no problems fighting them off. We already have little trouble fighting against Necrons."
"If you'll excuse me, Lord," Marbo objected. "The only reason we have little trouble against Necrons is because they never manage to clear their heads fast enough after they wake up from their sleeps that last for countless millenia. Reapers are already awaken and already clearheaded enough."
"That's enough!" Guilliman interjected angrily. "You are wasting our valuable time. I suggest you leave your lunacy alone. I'm-"
"It's not lunacy, sir!" Marbo interjected in return. "Reapers are a real threat. That's who Sicarius started worshipping, not gods of Chaos. You have to listen to me!"
"A real threat? I'm actually disappointed, Marbo. I've heard a lot of good things about you. To hear you'd start advocating something like this... Please, just leave."
Marbo's face stiffened. "Yes, sir," he replied, before turning around and leaving the room.
It was clear. Sly Marbo was not going to find any help, not here. He would have to find it elsewhere. Luckily, he already had a list of twenty names, twenty men that might do well. One of them was already waiting for him in the anteroom, wearing an easily recognizable golden armor.
"Judging by your facial expression, I assume they said no?" Captain-General of the Adeptus Custodes asked.
"And you'd assume right. They won't listen. We need to find help elsewhere."
"Your, uh, 'twenty good men'?"
"Yes. There is no time to be lost. We must be quick."
"Who are we going to try to recruit first?"
"A certain general I know. A certain survivor, to be precise. We might need his tactical genius, and the last time I checked, he just lost his place of job last week." | 2017-08-27T08:45:06 | 2017-08-27T08:05:25 | 2,784 | 152 |
[WP] Heaven and Hell do exist after death but you can choose in which you go. You jokingly choose Hell and when you arrive there, you hear Satan saying: "Finally someone! A friend!" | "Hello!" I yelled into the darkness surrounding me. My voice rattled off unseen walls; deep rumbling echoes built up into a dreadful cacophony that seemed to swallow me whole.
*Hello hellllo helllllll oh-oh-oh*
My skin became goose-pimpled and a shiver ran up my spine.
"Please - I was joking! Death, if you're there still, please. Please!"
*Please pleaaaa pllleaaad-d-d*
I could feel cold, rock wall to my right but nothing in any other direction. With no other option, I plunged into the darkness, always keeping the wall within reach. The ground beneath me was uneven and I had to step cautiously so as not to trip. As I walked, the stench of sulphur began to grow, soon intensifying and wrapping itself tightly around my throat. After a time, I sensed that the passageway was leading me downward: the wall itself began to twist and I knew I was corkscrewing deep into the earth. No, not the earth. I was somewhere else. But if it was Hell, why was it empty?
I don't know how long I crept along in that dreadful, unrelenting silence -- that blinding darkness -- but eventually a dim orange light became visible someway below; I almost wept with relief.
Gradually, as I descended towards the light, my surroundings became less dim and I could see I was on a wide staircase of sorts -- although a ramp might be more accurate, as there were no steps. I glanced down at my feet and to my surprise, I recognised the sight of the black-grey ground I stood upon. It was a type of igneous rock; the type that forms when lava cools and dies.
The ramp eventually led into a vast hollow carved out of black rock walls. It was much brighter in the room than the stairwell, although shadows danced menacingly on the walls. I saw first a great rock table in the center of the room, around which was a circular patch of white ground marked with the tell-tale black veins of marble. Around that, twelve skeletons rested against the chamber's walls, rusty chains around their necks bolting them to the rock behind. There were iron keys lying by each of their legs. Could they have freed themselves but chose not to?
I crept towards the table. On it lay the remains of a great skeleton, much larger than the others, its arms folded proudly across its chest. In its arms lay a long-sword, its blade a shimmering crystal-blue. The huge bones that must have once made up the creature's wings lay spread across the table's wide surface.
An object rested on the creature's skull -- *the light source*. It was almost blinding to gaze upon the chipped red teeth that made up the terrible crown. Each tooth shone like a fiercely burning ruby. *Like a flame.*
On the side of the table was carved an epitaph.
> Here lies the body of the Morning Star, bringer of light. The true son of God. Long did he protect his children from the Angel's lies. No longer he can. By his side rests his eternally loyal apostles.
> Here lies the body of the Morning Star. He awaits to be avenged; he awaits a friend.
I don't know how long I sat in that room, surrounded by death with my arms wrapped tightly around me. Hours, at least. Days, perhaps.
I don't know why I eventually got to my feet and removed the crown of teeth from the skull, and placed it on my head.
But I did.
And as skin around my shoulderblades ripped and bled to reveal the growths beneath; as the eye sockets of the twelve skulls around the table began to flame and smoulder; as I picked up the sword from the skeleton on the table, and saw in my mind's eye the death of God and the Angel's crimes -- I realised that everything was about to change.
| I've always been a bit of a smart ass. I thought for sure I'd go to hell when I died. Stole some change from that ASPCA donation cup, gave a mall Santa an out of circulation indian coin pretending it was a quarter, and I made a lot of people around me feel like idiots. With so many people telling me to go to Hell I just prepared for it.
Sometimes I took hot showers and even lit my hair on fire as if I was on JackAss or something. Hung out with other sinners to get accustomed to my future company. Didn't seem too bad, sex and drugs for what might be a sauna with some poking.
Then I get there and St. Peter says ever since the savior anyone can choose to go to Heaven, all has been forgiven. Hell is still a place though and I may go if I wish. I told him,
"Are you kidding? I've been looking forward to going to Hell all my life!"
So I plummetted from the clouds. Part of me thought it was a dumb decision but hey, it might be even more of a party down there now since you can choose to go. It was a let down when I hit the charred barren land and saw nothing.
No one goes to Hell. It was like that abandoned pizza store off the highway near my hometown. You could tell this place used to be the spot. That trench must've been filled with evildoers while someone above whipped or prodded with pitchforks. Over there a wall was used to stick people there until you took them to the thorn bushes, which had a dog or something lazily sleeping.
"Finally someone! A friend!"
I turned and saw the most metal looking dude. Face tattoos and piercings everywhere. His haircut wasn't so rad though and his voice was kinda nerdy, like he came from a good family and schooled well but chose to embrace a different lifestyle.
"Where is everyone?" I asked.
"No one ever comes to Hell anymore, they think I'm going to torture them forever, so it's just me an fluffy."
"Fluffy?"
"Yeah!" He pointed to the sleeping dog thing.
"Well I'm Chad."
"Satan."
"THE Satan?"
He nodded and horns grew from his head. It honestly looked like practical effects from the 90's so it was surreal.
"Pretty cool right?"
"I guess so..." I honestly wasn't that impressed.
We stood there awkwardly for a little bit until Satan blurted out.
"Want to play checkers? We used to use people but now we can use rocks and sticks."
"Is that the only pass time you have down here?"
"I spend most of my time praying for a friend and you're finally here! We'll have so much fun together! I know!!! How about we each make a one-act play and perform for each other!"
"Ehhh...sure?"
This place really is Hell. | 2022-11-26T20:28:16 | 2017-11-04T08:31:27 | 960 | 10 |
[WP] You die and find yourself in hell, where apparently everyone spends time to negate their sins before they go to heaven. The guy in front of you, who cheated on his wife, gets 145 years. Feeling like you led a fairly average and peaceful life, you’re not worried. You get 186,292 years. | "But I don't see how that's possible! I never *killed* anyone! I never stole, I never even hurt an animal, I lived a simple, boring life. I don't claim to be perfect, but how could I be that evil?"
The man leaned back in his chair. "It doesn't really work that way. People like to imagine that there are big actions that decide your fate, and that's true to an extent, but in reality we use a point system. Every action you took, every single decision you made, they all had a point value, either positive or negative. It's not that you did any one major bad thing to get you here, you just did a huge number of *tiny* bad things.
"Like what?"
The man reached into a desk drawer and pulled out a thick file folder. "Let's see. Just off the top of the list: you never used your turn signal. That's five points off per violation, and you drove for nearly forty years. You refused to tip at restaurants out of principle and you snapped at the waiters to get their attention. That's nearly a hundred points off every time you ate out. You listened to music without headphones when you used public transportation, ten points per minute. You took your shoes off on airplanes. In the last election you cast a write-in vote for someone called "Pickle Rick". Your last three cars were a Nissan Juke, a Chrysler PT Cruiser, and a Pontiac Aztec-
"That's insane! None of those things should be that important. If those are the worst things I did how could that possibly add up to 200,000 years?"
"Your sentence *is* a bit on the high end for your crimes, but then most people are able to balance the negatives with positives. You didn't really do that. Yes, you lived a quiet and simple life, but in this case that hurt you more than it helped you. You never did anything that had a significant positive effect on the world. You never helped anyone, you never affected change outside of your personal life, you never even made anything that others appreciated. It looks like the single most positive thing you did was the one single day that you volunteered to help build houses for hurricane victims. Huh, that's kind of out of character for you."
"That was actually an accident, they asked for volunteers at work one day and I thought I would get paid for it..."
"See, that's what I mean. Apart from that the most positive thing you did was make a handful of Internet memes that made some people smile. That's a nice start but it doesn't begin to outdo all the bad."
"So there's nothing I can do? I'm doomed to suffer for 200,000 years and that's it?"
The man thought for a moment. "Well, we *do* have a pilot program we've been working on. Basically you would devote time here in the afterlife to learning how to become a better person in order to reduce your sentence. It's still in the early stages and we're not even sure how it will pan out yet, but you seem like an ideal candidate. It will require serious self-improvement effort on your part though, it's not just a walk in the park."
"I'm willing to try anything at this point. So how does it work?" | One could've heard a pin drop, provided the pin wouldn't immediately liquidate and disappear into the suffocating humidity of this divine DMV. I blinked a couple times at the number on the dated 80's era Linux machine and back to the impatient elderly demon peering over her ironic horn-rimmed glasses across my face. Heaven had already called dibs on the Microsoft software upon Bill Gates' passing, and rumor had it Satan had a weird thing about apples, so old school was the eternal school in this place.
​
"That doesn't make any sense to me!" I cried out, pointing wildly at the screen, "I got a good education, I donated to Wikipedia every time the donation box popped up, I was faithful to my wife," I redirected my finger toward the balding-in-denial head walking toward the Purgatory gates, "Unlike Captain Copulation over there, I didn't even skim on my taxes!" Rolling her eyes to the back of her horns, the Receptionist of Darkness pulled out a form titled "*Appeal of Sentence*" and slid it across the counter top. My eyes scanned over it, and there was my name and: **Sentence = 186,292 years.** There were three lines at the bottom where I was encouraged to state my case of appeal.
​
"*Fill out Items 1A, 4B, 666H, and Letters L-X,*" said the ancient sadist with smugness dripping off her forked tongue. Disdainfully, I folded the paper and put in my pocket to continue my plea directly.
​
"This is absurd! I went to church every day, goddamnit!"
***186,283***
"*To file your appeal, please stand in that line over there."* She stabbed her pitchfork-shaped pen toward a different line that I watched wrap literally around the diameter of Hell and back again.
"Jesus Christ, are you kidding me?"
***186,284***
"*No sir, once you deposit your form, you may take a seat,"* I didn't even have to look to deduce the spikes on top of the chairs, "*And wait to be called upon."*
"GodDAMNit."
***186,285*** | 2018-09-26T07:56:17 | 2018-09-26T07:48:10 | 101 | 10 |
[WP] Voyager 2 is found orbiting the Earth. It is exactly the same except with one new addition: a single image of our galaxy taken from outside it. | It was a very normal day across the world. Observatories and space agencies continued to scan the skies. Some were looking for signs of extraterrestrial life whilst others were simply staring into the abyss of space, wondering what else was out there. It was 18:46 EST when the calls began to pour into NASA. Space agencies around the world had begun detecting a satellite that had begun orbiting the Earth. It had seemingly come out of nowhere, approaching the Earth on a perfect angle and then perfectly aligning into a high orbit. The ISS would have a visual in 14 seconds...
"Control, this is International Space Station. We have a visual on the unknown object ... it's ... hold on Control."
There was 2 seconds of silence, and then the radio transmission resumed.
"Control, confirming that the unknown object is Voyager 2 space probe. Requesting instructions."
NASA was unprepared for this. Voyager 2 hadn't left the solar system, unlike its sister craft the Voyager 1. A mission was put together to retrieve the probe and bring it back to where it initially started: the Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Upon its return, it was analyzed by the teams at NASA. The world excitedly and impatiently waited as the probe was opened and examined. What was going to happen next? Where had the probe come from? How did it get home? There were going to be answers, but also more questions.
... It was the same. There was no change in the scientific or power equipment onboard the probe. The teams were understandably disappointed at this revelation. Every inch of the craft was inspected to see what had happened. The fuel levels were still the same, the craft was still on thrusters, exactly as it was left. Seeing that there was nothing new, NASA announced that a solar wind or other force must have simply pushed the craft back into orbit in what they called a 'spectacular and astronomical coincidence'. It was still nice to have the Voyager 2 back though. It could be placed in a museum and admired. It could inspire future generations. It would still have a place in the modern world.
These thoughts were drowned out by an intern at NASA. Upon inspecting the craft, he took a closer look at the golden record. He thought that it looked funny and postulated that it may not be the same record that was sent from Earth. NASA scientists agreed to examine the contents of the record, if only for nostalgic purposes. What they encountered was not something anyone was prepared for.
The golden record was played back. The machine analyzing the images began to spit out a line by line display ... of a single image. That can't be right ... there was far more than this on the original record. The scientists and intern stood in awe as the image continued. Line by line more and more came in. When it was all done, everyone stared blankly as they realized what they were looking at. This ... was the Milky Way galaxy. When it was fully analyzed a tiny portion was discovered to have been shaded blue. It was the location of Earth. This ... was not from Earth. It was solid proof that a space-faring civilization had indeed encountered the Voyager 2 and this was their version of 'return to sender'.
The world was abuzz with the news. Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and all assortments of social media exploded with the sudden revelation that humans had indeed received a transmission from another race. Another culture had imprinted on the human race a single image of their own, one more powerful than anything that could have originated from the lovely blue planet. Space programs around the world were suddenly very well funded. Small and divisive international differences began to fade into the distance as humanity took it's next 'giant leap' into the future. An age of prosperity unlike any previously encountered began, known only as the Age of Exploration. There was only one thing on the collective conscience, one thing that every human being on the planet thought. The most powerful and uniting thought in all of recorded history...
... They were not alone. | "You found what?"
“An the image of our galaxy, sir, taken from the outside."
“And you're sure that it's the Milky Way?"
“That's what the analysts are telling me."
"How did Voyager two even make it back? It was over one hundred astronomical units out!"
“We . . . we don’t know, sir.”
“Get me a copy of that photo. I want to see it for myself."
“I can't, at least not now. The photocopies have been sent exclusively to the research lab, but perhaps later I can bring you the original."
“Why can't I see it now?"
“Because it’s still attached to the probe, sir."
"What?"
"The image was not taken by Voyager two itself, sir, it was . . . given to it. We found the image on the side of the probe. Our guys are in the process of removing it, which was going quite well last I checked."
“ . . . I . . . I don't know what to say to that, Connor, I really don't. That's unbelievable. It's . . . ”
"I know, sir. We’re all a little dazed by it. I'll get that picture to you as soon as it's in my hands."
– a few hours later –
"Sir, this is the original image. It's incredible! And it's solid, like a metal photograph. Here, take a look!”
“Are you sure that’s safe to touch?"
“Yes, sir! The guys in the lab have been handling it all day, said there is no detectable trace of anything. It's made from a new material, something we've never seen before. We think it has a protective outer coating. And it's so smooth, too. Feel it."
“No, I don't want to touch it. But that image . . . it’s so clear."
“Much better quality than what we could produce."
“Wow. The Milky Way galaxy huh? That's amazing. That's – Connor, what's on your fingers?”
“Ohh! I’m . . . I'm not sure, sir."
“It almost looks like it's . . . glowing red, and spreading! Connor! You get your ass to the hospital wing right away –“
– emergency lights flash on, followed by a siren –
“No . . ."
“It hurts, sir, IT HURTS!”
“The door won't budge! God dammit, we’re under quarantine!”
“Help me, sir! It's crawling up my shoulder!”
“Stay away from me, Connor! GET BACK!”
“IT’S IN MY NECK! IT’S IN MY NECK! IT’S . . . . . AHHHHH!”
– pounding on the door –
“HELP! SOMEBODY! PLEASE! OPEN THE DOOR! FOR FUCK SAKE SOMEBODY OPEN THE DOOR! PLEASE! . . . please! . . . please . . .” | 2015-03-20T09:01:15 | 2015-03-20T08:50:53 | 39 | 28 |
[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."
| DO NOT SEND RESCUE
I rubbed my chin as I read the words up on the screen, and then raised my hand. The Captain standing at the front of the room acknowledged me. "Yes Martin?"
I gestured towards the screen. "If the final transmission from Horizon was essentially 'don't come,' explain to me why we're going there?"
The Captain sighed. "Because, on the off chance there are survivors, we aren't going to abandon them... and I would be lying if I didn't say the Company wants us to recover some of the more expensive equipment as well."
A few murmurs drifted through the room. I spoke again. "So what are we up against? Do we have any idea what's waiting for us down there?"
The Captain frowned. "We don't have any planet-side intel. Whoever sent this last message didn't even have time to add a period, much less any useful information."
"Is this some kind of joke?" I scoffed. "I'm not taking my team on a suicide mission for the sake of recovering a few toys."
The Captain grit his teeth, looking like he was about to lose his cool but he gathered himself. "... The Company has already spent several million dollars sending you and your team out here. You WILL be going down to Mars, or you WILL be answering to the Company's Station Code. I've been told the brig here on the O.W.L. is pretty lackluster."
My mouth twisted at that. My team of mercenaries and I didn't owe the Company any loyalty, but here on the Orbital Watch Locus above Mars, the Company had legal authority to enforce its own code of law.
I sighed. "Well then I guess we don't really have a choice." I turned in my seat to face my four-man team. "The briefing we just received will be sent to each of your data pads. Review it tonight, and then get some rest. We drop planet side tomorrow at 0600." I turned back towards the captain as a cacophony of metal chair legs scraping the floor screeched through the room.
"Thank you for being reasonable," the Captain sneered.
"I want a full list of the equipment at our disposal. We will take what we need at no charge. You will have extraction on standby for the entire duration of our mission. Is that clear?" I demanded.
"Of course! Anything you need, Martin, you just let me know. As long your boots hit the ground, the entirety of this station's resources are yours."
I nodded, and then stood and followed my team out of the briefing room. In the hallway, I stopped at a viewport, and looked down at the red planet beneath us.
From the moment I was offered this job, I'd felt a twist in my gut; I really hoped I wouldn't regret taking this mission.
Story continued at r/TheCornerStories | As he hit the key to send the message back to mission control back on Earth, he wondered what would be the death of him: himself, or the inhabitants of the Red Planet... He pulled on the slide of the handgun he had smuggled in his personal cargo, seeing that glimmer from the brass casing in the chamber. He had at least one round left, he could end it now if he wanted. He didn't. He wanted to take as many of whatever those things were with him. They brutally ripped through all his friends he had made on the journey to Mars. He looked back into the blood soaked hallway he had traversed to get here. It appeared clear, but who knew for sure. Eating a bullet crept back into his mind one last time, it would definitely beat getting shredded to pieces and eaten alive, but he only had to run roughly 30 yards down the corridor and hook right to reach the reactor. That one round, if placed properly, could blow this whole place sky high. Taking a deep breath he rushed for the reactor room. He could swear he could feel them right on him, whether it was in his mind or in reality he didn't know, but he kept running anyways. As he turned the corner, almost slipping on blood and discarded pieces of his former friends and acquaintances he was in the reactor room... Right in front of one of them. The size was unlike anything he had seen in person on Earth. It towered above him, with its saliva dripping out of its open mouth onto the floor in front of him mixing with the entrails of the corpse between them. Without any time to react accordingly the monster rushed him and speared him with its tail raising him up to the ceiling of the room he shot the reactor as it did, watching as the sirens sounded as it slowly started to meltdown. He smiled and put the gun to his head. Click. "FUCK!" | 2019-01-31T05:07:56 | 2019-01-31T05:03:05 | 776 | 180 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | What was so unsettling was the *detail*.
He scribbled down the woman's death in his battered little book.
"Blunt forced trauma: Swelling of the cranial tissues: Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death."
Medication did nothing. His doctors informed him it was quite an unusual delusion. He'd asked how they were always right. They'd informed him that his delusion just adapted to what happened after the fact. His memories were somehow part of it all. Brains could be fucked up.
Still, it always ended the same way. Lack of oxygen to the brain. Death.
They were delicate little things. We are delicate little things.
He would have told people, so they could corroborate him. But that wasn't often the best way to keep friends, and he wasn't very good at the whole friends thing even if he wasn't asking them to remember lists of how people were going to die.
The natural conclusion was to write it down.
He gazed around the train's carriage and picked out another. There wasn't much point of course, he didn't know these people. He couldn't use them to prove himself when they died. He wouldn't know if they did. Still... It had grown into a habit. It helped him forget, once it was recorded.
"Severed femoral artery: Loss of blood: Cardiac arrest. Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Annother violent one. Usually there were a few cancers, spontaneous Cardiac arrests or strokes. He'd found an overall 12.3% chance of "accidental" death. He turned in his seat to glance back down the rows of people.
"Crushed Chest: Asphyxiation: Lack of oxygen to the brain: Death."
Another. More Blunt force. Annother severed artery. Burns...
Everyone in this carriage. Every single...
*Oh.*
The train lurched. Jolted. His head cracked into the side. Trains shouldn't move sideways. The was a squeal of metal on metal drowned out the screams.
For a moment up and down were interchangeable. Cans, cups of coffee, bags of luggage and twisted figures were flung into the air and slammed into the wall in an explosion of movement.
He saw as the window burst inwards and a shapeless mass of steel slammed into him.
Huh. So it was one of those.
Didn't really hurt. But then, he'd never expected it to. Never sounded like it hurt.
He could feel the blood pumping out, warm down his side as the dust settled in a sudden eerie silence. His breath caught, fast and shallow. Which first, the blood or the air? Same thing in the end.
Lack of oxygen to the brain.
He could feel himself slipping away.
Death.
| Over the years I've come to interpret the colors I see around people. I once tried to describe it to someone and they told me it,was their "Aura," but every description of an aura has multiple colors. I only see one, and each color is a different kind of death.
There's your common red, something to do with the heart most often, but sometimes could be another organ failing. The slightly less common purple, violent death, mostly seen in bad neighborhoods and around military bases.
Green was disease, which strangely enough encompassed diabetes most of the time, too. Yellow was drug overdose. Orange was accidental. Sometimes you'd get something like a half yellow, half purple. I took that to mean it was a forced drug overdose.
One day, as I'm walking down the street late one night, I saw something I'd never seen before. It was around a petite blonde. Some color I had never seen before. It was impossible to describe. It was unnatural. I had to follow her and find out.
She took a turn down a dark alley. That's not very safe. I should make sure she's okay. What is that color? Is that movement? I should take out my pocket knife just incase.
Holy shit! What is that color. It can't exist. She's unnatural. She shouldn't be. I have to remove that color. It must go. Remove.
Just walk up behind her. Good. Oh, that's hot. And sticky. She's laying on the ground. You know, in this light, she kind of looks like my mother. The color is fading. Thank god.
Hey, what was that at the end of the alley? What was that color? It's unnatural... | 2015-03-31T11:46:09 | 2015-03-31T09:00:41 | 71 | 22 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | If only we knew then what we know now. The humans claimed historical sovereignty, as is the right of all new applicants into the Galactic Conglomerate. This is usually to hide a soft past in an effort to appear strong. Usually a war-like species is proud of their military capabilities. They flaunt them in a show of strength in such a loose alliance of different peoples. The humans proved to be expert diplomats, but not much else. In nearly every field, much of the conglomerate surpassed them. At least, that's what we thought.
Within thirty earth years, as is now the standard, the Dopeshki, our people, thought it would be fun and exciting sport to conquer the soft, fleshy humans. Our hard outer shells could resist most of the small arms the humans showed to the galaxy as if they were leaves falling from a tree. Our ships' shields could easily absorb their pitiful energy weapons. We didn't know that they had researched so deeply into creating projectile weapons though. It had seemed almost like an obsession to make a bigger, stronger, more deadly "gun" as they call them. Most of our warfare revolved around a slow approach and on-board combat in order to not activate the energy-absorbing shields. Projectile weapons had long been abandoned because of this.
The first battle was a slaughter. We attacked a huge transport ship bringing luxury goods and medical tools to an outer colony of theirs. The humans could not stand up to our strength in close combat, but we did not win a single fight after that.
Humans came up with the idea of a "railgun" a thousand years prior to outside contact. The first one could accelerate a tungsten rod to 1% the speed of light, and they only got better at making them from there. Our shields didn't stand a chance. We did not even realize that they were not using payloads on the projectiles until they started doing so. The colony of Darmak was the first time we found this out. Then Kartor, and Sengui, and Kalloo, and so on until it was just our home. They had developed bombs that ignited the very atmosphere of a planet, and they could fire them at 86% the speed of light. We never even knew when we were being attacked until the scorchlines were already traveling across the planet.
When we Dopeshki warred, it was like a grand hunt. It was full of sport. We had rules and valued the spoils more than the annihilation of our enemy. Surrender and tribute was always an option for our foes, for why else should one wage war if not to benefit off those who are weaker. The humans did not share such views. Many wondered why such weak creatures ever became so dominant on such a savage planet. It is because humans have no mercy once they decide oblivion is their foe's fate. They never mined our colony worlds. They never tried to seed life to them after such unimaginable destruction was dealt. The humans called it "total war," and it is something they have practiced, refined, and learned from since the dawn of their civilization. When they finally delivered the mercy treaty to our last bastion of government, they made sure that we understood they only stayed their hand so as not to look like complete monsters to the other people in The Conglomerate.
That is why we may no longer engage in war, young ones. That is why our planet is mostly barren save for the small patch of land on the continent of Congima. That is why we may never hold colonies again. That is why the humans are the head of The Galactic Empire. Never before has such diplomacy been seen. | It was the first all-out battle we were to ever have against humans. It was also the first battle I'd ever been assigned to.
We weren't too worried. Humans were new to the Galactic Community. They'd finally gotten some of themselves a significant distance away from their little rock, and we welcomed them with open arms.
Their power took hold much more quickly than any of us had been prepared for. Their propaganda in every field was nearly perfect, and their technological advancement, once given the proper resources, went unchecked.
However, it had only been twenty Earth-years. They were still at a severe disadvantage.
Or so we thought.
They'd made us agree to land combat. Which seemed strange at the time, because their physical forms were suited to a lower gravity than ours were, so we were stronger, and faster.
Our dropship came to a halt, and my pod opened, dropping me out onto the charcoal-black gravelly ground.
I readied my Hypercharge Rifle, and checked the landscape with my sonar. Nothing. Had the humans bailed out? They wouldn't have had any time to set up a trap. We chose the battlefield.
The rules were as such: They selected ground-based combat, and we selected the location. No aerial support was allowed, and if any was used, instant termination of Human outposts throughout the Community. The same went for us too, but that wasn't a concern.
After waiting for around ninety seconds with the others landing nearby, we heard a loud creaking echoing throughout the field.
In front of us, the ground opened up. Doors slid away, revealing hundreds of humans.
And the battle had begun. Ionized rounds vaporized members of both sides. And after another him try seconds, the humans seemed to vanish.
The field went quiet.
The sound of a sine wave.
A perfect sound.
Ethereal.
And we were blind.
Our species relied on hearing to "see". While humans absorbed photons as their primary sensory method, we absorbed sound waves.
The perfect sound somehow cut off our ability to detect anything else, and we dropped like Terran houseflies.
Somehow, they had known the planet and location we would select.
And somehow, they had found our only weakness that was revealed to no one.
I'm writing this note as a captive of the Humans. They have ordered me to do so.
They will always find a way to win. They will always be able to cheat. They will always be able to learn faster than the rest of us.
Do not engage. | 2019-11-24T14:11:42 | 2019-11-24T11:57:32 | 426 | 129 |
[WP] The more you talk to something, the more intelligent it gets. Some dogs and cats get a semblance of sapience, though baby talk is less effective. You, on the other hand, have been discussing scientific theory with your houseplant.
I'm assuming people don't know this happens, but whatever you come up with. | It started pretty simply. My mother used to sing to her flowers, claiming it helped the grow. She would practice her solos in front of the windows, letting the air carry her harmonies to the garden.
I liked to sing, but that had never been my gift. Really, I just liked to talk. I could talk the paint off a wall. I liked to hear my own voice, I was often my own company. I didn't make friends easily and my weird behavior made my own family uncomfortable.
I talked to plants. And the cats.
Well, by talk I mean... converse. One sided, of course. Or it had been. You see, most people believe in fantasy until they are eleven or twelve. Then reality sets in and your childhood pets die. Or you move on to boys/girls/sports/tv. You have real, vital humans to talk to.
Well, I didn't. Something about me put them off, so I kept talking to what I had. Imaginary friends. Then my pets. Then, eventually, a cactus named Gary.
It had been a joke, really. My brother came to visit and gave me the cactus.
"Even you can't kills this." He said it so proud. He gave it fucking googly eyes and told me to have fun with my new boyfriend.
At first I was mad. But it wasn't Gary's fault.
The cat agreed with me. "Your brother is a complete asshole," she said.
I agreed with her.
So I thought Gary might be a good friend to have. The cat was bored to tears with helping me study. She preferred Spanish Soaps.
I didn't think Gary would be much help. I had never spoken to a plant before.
Yet, the more I asked for his help, the more I told him about scientific theory and my own fears about dying alone... the more he seems to grow. Bigger and bigger.
Until one day he said, "Excuse me, but could we change the subject."
I put Gary in the kitchen with the cat and went out to buy a rock. Maybe the rock would let me talk to him without interrupting. | "So, to know a flower you first have to cut it into pieces to understand each part?" Said my Ficus in horror after I explained to her how the scientific method worked. "That's just horrible!"
"I know Fi, but it is the only way to discover new things and understand them"
"But, why not ask them how they work, I mean, I cold tell you how photosynthesis works, it's not THAT complicated..."
"But not every plant can talk like you Fi... Talking of which, here he comes"
Somebody knocked at the door and I openend it to see a big guy in a white robe looking at me.
"Hello mister... Jackson?, we are here to take your Ficus" Said the man.
"Jackson, what does this mean?" asked Fi, scared.
"I needed the money dear, you know how it works"
Another big guy entered the house and carried Fi back to their truck as she screamed in horror, calling my name...
"Your $5m dollars will be added to your account during the next 30 minutes mister Jackson, you have helped humanity advance a great way." Said the robbed scientist.
I never heard about her again... | 2016-11-29T20:07:07 | 2016-11-29T17:13:28 | 182 | 49 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all! | The newly minted King Agralin stared at me, eyes red from Kastian ale. Half a goblet of that fine vintage stained the front of his doublet. I grimaced at the dreadful waste, my nose wrinkled at the scent; it had been a while, but my senses were slowly returning.
‘What are you doing here? I kicked you lot of wastrels out last morn!’ The rowdy carousing in the hall began to dissipate, as they stared at my audience with interest.
Fifty winters ago, it had taken me an evening to convince the Old King — I guessed he must have forgotten to tell his son about our agreement before he passed. I tossed an ancient vellum scroll on Agralin’s lap. If he wasn’t so drunk he might have realized that vellum didn’t usually come in such a dark shade of crimson.
Araglin took a quick glance at the scroll and sputtered in anger. ‘What’s this?’
‘My employment contract. Your father agreed to it, and declared that you will too.’ I felt my shoulder blades start to itch, as the long-dormant parts awoke.
‘Hah! Fifty thousand gold a year! The pick of the cellar and choice of dwelling? My father paid a guard all this? He was more senile than I thought!’ Agralin looked around for support as his retinue snickered along.
Agralin stabbed the contract with his pudgy finger. ‘Look, it even says so in your name No’gard! You’re no guard!’
Sycophantic laughter burst throughout the hall, I cringed at his weak pun. Fifteen years away at one of the most prestigious academies and this was the best he could do.
‘My father was too lenient, allowing lowborn a seat in this hall.’ Agralin waved. ‘Leave before I have you beaten and thrown out.’
The old King was never so unobservant, has no one realized that I had been at his Father’s side for fifty years and looked not a day older?
‘You might want to read the rest of the contract. It is crucial that you retain… my protection.’ I tried again.
Agralin’s eyes widened in disbelief. ‘Look around you! The finest knights in the land defend me!’
Cheers and shouts resounded through the hall. Barvar the Crusher, Astoni of the Dozen Daggers, and Grim’dar the Unwavering, yelled in agreement, banging their weapons on the banquet tables.
‘Who in the Seven Lairs, would I need *you* to guard me from?’
‘Me.’ I grinned with sharpened teeth.
‘My contract states that you would be protected from *me*.’
‘String him up! Teach this fool a lesson! He threatens the King himself!’ The sound of swords drawn reverberated throughout the hall.
The final change took only seconds as my body exploded in mass. My scales burst out and rippled through my skin as they interlocked in snickering metallic clicks. My talons extended from the tips of my hand, now the size of a horse. The banquet hall could hardly hold my true form and my sides pressed against the walls.
I think Barvar was now the Crushed, and Astoni a pin cushion. Grim’dar was on his knees, praying to an unknown god. Agralin’s trousers were now wet too, not from the ale.
‘Now,’ I breathed lightly, setting fire to the tapestries behind the throne, ‘let’s take a look at the contract again, shall we?’ | My thoughts raced, matching the speed of my footsteps as they pounded down the corridor. Was it my perspective that made the hall so dark and dingy? Was it the sense of impending doom, or had the usurper beheaded the housekeepers in his takeover?
Thirty years, I have served this kingdom. I suppose now it's "had," past tense, for the old ways have burned to the ground under the "True King's" command. The young upstart claiming some magical prophecy, some sort of destiny or right. My lungs burned from exertion, and my face with anger. The old king was now no more than disgraced refuse thrown out with the pigs. He had not been perfect; no one is perfect. But he had been born into the position, grown into it, learned from and was moulded by it. What could a nobody from the forests know of leadership? Of government? Of secrets and their consequences?
I gasped for breath, stumbling into my chambers. There was no more need for order or tidyness, and I let bottles and canisters crash to the floor, tossing them out of my way as I searched. I had precious little time to gather anything but the barest of necessities, with the clinking of armored footsteps coming down the hall outside my door. I sent up a silent thank you to whoever had been in charge of my assignment to these rooms, and the passageway to the kitchens that hid behind a tapestry on the far wall. I didn't bother to shut the door behind me as I slipped into it- the chamber door was opening and I could not waste the time needed to cover my tracks. Time, time, time...if only we'd all had more of it.
Thirty years I had served this kingdom. Thirty years I have labored, researched, documented, traveled far and wide to further my work. Thirty years I had kept the monster under these floors contained. Thirty years the beast and I had been engaged in a struggle for power, for control, and thirty years I have won- barely. The new king would see me shot on sight. Perhaps he would drag me in front of the masses as a symbol, for a slower and more painfully theatrical death. He knows not the powers that he toys with. He is but a child, drunk on his newfound influence.
I am through the passage now, racing through the kitchens. Ahead of me, soldiers stand between me and the light of morning, just peeking through the curtains. They raise their weapons, and below us, the flagstones begin to rumble. | 2021-02-28T04:13:58 | 2021-02-28T03:15:28 | 1,113 | 173 |
[WP] Your father used to be a supervillain who faked his death in order to be with his family, but hid that from you in order to keep you safe. Unfortunately you look almost exactly like him, and this is in fact how you came to find out about his past in the first place | The hero finally caught with his long presumed-dead rival. Atleast, so he thought.
"I grow tired of these games, Zaal! Do you really thing you can pretend NOT to be who you are? We have fought countless battles! A rivalry that would shadow that of even Zeus and Hades. Stop this charade and rise once again as my nemesis!"
Wrapped in chains, a man, struggling to breath. In the corner, a young girl cowers; tears filling her eyes.
"I have no idea who you are talking about! Who is Zaal? Why are you doing this to me? Who are you?!"
"Clever, my old foe, very clever; pretending to not know who I am. Let me guess: memory loss from when I struck you face-first on the very ground of the moon? Remember, when I discovered your secret hideout? Or did you inhale too much of your various chemical gasses, the ones you used to poison me, to no avail? Remember? Those days were glorious!"
"What? The moon? Gas? I don...Please, I am not who you think I am! You got the wrong person"
"Perhaps. You will reveal yourself soon enough! You were always one to resist pain, even seeming to enjoy it. Maybe it is time you experience a different kind of pain!"
The hero grabs the young girl by the arm. She screams, crying for help, begging for her release.
"DON'T! Not my girl! I...yes...I...Its me, Zaal... You were right, old...foe? Let her go and ...euh...face me once more?"
"I knew it!". The hero casts the girl aside. She lets out a shriek. Blood is dripping from her left hand, a cut.
"NO! What are you?! A hero? You would hurt a little girl, just to get at your rival?"
"I've spent YEARS trying to find you! I knew that you faked your own death, I've always known! It took all my resources, even my League membership, just to find you! And now, I'll have you pay for your past crimes! The League...they will accept me back! They will, you will see!"
A loud explosion fills the room with a bellowing sound. A hole in the wall, revealing the outside of the hero's hideout.
"Berthan. You have the wrong man."
"No, it can't be!"
"It can, Berthan. I have come..."
"For ME! Yes! Fina..."
"to apprehend you. You have gone too far... As promised, I've shown you his hidout, Kar"
"One way to attone for your many misdeeds, Zaal. But you have shown ...merit. Something I didn't expect from you."
"Having a family, and something to fight for, tends to realign your view of the world. I want a world where my granddaughter can grow up safely. Isn't that right, Dari?"
"Grandpapa!"
"You...you are his son? And Kar? What are you doing here, working with Zaal?"
"I have come to apprehend you, Berthan. The League of Heroes tried to stay out of it but your behaviour to find Zaal has become erratic, dangerous. Destruction of property, aggresively interrogating former villains, kidnapping people, abducting children? You have gone too far."
"But Zaal is the villain, he ..."
"Has been working with us since his son and granddaughter where taken. He has changed his life for the better, you have fallen into a dark path. Cuff him, men."
"Ziri, Miko? Even you? After all these years?"
"I'm sorry Berthan, you became what you wanted to destroy.. I..."
Miko lowers his head and lets out a sigh. He escorts Berthan to a fortified vehicle parked outside the destroyed wall.
"Were you really a villain, dad?"
"The best, according to some." Zaal places his hands around his granddaughter, Dari and lifts her up.
"What made you quit?"
"The best thing to happen in this world, son. You." | "Oh my dear!" I thought to myself as I ran past a row of dumpsters, looking for one that I might be able to jump into.
This was happening for the second time this week, and for the twelfth this month. Must be a new record for me. I continued running. Maybe I could jump some fence or something? Right now I needed to escape badly.
All of this, I had no idea why it was happening and I sure as hell didn't have anything to do with. Just the police decided one day that they wanted to cuff me. Then the FBI and CIA. Even the League of heroes was after me once. Come on! I am a teenager FFS! I literally couldn't have commited any crimes that massive! I mean I stole Kathy Winbergs' pencil case back in the third grade, but seriously?!
"STAY RIGHT THERE OR WE WILL SHOOT!!!" I heard behind me.
"Oh fuck off" I mumbled to myself and climbed onto a fire escape ladder. Good thing dad taught me parkour! Sadly if I went on the roof the helicopter might've spotted me. So I did the next logical thing and broke into some apartment. I ran past a half-naked couple having private time. "Sorry!"
And went out of the door to find myself on a winding down staircase. "Welp, time for some jumping!" And I jumped down, hanging from railing to railing as I went down to the ground floor. Just as I stormed out of the front door a matte black car stopped infront of me. From the driver's window of my dad's old Camaro I could only hear "HOP IN!" yelled at me and without a stumble I jumped on the back seat.
"What the fucks going on dad?!"
"No time, we gotta run!"
"Dad, we can't be fucking running away always!"
"You hold your swear words in ya mouth, boy!"
"For Christ dad, now's not the time to teach me proper speech! What's! Going! ON?!!?!"
"Well, you know Dr. Offelheimer?"
"The supervillain? Yeah?!"
"Well I am that guy."
"WHAT?!!"
"Yeah, forgot to mention that..."
"You forgot to fu... tell me that you are the guy that ALMOST BLEW UP SEATTLE?!"
"Yeah, about that.."
"Are you insane?! Are you kidding me?! Is that why I've been chased for two years now?! And why we change cities and states every few months?!"
"Yeah..."
"And to where now? Only fucking Alaska is left... If we can fucking reach it!"
"Son, I know you are mad and..."
"Save it dad! Where?"
I saw his gaze at me in the reflection of the mirror.
"To my secret lair."
I stared at him through the same mirror. Then I let out a sigh and lied down on the back seat.
"Fine. But can we stop for Macdonald's and ice cream? I'm starving."
"Well it wouldn't be a road trip without a stop at the clowns'" laughed dad.
Edit: I have no clue why it stiches the dialogue | 2020-07-16T11:15:01 | 2020-07-16T10:58:17 | 83 | 40 |
[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. | "Just pick another fucking age!" Death said, snarling as he looked at Bobby.
"No, I get to pick, and I pick my 16th birthday."
Death screamed and punched the little shit in his head, and Bobby disappeared. All death had to do was touch his forehead, but he was way to angry for that. He waited for a few minutes, and as it started to rain a light appeared in front of him. Death held out his hand and flipped the coin. He stopped putting it away 4 centuries ago. It spun in the air, and death didn't even look at it when he grabbed it in his hand. "Tails again?" Death sighed as he knew what the kid was going to say next.
"Yep, tails just like what I was getting."
Death looked down, and saw it was tails. It always was. The kid was saying when he wanted to go to, and Death punched him again. As he was waiting for the kid, he started flipping the coin as he had so many times. Tails, heads, heads, heads, tails, heads, tail. It was an ordinary coin, not double sided or rigged or anything. He saw the light, and looked at the kid appearing again.
"If you don't accept the blowjob, you can make it past your sixteenth birthday. Then Christine's boyfriend wont shoot you."
"I don't care about that."
"You don't even finish! You haven't once! You have tried a hundred and thirty million times, and you haven't even cum yet! If you refuse the blowjob, then you could cum another time! JUST FUCKING SAY NO!!!!" Death yelled at Bobby, the force of his lungs sending Bob flying back.
Bobby got back up and came over to death. "To my sixteenth birthday please."
"NO YOU FUCKING RETARD!"
"Do I have to go talk to Jesus again?"
Death growled, knowing that if he didn't send him back he would have to send him to Jesus for judgement, and then he would get in trouble. He screamed out in anger, and punched Bobby in the chest so hard he flew back a couple miles. With a raise of his staff, Bobby appeared in front of him, and he sent Bobby back, then started waiting again, the heat of his anger and the rain causing him to literally steam.
| "Call it" Death said, the coin twirling between his bony fingers.
"Do we really need to keep going through this charade?" I asked.
How long had it been now? 500 lives? The first time I went through, I expected reincarnation, but life... or I guess Death, was not so kind. I got to relive life from the point I chose... but with enough randomization that foreknowledge was all but useless. It got hard to keep track without the year changing like it should...
"Call it" he said again, tossing the coin into the air.
"Tails" I sigh.
We both look, and of course the coin falls down tails side up.
"Choose". Talkative as always.
"89" I reply. "I grow tired of our game".
5 minutes later I am awake. It was a lucky turn of events that I died peacefully in my sleep on the day of my 89th birthday.
"Call it".
"Sideways!'
A smirk forms on his face as he flips the coin.
...
...
"Call it".
This is Hell.
| 2016-09-23T10:49:59 | 2016-09-23T08:47:36 | 232 | 15 |
[WP]As the last of your species, pushed to the top of a frozen mountain by creatures that massacred your towns and villages, you have only survived by luck. Now, as you harden your heart and abandon all goodness, you commit vile acts to avenge your people. The monsters below name you---- The Grinch | I'm a foul one, I'm the Grinch. My heart's an empty hole. But was I always like this? Does the Grinch not have a soul? I'll share my tale, of pain and sorrow. To color my acts to come tomorrow.
All the Whos in Whoville were happy and healthy. The fact of it was, they were really quite wealthy. But where did they find their gleaming gold rings? For which the wealthiest Who dances and sings?
I'll tell you of their deeds most foul. The dastardly reason I scheme and I scowl!
Once upon a time, in years now forgotten. There lived a Grinch village, whose fate was quite rotten. We lived there in peace, mining our mountains. We had marble buildings, and ivory fountains. Gold flowed in rivers, we lived our lives well. But soon our paradise would turn into Hell.
There lived a wild people, we called them the Whos. They snuck into towns and stole all our shoes. They'd smash all our windows, they'd kill our livestock. Many Grinch herders were left with no flock.
We thought them a nuisance, we thought them as a pest. When we arrested some Whos, we poked the nest. They came in great waves, with burning torches. The fire of hate, burned and it scorches. They plundered our banks, and burned all our houses. They left not a thing living, not even the mouses.
But I got away, my parents were slain. I had to hike through snow and the rain. I hid in my cave, and plotted my strike. Stoking the flames, of my burning dislike. I schemed and I dreamed, of breaking the Whos. I learned how to end them, and their deaths would amuse.
I'd sneak into town, and poison their well. Their stomachs would burst, they'd moan and they'd swell. I'd listen for screams in place of their singing. I'd listen for funeral bells, their solemn sounds ringing. Then would I descend, to kill all the Whos. With a plan like I had, there's no way that I'll lose.
They killed all my family, they destroyed my proud race. Blood for blood, and their shrines I'd deface.
Tomorrow's the day, the poison is placed. The food and the wells were already laced.
_______________
/r/SirLemoncakes
| You’re a sad one, Mr Grinch,
You really are alone.
You’re as sad as a tear, you’re as cold as a stone, Mr. Grinch.
You’re the last one with much to atone.
You’re a survivor, Mr Grinch.
Your heart’s an empty hole.
Your brain is full of anger, you’ve got hate in your soul, Mr Grinch.
From the monsters you’re going to exact a toll.
You’re a careful one, Mr Grinch.
You’re going to make them all pay.
They’re going to regret all the pain they ever gave, Mr Grinch.
They are forever going to rue the day.
You’re a foul one, Mr Grinch.
But they are going to feel even worse.
With their happiness destroyed they will wish they never tried, Mr Grinch.
Their sadness and fear will be fit to burst.
You will do it, Mr Grinch.
Your plan will make them cry.
For you’ve learned how to really hurt them, Mr Grinch.
Since they stole your people’s future you will steal their’s right back and with their children all gone to never come back they will surely rather die.
You’ve won now, Mr Grinch.
The plan finished with a cinch.
The people below weep long and loud,
And they regret ever calling you Mr Grinch. | 2018-12-21T09:47:16 | 2018-12-21T09:23:31 | 199 | 26 |
[WP] There’s an old saying that in every group of friends, there’s a dumb one. But you don’t believe it. I mean, you’ve been hanging out with these guys for months now, and they’re all really, really smart. | “I guess it’s true what they say. In every group of friends there’s a dumb one.” The girl paid for her drink, flashed me a wink, and went back to her friends.
I stared at the ceiling for a moment trying to figure out what she meant before making my way back to the booth where Sam and Danny sat.
“You strike out?” Sam asked.
“I’m telling you he didn’t strike out.” Danny said. “I can read lips. She said ‘*Love me a twirly swirly. I’ll go far in bed with you, dumbfuck.*’ Right, James?”
"She said ‘*in every group of friends there’s a dumb one*’ then just left. What do you think that means?”
“It means she thinks you're a dumbfuck. Damn! I read the fuck out of those lips."
"She's not going home with him though."
"Not with that attitude. Let’s replay the conversation - James, did you try and pronounce the word ‘pianist’ around her?”
I shook my head. “No we were just talking about her work. She said she was a social worker. Did you guys know that’s not code for prostitute?”
“You’re thinking sex worker.”
“He’s got a point though,” Danny said. “Sex *is* social.”
“That’s what I told her! I said I could give her some *on-the-job* training.”
“Artful," Dany chefs kissed his fingers. "Because job and blow-job? There's layers there, I hope you explained it to her."
"Yeah, twice. You think it’s true what she said though?” I asked. “That in every group there’s a dumb one?”
Danny scratched his chin. “Well I guess technically in every group there has to be a dumbEST one.”
I put a hand on his shoulder. “Don’t be so hard on yourself, Danny.”
“I’m not talking about myself, asshole.”
“Then who?”
Danny took a sip of his drink. I looked at Sam. He shrugged.
“Me?!”
“It’s not personal,” Sam said. “I mean look. Danny’s doing his PhD and I’m in med school.”
“You’re studying to be a *pediatrician!*”
“Yeah so?”
“Kids are less complicated, they have less bones.”
"Kids have *more* bones!"
"So they have spares. That just means there's more room for error."
“He’s got a point.” Danny said. “Even dentists get to work on adult teeth.”
Sam rolled his eyes. "Look, we’re not saying you’re dumb, James. Though now I'm starting to question it.”
“It's true," Danny chimed. "We’re all smart in our own ways. We’re just talking in terms of, you know, outward measures of smartness.”
I slammed my drink on the table, genuinely starting to feel frustrated. “Come on guys! You both seriously think I’m the dumb one?”
“It’s just a stupid saying,” Sam said. “That doesn’t mean it’s true, right? You know, sort of like the saying that in every group of friends there’s an ugly one.”
Danny took a sip of his drink.
“Right?” Sam pressed, looking at me.
I shrugged.
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe | Honors College courses are not for the weak. So many essays and assignments while the deadlines run up on you like they're participating in the Olympics. It's easy to lose your social connections and isolate yourself in your room doing all that you can to keep up your GPA. The only time you really get to make friends is in the short period of time before and after your lecture begins. That is exactly how I met Ryan, Hema, and Jackson. Ryan is majoring in Anthropology, Hema is majoring in English, and Jackson is majoring in Criminal Justice. We're diverse, to say the least.
I read once in a Reddit thread that in every group of friends, there is a dumb one. The saying is either absurd and written for friends to send to the other to mess with them, or my group is the exception. We are all smart, simply because we have to be, and have never witnessed any of my groups do or say anything I could label as "dumb".
We planned our "friend night" together at Ryan's house so we could all gather around and talk about our courses and professors. It's a way to let out our frustrations as well as help each other out with any assignments. This is our first time being at Ryan's house, so we need to scope out a good spot to lay out our pillows and blankets.
We started talking about our advising appointments coming up and how excited we are to get our degrees when we graduate in a few years. I realized I never really asked what Ryan wants to do with his degree specifically, "Ryan, what career choice are you going for with your Anthropology degree?"
"I want to be a zookeeper."
I, Hema, and Jackson just looked at each other with a look that says everything we're thinking. Puzzled, Hema asked, "Are you planning to change your major to Animal Science?"
Ryan replied, matter-of-factly, "I preferred a major that focused more on Anthelopes."
"Ryan, first of all, it's pronounced 'Antelopes'. Second of all, Anthropology is the study of people, past and present."
My mind flashed back to that horrid Reddit thread and all I could think was how unfortunate Ryan was to waste so much time on this major he didn't even want.
And how dumb this guy is. | 2021-11-14T09:35:29 | 2021-11-14T08:51:42 | 313 | 46 |
[WP] You have the ability to know a lie when you hear it, and to know the truth when lied to. Society appoints you to a high judiciary position, but there's nobody to check if YOU'RE lying when you decide justice. Which case do you remember most?
Edit: Hi, guys! I just wanted to say thanks to everyone who visited or pitched in, this got way more attention than I expected and was a lot of fun! Looking forward to more, keep up the good work everyone! | I could never lie. It got me into serious trouble growing up, I just used to nod and admit. I learned to be good to a degree but more importantly, I learned as a 10 year old boy that I could see others lying.
It was difficult as a child. You can’t really call bullshit on an adult, but as I got older, I became an investigative journalist. Thousands of cases I had reported before being spotted by the FBI.
I wouldn’t work for them because the money they offered was a pittance to what the newspapers offered, but I did help them. They helped me too.
It was the murder of my wife that haunts me the most. She was shot down in the street 3 blocks from her lovers house.
Yes. I know what you think. Why didn’t I know she was having an affair? Truth is, I never asked. I only know the true answers to questions I ask, and only if they flat out respond with a lie.
“Have you been cheating?” I once asked
“Are you seriously asking me?” She would deflect.
So the case. I wasn’t involved fully but I was able to go in the room and ask people if they killed my wife. There were 3 suspects. The lover. Me and a gang member in the area she was shot.
Obviously I can’t lie. So I was out of the running straight away. The gang member. He was easy. He sang like a fairy and even got himself arrested and charged with murder of other people. But the lover was hard work. He knew not to answer. He had a very good lawyer. Every question I asked was deflected or unanswered. It was frustrating.
“Did you kill my wife”
“I slept with her!” He would answer.
True.
“Why did you shoot her”
Silence
“Where is the gun?”
Silence
I interviewed him for a very long time. I couldn’t break him. For the first time there was no way to trick him. He was to be released.
I walked to the boss and asked him if I could speak to him alone. After the release. Man to man. Unrecorded. Unconventional. The boss said he would see what he could do. The lawyer said it was unadvisable but the lover agreed. He wanted me to know he didn’t do it. He knew I could see his lie.
The fbi video and sound man turned off the camera and voice recorder lights. A trick often used to appear as though they are off. Paperwork after would be sorted for the over recording.
I walk into the room one last time. My boss on my left, I sit opposite the lover. Boss sits opposite the lawyer.
“Please” I say. “Did you murder my wife?”
“No!” He answered instantly. Believably.
I look at the camera and smile. Look at my boss and say “he’s lying!”
The lover becomes irate. Screaming. Calling me a liar. Me? Everyone in the room, hell everyone in the world knows you can’t lie to me and I can’t lie.
I stand up and allow the men to do their work. He’s going down.
I hear him from the corridor shouting
“He’s lying. He’s lying I swear.”
I smirk. And walk away.
Nobody cheats on me. | "I'm curious, why bring up a case against someone who's no longer living?"
"For justice, your honor."
'*True. No, it can't be... It's not possible that he would do something like this.*'
Someone at the rear courtroom shouted. "Liar!" The outburst was met with harmonious cheers and applause.
'*Keep these people under control.*'
"Order! I will have order in this chamber!" I pounded the gavel and the mob settled. "You do understand that what you state to be true is highly unlikely, and that I will know if you are lying to me?"
"Yes, your honor." He had an honest face, and his words reflected it.
"Then answer honestly, did the person in this photograph make unsolicited sexual advancements toward you?"
He examined the portrait on the easel in front of him, I could see the disgust in his eyes. "Yes." The crowd murmured a bit at his response.
'*True.*'
"Did you ask him to stop, and did he ignore your requests?"
The fire in his eyes, a true hatred. "Yes." The crowd's anger rose.
'*True.*'
"One last question: Were you molested by the person in this photograph?"
His eyes were filled with tears now, but he answered firmly. "Yes." An eruption of furious slurs lashed out from those in the crowd.
*True. No. Oh, God, no...*
The mob was fuming, and I had to act quickly before things got out of hand. "Order! You will all sit down or be banished from this chamber!" The crowd settled, and I knew what had to be done.
"You have come to this courtroom with accusations against the most beloved figure in this community, and as I suspected, they are falsehoods." Roaring cheers filled the room. People stood up and hugged, most were crying tears of pure joy.
"No... No, you're lying!" The boy struggled and screamed as the guard pulled him away, but nobody could hear his words over the people's celebration.
'*This is the only way. The people will get more from the idea he represented, than from the jellybean he actually was....*'
r/BeagleTales
| 2018-05-15T22:42:10 | 2018-05-15T21:38:10 | 97 | 48 |
[WP] There is a creature out there offering gifts in exchange for the recipient's first-born child. You are one of the children who were taken. | Mother traded me for 50 gold ducats. That’s what we say here, anyways, Traded. It sounds better than sold or bargained. Aru says Haggled, but all her old parents got was the lettuce she’s named after, so that’s fair enough really.
I was never scared. Some of the kids are, if Nana loses track of things or people try to wriggle out of their deals, and they’re older. Aru was 7, but she wasn’t scared, only bitter. I was a baby, so Nana’s all I really know. I know the story, of course, because we all do. Every time she brings us a new sib, she tells us what for. It’s not to rank us, it’s to remind us. People put value on a person without even knowing them, and those are the people to be wary of. Who offers up a baby instead of their wedding band, or a year’s labor, or something? When we get older, when we go off on our own, it reminds us. Someone out there might have nice things, but that doesn’t mean we can trust them.
We think they probably feel guilty. Or maybe it’s hope. After all, they gave their kids to an old witch and she never said she wasn’t going to lock us in chickencoops and boil us for her supper, they should be worried. They don’t need to be, Nana’s not that kind of witch-- she makes us wash behind our ears, sweep in the cottage or chop down lightning-struck trees, and dig in the garden so the plants grow better, and always makes sure we have enough to eat and quilts on our beds. But it would be nice if they did. It’s the principle of the thing.
Some of us are important, Nana says, only she’s not really sure which is which. When you’ve got 20 children at any given time, it’s hard to remember who came from where. We know what our parents wanted ( money, fame, produce) and what they were willing to give (us) but not who they are. At least one of us is royalty, we think, on account of all the king’s men who get lost in the woods looking for Nana. They see our nice little house, and tell us to be careful not to be stolen, and we laugh once they ride deeper into the woods. Sometimes they ride out again. Sometimes they don’t.
“I’d like to join them,” my brother Thread says, while Nana sits by the fire knitting.
“And why would you want to do a fool thing like that?” she asks.
“To find out who they’re looking for. So I could tell them, their fat king sold his baby for a little gold, or stupid horse or some salad.”
"Traded," I interject.
“Not Salad. He’s not my dad,” Aru points out flatly. She’s one of the only ones to be sure, though she doesn’t talk about her old hut much.
“Thread, you’ll do no such thing. I won’t have another civil war started by someone under my roof,” Nana says, and that’s the end of it.
“Another one?” Hen, all of 5 years old and no taller than Nana’s footstool, peeps. “Story?”
I know this one. It’s from the earlier days, so I never met my sister who should have been queen. Nana doesn’t like the reminder.
“I’ll tell you, Hen. C’mon, I’ll race you to the well.”
"Take care, Gilded," Nana nods agreement. " And don't be too long. the sun will be setting soon, and I feel I may be needed in the town."
We all know what that means. Another sibling. Another story, and another secret. I grab Hen's hand and the bucket. | "Madame Selene, I don't understand." Looking out through the bars of my cage, I saw my captor pause in her cackling as she danced around the large cauldron.
"*You don't understand, child? It is perfectly simple. Your parents...*"
"...my parents made a deal with you to save my mother from the plague in exchange for me, their firstborn. And on my 16th birthday, you called in the debt. And now you will eat me. But I don't understand why."
"*Why, child? Because you will be delicious! Ahahahaha!*"
I waited till she had finished capering across the kitchen, cackling, before asking what really bothered me.
"Yes, but why Firstborn children?"
Madame Selene's eyes narrowed, and she dropped in front of my cage's opening, long pointy nose quivering inches from the bars.
"*You're a clever one, girlie. Why do you ask that?*"
I hesitated. "Well... my parents made no secret of my fate, to end up here. But it seems so unfair. Why me?"
She nodded slowly. "*Oh it is, girlie, it is. But it is the punishment for your parents, for their hubris. To sacrifice their firstborn, their heir, the creation of their love - that is why I have taken you.*" She sniffed. "*Eating you is just a bonus.*"
"But, then the heir honour just passes to the second born!" I wailed, years of emotions welling up in my eyes. "That's what my folks did. Never treating me as their own, as a disposable commodity to save my brother." Tears rolled down my face. "I was never their firstborn. Not in their heads. Not in their hearts."
My captor and erstwhile cook stared at me as I sobbed in my cage.
"*Dearie be, girlie. This won't do at all.*" a rustling of skirts, as her crooked hand fished out a rusty key and unlocked my cage.
"*Come out, girlie, I won't bite.*" I hesitated, but what else could I do? I crawled from the small cage, standing to face the hag.
"Why are you letting me out? For the pot?"
Her blackened and broken teeth faced me in a terrible grin. "*Dear oh dear, no! I am letting you go! After all, you are not the one I was promised.*" Her grin widened. "*I was promised a first-born heir, not a first-born sacrifice.*" She snickered. "*It seems instead I will be paying your parents a second visit...for a second born. Would you care to come along?*"
I thought to my past, my parents: the comments, the beatings, the excuses that I was not worth anything... and grinned.
"It would be my pleasure." | 2022-01-29T11:47:46 | 2022-01-29T10:11:14 | 170 | 62 |
[WP] Humans are considered the most dangerous beings in the galaxy due to one thing: Their lack of magic. | "What do you mean it's not working?"
Captain Tellyk was agitated. She was trying to control it, but the tips of her cilia crest were twitching ever so slightly.
Technician Keth smoothed his own crest back in polite deference, spreading both four-fingered hands in a confused expression. "We don't know, sir. Chief Engineer Gnek is working on it, but he says the Core is simply... not working."
"Was it damaged?"
"No sir. It just... there's nothing. It's like we've run dry."
"The ground crew assured me we had a full charge! I watched their best team cast the summoning personally!" Tellyk slammed a hand down on her desk, then stood and uttered an epithet, gesturing.
Keth cowered back against the bulkhead, not wanting to be singed by the minor curse.
Nothing happened.
They stared at each other, shocked.
"Sir. Are you... unwell?"
"I feel fine, I mean.... I feel normal. Angry perhaps, but not..."
Keth murmured a word, twisting his wrist just so. The reassuring weight of a water flask did not manifest.
His mind reeled. How could such a simple cantrip fail? A baby could summon water... a cold lump formed in the pit of his stomach.
Tellyk copied the word and gesture herself.
Nothing.
Whirling, she strode to the lift, Keth trailing after. "Engineering!"
They stood, staring in horror at each other as the lift remained motionless.
...
"I think they're drawing power from us somehow," Chief Gnek said thoughtfully. The Captain nodded understanding, still too out of breath from climbing the ladders down from the bridge to reply. "The engines lost power as the first couple of beings came up to the ship. Now that there are dozens in proximity, even the external viewer is out. It's a good thing we have regular windows."
The Captain's crest cilia were waving erratically with deep distress. "We need to get out of here."
"Frankly, sir, we can't. We don't even have the power to open the door with this many in proximity. Given the population estimates we made from orbit, I don't know that there's anywhere on this planet remote enough to develop sufficient thrust for a launch now that the Core has been drained. Communications are also out, so we can't call for help, or warn the Fleet."
"I can't even create water, sir," Keth quavered.
Chief Engineer Gnek attempted the cantrip twice.
Nothing happened.
He cursed in frustration, and looked even more terrified when nothing happened in response to that either.
Captain Tellyk looked grimly at them. "No power. No way to make food or water. What are our options?"
Gnek thought for a moment. "If we can get out of the ship, initial scans indicated nothing particularly toxic to us. We should be able to find food and water."
The Captain's lips twisted in disgust. "Forage? How unsanitary."
Gnek nodded with a sigh. "Perhaps the natives have some crude method of propulsion we could use to get clear of the planet. If we could just escape their aura we could pool enough magic to send a distress beacon."
"Them?" Keth gestured at the window. "They're filthy. I think they may even be wearing the skins of other beings. Maybe if we just killed all of them in the area..."
Gnek shook his head. "Command isn't very understanding about genocide. Besides, with our luck, there are other species of magic suckers around here. Perhaps even bacteria."
"Well I guess we'll have to help the natives along a bit then." The Captain stared out the window at the magic sucking creatures thoughtfully for a moment. "We're going to need some pry bars for the door, Chief."
Taking a deep breath, the Captain brought her waving cilia under control. "We'll also need a linguist. Keth, go find Mrlen." | *Discovery Vessel Calcite*, Head Alchemist's Diary, Time Segment 608. (New Lillian Calendar, Adjusted for Galactic Standard Time Dilation)
*Approximately 20% of the way into this time segment, our ship encountered a spacecraft belonging to a less advanced species in a routine flyby of the far reaches of the Empire. Comprised mostly of aluminum and polymers, the craft appear autonomous and nonhostile. After being unable to discern its origin, we scrapped it, yielding a surprising bounty. It was not registered to any of the known 6 civilizations residing in the Milky Way. Further investigation recommended.*
---
*Discovery Vessel Calcite*, Head Alchemist's Diary, Time Segment 723. (New Lillian Calendar, Adjusted for Galactic Standard Time Dilation)
*Have detected another spacecraft originating from the same unknown civilization. This one was manned, and our best communicators were able to send binary code via certain frequencies of EM waves and receive a response. I hope to open a video or audio channel with their leader. I have assigned the sole linguist we brought on board the task of being at the forefront of this communication endeavor. Needless to say, I am incredibly excited by this discovery.*
---
*Discovery Vessel Calcite*, Head Alchemist's Diary, Time Segment 725. (New Lillian Calendar, Adjusted for Galactic Standard Time Dilation)
*The alien race that refers to themselves as "humans" continues to maintain contact. The extra academics who arrived from the capital have greatly improved our communication efforts. Most curiously, our engineers cannot find any trace of alchemical magic on board their spacecraft. This puzzles me greatly. Without a way to escape the Laws of Nonmagical Thermodynamics, the amount of resources consumed to achieve this level of space-faring must have been staggering. For some odd reason, this sits ill in my stomach. Who ever heard of a Nonmagical race leaving its own solar system?*
---
*Discovery Vessel Calcite*, Head Alchemist's Diary, Time Segment 730. (New Lillian Calendar, Adjusted for Galactic Standard Time Dilation)
*I suppose this will be my final diary. The human scouts we intercepted, talked to, and foolishly engaged in cultural exchange and "mutual understanding" with were indeed that- scouts. It has hardly been even one sleeping shift since dozens and dozens of these human ships arrived on our border, laying waste to all in their path to Lillia. The question of their strange existence has been finally been solved. Their entire civilization has turned to piracy and scavenging as a means of survival. Every scrap of their home planet was efficiently turned into spacecraft fuel, to propel them through the galaxy to another source of food and like stupid villagers we invited the beasts into our home. Their weapons technology, optimized for battle, is unrivaled in our galaxy. You would be best off running as fast as you can. This spacecraft will be destroyed shortly, but I will jettison all data we have collected on the humans, in the hopes that this warmongering menace might be starved to death. Good luck.* | 2017-09-07T21:59:36 | 2017-09-07T19:11:31 | 33 | 20 |
[WP] You gain EXP for everything you kill and you know when you gain EXP. Easy kills like bugs get you only a couple of EXP, tougher kills give more EXP. One day at home doing nothing, you unexpectedly gain 1500 XP... | I come home and sit down with a sigh. I can't believe I did it again. I let my heart run away and let an ex take advantage of me again. How many times am I going to fall for her lies? How many times will I just do what she wants when she bats her eye lashes at me?
Pouring myself a drink I sit in the dimly lit room. How many times have I sat here after getting my heart broken like this. Twice? Three times? More than I should. I look around at the pictures of us, images of the "good times". A bauble here, a thing she got for me because she thought I would like it. Always the best right before she cheats and breaks my heart.
I set the glass aside and stand with burning purpose. Enough is enough. Getting a trash bag I fill it with everything that every involved the both of us. Pictures gone. Figurines eliminated. Even the pillows and lamp. Anything that every reminded me of her in the trash. Throwing it in the dumpster I made a solemn vow to never fall for her tricks again.
As I walk back inside I feel a jolt to my system. My skin glows lightly and I hear the sound of experience earned. Confused I pull up my ExpTrckr app on my phone. I just leveled up. 1500 experience points?! What on earth gave me that?! I swipe to open the log and my jaw drops.
1500 points earned for killing future regret. I gaped at the words. I always knew you earned points for killing bugs and hunting animals but this? Does it work like that too? My confusion turns into pleasure and a genuine smile crosses my face. I wonder what happens when I kill my doubts... | NOTE: Sorry about any mistakes. I am working on being a better writer. But I have never been good at punctuation
Any advice welcome.
PART 1
As I lay reading the newest issue of my favorite comic, I began to feel that familiar warmth. The retinal display showed +1,500 EXP. Odd I hadn't killed anything today.
As I pondered what this could possibly mean my phone began to buzz. I had a new message. Hoping for answers I opened the message.
-
From:BLOCKED
We need to talk. Park at midnight.
Who is this?
All will be explained.
-
I don't know what is going on but I don't like it. | 2017-05-15T08:02:42 | 2017-05-15T04:49:15 | 753 | 12 |
[WP] American submarines are never considered lost. The ones missing from WWII are “still on patrol” with their hundreds of sailors. Little do we know the horrors these men defend us from in the deeps. | I was born on this submarine.
As were my parents before me.
But before them, my grandparents- who often told stories of the faraway place above the waters- were born of America.
A fantasy land, from what I’ve heard, that I can barely imagine.
Where the air extended for miles and miles, and an empty ocean hangs above your head. My grandfather called it, “The Sky.”
Unfortunately for me, I doubt I’ll ever see this “Sky.”
Thanks to experimental technology installed in our sub, we can stay underwater for... ever, as far as our researchers can tell.
Even when our fleet first launched- 20 ships strong- the oxygen recyclers, food processors and much of our other tech was so far ahead of the times that our scientists theorize it may even be advanced by modern-
ATTENTION PERSONNEL: ALL CREW ARE TO REPORT TO EMERGENCY DEFENSIVE POSITIONS IMMEDIATELY, the above speaker blared out, shaking me out of my contemplation.
The message repeated itself, and would do so until each team reported up to command.
As I dashed for my station by the engine room I spotted my brother heading in the opposite direction, towards where he would operate under the torpedo crew.
“You know anything?” Keeping it short, knowing that we could only delay for seconds without risking the lives of our crew
“One kraken, small. Shouldn’t be much of a problem,” he gave a small smile, then rushed away.
Only one? And a small one at that?
I shook my head. It wasn’t my job to worry about details.
As I approached the engine room I took a sharp left and entered a room that, as far as I knew, only 20 submarines had.
The shielding room.
By far the most advanced technology out fleet was equipped with, the Machine in this room could project a sort of “force-field” that would block nearly any projectile that tried to take down our sub. Useful when fighting mythically large octopi like the kraken, yet less effective against their masters...
Thanks to the shields, we’ve only lost 6 subs since we began our mission, so long before I was a born.
Unfortunately, operation of the Machine was a lightly-understood science, and even a small miscalculation can sink a sub to the bottom of the ocean.
I was told we lost 2 subs in the first decade, due to minuscule errors regarding the Machines.
But as a 3rd generation sub-dweller, I had been learning since birth. I quickly slid into place, only drawing a minor glare from my supervisor, and got to work.
Due to the low danger level today’s encounter the shields would remain off yet on standby in case of an ambush. So I waited, in silence, anxious to hear news from the torpedo crew.
Luckily, I didn’t have to wait long.
ATTENTION PERSONNEL: TARGET HAS BEEN DISPATCHED. REMAIN ON STANDBY UNTIL SECTOR IS CONFIRMED TO BE—— KZT —
I frowned. While it wasn’t unusual for our ages-old speaker system to malfunction, it would be an annoying hindrance until-
BANG
Suddenly, my annoyance was replaced with panic, as the sub’s nose tilted down to a 45 degree angle.
The speakers blared back to life
ATTENTION PERSONNEL: THIS IS AN EMERGENCY SITUATION. TRITON ARE CONFIRMED TO BE ASSAULTING THE SUB. HULL BREACHED. TORPEDO LAUNCH OFFLINE. POWER DRAAAAAaaaaa
The speaker died again, and the lights dimmed noticeably.
Tritons? Masters to the kraken, through some unknown means they were able to pierce our shielding, yet they needed the brute force of the krakens to break out hull.
Which is what they did. Just now. And did the speaker say torpedo? Would my brother be...?
I couldn’t think about that now.
I quickly got to work, throwing the shield onto maximum power as fast as I could. While the Machine wouldn’t stop water from flooding the ship, it could protect the ship from anymore damage while the breach was secured and- hopefully, if possible- sealed.
As I engaged the last switch, a messenger burst into our room.
“You, what’s going on? Is the breach secured?” My supervisor barked at the newcomer, who’s face was pale as a shark’s underbelly.
“Th-Th-The speakers are out, sir! The captain me down to tell you... to tell you uh...”
The messenger looked up at my supervisor, eyes wide.
“Well, spit it out. What did the captain send you for?”
The messenger let out a soft sob, then reported, “The hull was breached three separate times. The enemy brought a force much larger than anything we’ve seen before, and were cut off from the rest of the fleet. All of torpedo deck and crew are gone-“
“No!” I gasped. My brother... He can’t of... maybe he was somewhere...
A single tear ran down my face.
The messenger continued, swallowing.
“The captain has determined there is little chance for escape. Whatever crew can fit are to take the life pods... but the shielding crew are needed to remain and keep the shield up until as many personnel as possible can escape.”
Then, looking down, “and then you are to initiate self-destruct protocol.”
We were still, frozen. Of course this was shocking news, but we all knew our responsibilities. We all knew what needed to be done.
The next 20 minutes were a blur. The alarms whined, quieted due to the lowering power. As the last pod was evacuated, I looked down at my knuckles, white from gripping the controls. How was it that I was the one to complete the protocol?
As the remaining crew looked to me, quiet acceptance in their eyes, I whispered one last thought.
“You know, I never did think I’d see the sky.”
Then I through the switch.
——————————————-
Hey y’all! First time commenting here, though I’ve been a long-time lurker.😅 Maybe I got a bit carried away, and maybe it’s a bit all over the place, but I hope some of you enjoy! | I hardly remember anything nowadays. I know my name, I know my rank, I remember Adalia. That’s about it. When I roll out of the bunk in the mornings, I see that my features still tell me I’m 24. Two months from 25, actually. My mind doesn’t feel that young anymore.
The sub is doing the best she can be. Somedays I wonder if the creaking on the hull could be a pipe about to give way. Maybe a wonderful crack would form. The water would trickle in and drown us all as we gladly gave up our last breath. If you can call it breath. Do immortal people breath?
I hear the *clap, clap* of well polished shoes at exactly 0800 every morning. I know they’re well polished because nothing on this whole damn ship has degraded since oh uh. It had to have been sometime around 1952. Maybe ‘53.
The rap on the door is the same too. It’s my petty officer, Witzel. I remember something about his name. Something about a war. Something about how the both spelled trouble. We’d all forgotten I figured.
“Brought you some wake up juice,” said Witzel. The way he pronounces his “w” sends a flashbulb camera to wild and chaotic snapshots of a memory. Then like every morning it fades.
I thank him as he sits down on the leather chair behind me. It squeaks. He sips. It squeaks again.
“Surface break, huh?”
“Every month,” I reply.
“You know where?”
I let out a sigh to calm my own boredom. Maybe it’ll blow away someday. “Nope, as I always say.”
“You ever read much before?”
“I can’t remember,” I’m trying to pencil in some numbers from the gauges while this boring back-and-forth continues on.
“Well, there’s this thing called Purgatory.”
“I’m a Catholic. I know what Purgatory is. It’s not a thing, it’s a place. We’re not in it if that’s what you’re getting at.”
“Just back up for a sec, what if it is a thing? Like a state of mind. It’s a—“
“A holding cell. It’s a holding cell for the middle grounders. Didn’t swing for any fences but didn’t bunt.”
“You do it too.”
I put the pencil down and turn my swivel chair. I thought it was the keenest damn thing the first time I found it. That I remember. The squeel helps me remember. “We all do. I know baseball. That’s my reference.”
“Ok so in your frame of reference, this is the on deck circle.”
I decide to humor it. Maybe it’ll dull the boredom. “Who’s batting then?” I ask.
As the last word leaves my mouth, a general quarters bell sounds. My breath pumps harder as I leap from my chair and jump through the hatch. Our feet pound as me and Witzel beat our dress shoes over the polished floor to our respective destinations. After a few hallways I lose Witzel. His post isn’t near mine anyway, so I keep running. Something catches my ear though and my mind breaks the surface of my combat training.
It’s not necessarily a sound, but the lack of it. I slow down and then stop. I don’t hear the squeaking of shoes. We’re taught to try and keep speaking to a minimum but still. No grunting? No hard breathing? Except my own.
I backtrack a couple hallways. I’m sure this is the one he ran down. “Witzel,” I call out. As I break the view of our command way, the hallways darken. It’s a mechanical slap that brings them down. Like a switch has been thrown.
A buzzing begins and the red glow of the emergency power lights engulfs me. I can see the light beaming off the periscope ahead of me. I walk slowly to it. A story I once read comes to me. It was a horror story about campers walking in the woods. I turn around, sure something is creeping up. Nothing is. It’s still quiet.
As I enter the command deck, I think I hear something. I shake it away. Still it beckons me toward the ladder. I grab the first rung and step up. I know what I’m hearing. As unbelievable as it is, it is definitely what my mind perceives it as.
I don’t notice how quickly I’m moving up until the burning enters my thighs. I ignore it and reach out for the hatch. Before I can, it opens itself.
The sound was seagulls. I watch them fly above the sub. As my eyes break over the bow, I see a smooth face standing at the end of a dock. It’s Adalia. She reaches out for me. A white light starts at the center of my vision and spreads. The last feeling is of her hand. The last smell is of her perfume. The last sound is her whisper, “Let’s go home.” | 2020-08-21T14:26:35 | 2020-08-21T14:05:55 | 30 | 17 |
[WP] Earth has been neutral in all intergalactic conflicts for 30 millennia. Not because they never fought, but because no race had survived to remember. People just don't even bother reminding the invading aliens anymore. | "I remembered them when they were young.", said Ko'za the Cabri ambassador to the galactic council.
"The humans, they don't live near as long as we do. I remember when I was first assigned to their watch." "The council decreed that we would not interfere with the war brought to their planet, by the invaders. Their name is irrelevant, as the invaders no longer exist."
He paused to look out to the council members and their staff that was present in the chambers. Their various forms all illuminated by the over head lighting. He looked down as he thought.
"I stood by and watched as the invaders landed. From our observations, the humans considered them gods." "When faced with pure divinity what would normally happen?" "Most civilized societies would surrender, or accept their fate. But the humans..."
He looked up to see the honored council leaning forward at his words. "They fought. With simple tools, and crude weapons made from sharpened metal." "They fought the gods with everything they had, and they won." "You see, Earth wasn't the first planet that fell to the gods that invaded." "No. far from it. The entire species attacked the humans. The entire species was wiped out at once."
Ko'za paused while the murmurs in the room went up. He smiled, allowing his antenna to brighten slightly.
Councilman Krosha, of the Ventri stood. "Honored Ko'za,", he said with his arms wide and slightly upward in traditional greeting of his people. "You claim, this has happened before?"
the Ambassador's antenna light up a bright orange as he answered. "Yes. Several times, over the past 30,000 years." "Each time, the humans called them gods, each time they fought them and won." "Which is why I'm here today." He slowly turned his head to each council seat before him. "Back then, they had crude weapons used in close quarters warfare." "I've watched them grow, to the monsters they are now." "Today the use vehicles of war, crude explosives; instead of sharpened metal, they utilize pieces of metal fired from metal tubes they carry to battle."
"These past centuries, they have developed more efficient ways to kill each other, they have even weaponized nuclear energy."
A roar of outrage and denail went up in the chambers as Ko'za calmly tapped a button on the device he carried. On the screen was a video of the human's homeworld taken from orbit. Suddenly, a large flash could be seen from an island. The chamber grew silent, as the council and staff sat stunned. "This was a few days later.", said Ko'za, as the video changed to another explosion on the same island in a different location.
He paused to sweep is head over the council once more. "I urge you all. Do not interfere in this new conflict between the humans and the Zorans." "The Zorans will soon be lost to history, as the others."
"The humans did not hesitate to kill their own gods, what will they do to another species?" | The pale, hunched creature stepped gingerly out of the landing craft. The crunch of dry leaves underfoot sounded gunship-loud in the frosty morning air.
It scanned left, right, up, and down with the heat-sensitive equipment built into its bulbous helmet. Trace signatures - nothing over a kilogram or so.
Still, better safe than sorry. This was a death world, after all. Some of the smallest natives of this planet, in fact, were the deadliest - a whole platoon had been lost nearly a decade ago when it disturbed a hive of omnivorous insects. Their bodies had been swollen beyond all recognition by the beasts' venom.
The creature rotated its wrist and activated his personal shield. The thin shimmer of energy brought him a little comfort.
The shield flared, turning a milky white around the point of impact. Another flare. Another.
The creature directed its scanners in the direction of the impacts. Its bodily fluids gelled in alarm.
There were two bipedal apes, brandishing crude catapults in their hands. They stooped, picked up a few of the hard seed pods that many native trees had developed for protection, and launched them toward the creature.
"Gotcha," one of the beings croaked. The other made a terrifying tittering noise.
The creature's shield was failing rapidly under the sustained barrage. The shimmer was gone, replaced now with rolling white waves of static.
The creature backpedaled quickly into the landing craft and activated the emergency homing beacon. It rose swiftly through the tree cover and angled toward the mother ship.
Jake punched Rebecca playfully on the arm.
"Wasn't no real space ship," he said. "No lasers or nothing."
"If it was, we sure showed 'em," she said, wagging her toy slingshot at him. She shelled an acorn with her thumbnail and popped it in her mouth. "Don't mess with Earth." | 2021-12-01T13:31:47 | 2021-12-01T10:28:48 | 270 | 126 |
[WP] Our blood is naturally clear, it thickens and darkens with each impure act. You have always dedicate yourself to good and helping others but today while knitting beanies for the homeless you accidentally prick your finger. Your blood is jet black and so thick it doesn't even drip. | It's hardly a surprise. Although the smell, oh the smell. Quite a smell. Like death running in my veins. I quite like the scent. The blood sticks between my fingertips. All cushy.
It's sad, really. I've always tried to do what's right. Sure, the homeless could have continued to trawl through my fields but then I wouldn't be able to spin a coin or bury a penny.
The greater good dictates that I set my priorities for the millions of people, not the impoverished little.
I deem it unlikely that their removable will be missed. They are a stain on society. Beggars disgust me for getting themselves into such a place. And they choose to break the law and steal and call it their right to live! Pah, wrong. Rights come to those who follow the laws of society. And the homeless don't have that right. They gave it up when they made poor decisions.
These hats will sit on their heads when I bury them in the dirt. The rats will be attracted to the scent and they'll bite them and die. It's a win-win situation. The vermin and the scum get washed away to death. Pretty.
I knew that morals would be too double sided. Sure, I'm saving millions of lives while destroying hundreds for the sake of it. A bit cutthroat, isn't it. I knew that to sacrifice my personal morality, I'd pay with my blood. And I have. Look at it, it's frozen solid. I wonder how it'll be when I try to wash it off. So strange that I haven't bled in a long time, isn't it? Black blood. Very strange.
But I'm afraid no one can know, my dear. I have a reputation to uphold. Millions of people look up to me and I am their hope. Their salvation. A queen in all but blood.
That's why you've got to die. Now don't bother screaming, there's no one here. I'll do it nice and quick just like I do it to the homeless. But you won't be getting a burial, dear. No, I'm afraid the pups will be eating fresh meat tonight! They'll be ever so grateful. Oh no, don't cry! This is for the greater good. Now tilt your head back just a little and I'll-- oh, now you calm down young lady! Can't be having a squealer. The pups might get upset and I trust you know that a quick death is better than being eaten alive? Oh the sounds that old man made when he just wouldn't... sit... still!
Ah!
Wonderful.
Clear as water. Bye bye sweetie. You have a lovely trip to Heaven! | i was shooked to my very core on the first sight of my blood now turning into TAR.
how can this happen i said to myself it was liquid, so pure, just yesterday.
as i ran toward the mirror and stripped naked my eyes started to turned black as a intricate maze of my thick sludgy nerves started to form around my heart.
every second , every next breath became harder and out of my reach
but i knew i knew what had caused it.It was my own doing ,it was me who commited the original sin just hours before now, i cant forgive myself but salvation is still in my grasp. just one phone call just one i wispered to mysrlf as i now dragged my half paralyzed body to my phone.
The flashback started to crawl out of my subconscious as i saw images of kids, ice cream shops ,playgrounds every stop from my school to my home.
i had it in my hands, the phone, now was the time to redeem myself as i made through every digit my heartbeat sank deeper and became louder and louder, it was the end
"i was waiting for your call" he said.
just when i thought it was all over i heard him, i heard the voice of Bob , "you are late,too late" he said but as i accumulated all lifeforce and channeled it to my lungs to say those 2 words that will absolve me of my sins i couldn't my heart gave up as i saw the light tapering into darkness.Those last words i still remember , that sinister laugh through the phone
"you forgot it , you forgot to thank me, you forgot to thank the bus driver".
| 2018-08-04T10:09:44 | 2018-08-04T09:55:07 | 77 | 10 |
[WP] Humanity was placed on earth due to its natural tendency to nullify Magic. Once out of the atmosphere, abilities immediately begin to resurface. Upon learning that humanity is looking to colonize Mars, galactic society begins to worry - humans were the most powerful sorcerers in history. | "Why are they so dangerous?" Malthin asked, piercing the worried silence that had filled the room on his grandfather's announcement.
His grandfather turned to glance sharply at him. The children never knew anything about what really mattered these days, and yet still somehow had the audacity to question senators like himself. The older family members reverentially awaited his wise reaction.
"Don't we have the best sorcerers in the galaxy? What about the Academy?" Malthin continued. The other children nodded in anxious agreement, but avoided looking at either speaker directly.
Salvian sighed. "Yes. We have the best trained mage corps the universe has ever seen. They only take the best, and its a great honor to be allowed to study the chants. You could try for that Duty yourself, if you ever find the patience for it - the training take decades."
"And the humans barely live for a single year!" Malthin proclaimed, happy to have settled the matter.
*Oh, how brightly the stars must shine for you* Salvian thought, smiling. "They need days, not decades." He said.
Malthin's jaws dropped, and the following silence acquired an even more serious tone. Everyone's attention was fixed solely on Salvian.
"The recent wave of political posturing isn't based on the legends. Our agents have confirmed it. What matters now is... " Salvian continued.
"How can they do that?!" Malthin interrupted. The adults frowned, but deferred the upcoming reprimands to their elder.
"Do. Not Interrupt." Salvian spat. "But that does get to my next point. You should all hear this, however classified it may be. We've been studying them, and ... As far as we can tell, its not that they're particularly good at Magic. The difference is almost philosophical, really. Our first subject, for instance. Only minutes after learning basic telepathy, taught itself to juggle every object in the room, all the while breaking into an exuberant laughter. Our researchers had to degrade themselves to acrobatics to dodge the ensuing whirlwind. Then, the objects caught fire..."
"That's a C-caliber chant!" Malthin gasped. "Didn't you say they weren't any better than us at magic? Why can so few of our mages do that?"
"Yes. I've been contemplating that, and as I said I believe it to be a an almost philosophical question. Take your Academy mages. Their duty, their job, their honor, is to study the chants. Forever. A perfect division of labor, allowing mastery.
But.
Who do they select to join them? Its those who are willing to devote their lives to study an ancient and revered art.
Who applies? Those who wish for the honor that comes with membership.
Isn't it funny how neither of those criteria actually require them to succeed?
Now look at the humans. The honor isn't offered to them, and they can hardly pay such a dear price. Magic is neither a Duty nor a lifestyle to them. They *play* with magic. They *enjoy* it."
Salvian looked around. "Do you really want to know why we've kept them on earth until now? It's because they would make a *terrible* elder species."
---
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| "Commander Hithro, the humans are planning on colonizing Mars, and the Galactic Society is planning to sabotage their efforts, sir!" Poeiz burst into the commander's room, papers in hand.
The commander dropped the yellow rubber duck they had picked up from Earth a decade ago. Hithro's three eyes blinked, and their wings jittered, sending little scales across the room.
"Poeiz, what have I said about knocking?" Hithro asked, nudging the scales under the bed.
Poeiz rubbed the fins on his face. He shifted on his feet, pretended he didn't hear or see anything and continued, "The Galatic Society plans on wiping the humans' databanks and their memories again. Like they did with the moon landing, making it look like the humans actually did it.
"I mean, it was pretty smart, avoiding the whole woah! We have abilities in space situation, and keeping the humans producing some early technology, but since they aren't actually improving their energy secter, the Galactic Society's thinking that their ingenuity needs a little push, y'know?
"'Cause humans have energy affinity and were the best energy producers before almost blowing up the entire galaxy from stupidity."
Poeiz made a small rainbow with the moisture in the room, showing his own affinity for water magic. When Hithro didn't move, Poeiz took two steps and sat on the bed with them. The bed creaked at the weight. Poeiz thought about the water system for a second, and then dismissed the urge to fix the leaky pipe on the third level.
"What am I going to do?" Hithro asked. They squinted at Poeiz, the three eyes unnerving the Dreag-born. "You already know, don't you."
Poeiz blew bubbles out of his mouth. "I'd say you're gonna sabotage the Galactic Society's efforts."
Hithro's blue, red, and yellow eyes stared.
Poeiz glanced at Poeiz's collection of Earth knicknacks. "And, I'd say you're gonna help these humans not get wiped for good."
Hithro's wings unfurled into a translucent array of colors. They stood up, teeth barred and hands twitching for action. "Damn right I am." | 2017-11-29T20:41:29 | 2017-11-29T19:27:58 | 70 | 29 |
[WP] You chant "Bloody Mary" three times in your car's side view mirror and then hit the gas laughing all the while as she sprints towards your car desperately trying to keep up.
Edit: Optional inclusion, it's the eighth time you done this. | Rubber tires screeching on the pavement, Bloody Mary screaming in futile pursuit. One of my favorite sounds.
I have been doing this once a year for almost a decade. I like to vary it, do it in different places, get that maximum shock value. I've made people puke and shit themselves in terror. Never gets old.
Bloody Mary is child's play though. There are far worse creatures to summon from the worlds that parallel our own.
I met the Bogeyman when I *was* a child.
I was a bad child. I put my elbows on the table and I sucked my thumbs and I secretly watched the TV in my room before bed. One day he appeared, looming over me as Bugs Bunny gyrated in the background. Now there was a sick fuck.
"Joel. Time to come with me to the place that bad children go." I said nothing, my mouth slowly forming into a grin. I liked the sound of that. I wanted to go there.
The Bogeyman looked me in the eyes, and whatever he saw staring back at him made him pause.
I didn't just suck my thumbs and put my elbows on the table. I created things. I was an inventor of the macabre, a conductor of the morbid. My tree house was full of mutilated creatures, vacant eyes - if still in their sockets - staring up at the wooden ceiling boards.
I put nails on bike trails. I keyed cars. I once threw a brick from the third floor of an abandoned building, almost hitting the stroller I was aiming for.
The thrill. The sensation that overwhelmed and completed me as I sprinted with wild abandon from that derelict building, the shrieks of a desperate mother following me. Hard to beat that.
I've walked with Michael Myers. He was my mentor for a bit. I outgrew him when I was 15.
I've dined with Freddy Krueger. He is a boring man.
I killed the Tooth Fairy, her decaying corpse the prize of my tree house collection.
Jigsaw and Chucky lay under my bed even now, chained to the floor, their wooden eyes ceaselessly moving back and forth.
The sound of rubber tires screeching, Bloody Mary shrieking. I lower my window, flip the car into reverse, and ram backwards into her. She is old and aged like bad wine, she crumples to dust every time. I park the car over the remains of her body.
I wonder out loud to no-one in particular, "Maybe next year I'll trap her and keep her here." A laugh escapes my lips. I feel giddy. I like this feeling. It is fleeting though, requiring constant upkeep.
It fades away like heroin withdrawal, leaving a desperate hunger in its wake.
Slenderman next. | I pulled to a stop at the red sign, keeping my eyes on the rear-view mirror. This bitch was supernaturally fast. I had left her in my dust and here she was already rounding the curve, her eyes burning with anger.
"COWARD!" she shrieked, and I laughed, but nervously - like laughing past a graveyard.
I tossed a quick glance both ways and stomped the gas pedal, dangling my middle finger out the car window towards the sprinting hag. The car zoomed forward... And the engine died with a sputter and a wheeze; the car cruised slowly to a stop in the middle of the intersection.
"Shit," I said, rolling up the windows, thanking God I had a car made before millennials were of driving age. It still had a manual window crank. I realized I left the back window open right as I felt - and smelled - her hot rancid breath behind my left ear, her long dirty ragged fingernails setting in almost gently on my shoulders.
"Say it," she crooned in my ear in a heavy accent I'd never heard before. "Say it, coward."
"Bloody Mary," I whispered. "You're not bloody though!" I didn't dare glance up into the rear-view mirror but I'd seen enough while she was chasing me..
"It's not my blood," that thick strange voice informed me, right before one of those disgusting nails flicked with blinding speed across my throat and opened it in an arterial red deluge. The creature lapped at the blood spouting from the wound for a minute or two but seemed to lose interest and dissipate... As if called. | 2018-10-01T12:08:53 | 2018-10-01T11:05:06 | 275 | 125 |
[WP] You've had enough, you only did it to fit in, but after 20 years, you decide to quietly retire from the super hero life, and not let your super powered collegues know that you lied about having super powers in the first place. | They know. I suspect they've always known.
But of course our purpose was, *is*, will continue to be, for those who continue the path, to do good wherever good can be done. If good can be done through the advent and proper application of a new technology, or in my case, a host of new technologies, why exclude that? Justice has never been a measuring contest, a play for ego, or some shortsighted attempt at being greater than you are.
My colleagues, fellow heroes, they've all been kind enough to gather with me tonight. At least, those that can be spared. Those that are not pressed elsewhere. In turn, I will not keep them from their duties, not for long. All my closest friends and allies. Tonight, the sun sets on my final day pursuing a thing greater than myself. Tomorrow, the sun rises on just another day of their continued pursuit of a better world. My heart aches I will not be along with them.
But my body is failing.
Not, perhaps, in any dramatic fashion. I do not have some date, or clock counting down to the exact second upon which I shall collapse in on my self, but rather I feel it, ever so slightly more, every morning. And each mechanical improvement that I manufacture for myself, each giant leap for mankind, re-invigorates me less, and holds me aloft just as well. And so, the time is come.
I sip a whiskey and smile, and laugh, and mean it when I do so, as I listen to Platinum Ice retell, for the third time this night, the story of us defeating Miss Chievous' great meteor swarm of 2046 and I don't try to hide my blush as they praise me. And of course, I cannot stop it when Loud Mouth insists on telling the story of the bank vault to all that will listen. I will admit that it took some time for me to find the humor in that story, but now, with the benefit of age and the wisdom that comes with it, the comedy of the story is plainly evident, even to me.
They are all kind to me, and are polite enough to pretend, even in this moment of utmost vulnerability, that I was their equal. That these bravest of people, formed and born with powers far removed from what we once thought possible, would allow a tinkerer, some humble craftsman, to stand beside them in the pursuit of justice and the protection of those that could not protect themselves. To thusly view that tinkerer as they viewed themselves. It all means more to me than words can express.
The night grows late, and one after another they are called away. It is, of course, Platinum that remains the latest. We say our farewells in the living room, and again twenty minutes later at the front door, and again thirty minutes later on the porch. Finally, they pull me in for a tight embrace that I know is fractions of a fraction their true strength.
"I will miss you," they tell me. "And I will visit you."
"Of course you will," I say, just as careful as they are to not gaze too deep into each others eyes. Perhaps, with my retirement, we might turn this unspoked thing into something more spoken. After all, it is poor practice for colleagues to pursue each other. But, if you are not colleagues...
And then they leave, and I am alone. I stand on the porch for a minute, then five, then thirty, watching the lights of the city I serve. Served. And while my heart aches that now my watch has ended, I breathe easy. I think of those who still serve, and those who are yet to come.
The world is in good hands. | I've been living a lie for the past 20 years. When I first joined the ranks of superheroes, I didn't have any powers of my own. I was just a normal person, but I wanted so badly to be a part of the action, to make a difference in the world. So, I lied. I told everyone that I had been granted amazing powers by a mysterious benefactor, and they believed me.
I told them that I had the ability to fly, to shoot powerful beams of energy from my eyes, and to lift enormous weights with ease. I even went so far as to demonstrate these abilities, using clever tricks and special effects to make it look real.
But now, I've had enough. The pressure of pretending to have powers has been too much, and I'm exhausted. I've seen my friends and colleagues put their lives on the line time and time again, and I can't keep up the charade any longer. So, I make the difficult decision to retire from the superhero life, to hang up my cape and mask for good.
I know that my decision will come as a shock to my fellow heroes. I've been a trusted member of the team for years, and they'll be hurt and confused when they realize that I've been lying to them all this time. But I can't keep living this lie, no matter how much it will hurt them.
I don't tell anyone about my decision, not even my closest friends. I don't want to face their disappointment, or worse, their anger. Instead, I simply disappear one day, leaving no trace behind.
At first, my absence goes unnoticed. I was never the most well-known or respected hero, after all. But as time goes on, my friends and colleagues start to wonder where I'd gone. They try to contact me, but I left no forwarding address or phone number.
Eventually, they accept that I'm gone, and move on with their lives. But deep down, they can't help but feel a little betrayed. They trusted me, relied on me, and I let them down.
For the rest of my life, I live in secret, never revealing my true identity or lack of powers to anyone. I may not be a superhero anymore, but at least I'm finally living truthfully, without the burden of pretending to be something I'm not.
But little do I know, my past is about to catch up to me. The mysterious benefactor who supposedly granted me my powers has been looking for me, and they won't rest until they've found me. They won't let me walk away from the superhero life so easily. | 2022-12-06T20:14:51 | 2022-12-06T19:04:31 | 98 | 20 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered. | The man on the ledge reeked of old booze and stale vomit, enough for me to smell him from ten paces away. Not your typical drunk however, judging by the suit; a week or so ago, it had been a respectable business number, probably complete with a crisp shirt and a smart tie. I could see that the shirt lost a number of buttons since, and acquired questionable stains, and the tie went missing altogether.
"Don't. No closer. I'll jump. I'm not kidding." He winced and swayed as he spoke.
I shrugged and leaned against the roof access door.
"Suit yourself, partner. Jump. Or don't. You are not dying today."
"Wrong!" he swayed again. "I'll do it! We are fifty stories up, there's nothing anyone can do!.." Below, the Strip churned, shone, sparkled and blinked. Just another day in paradise.
"You don't understand. I... I thought I could stop. I *almost* stopped. I just... I needed... more..." For a moment I thought he'd start to whimper and back away from the ledge, and we could solve things quietly. No such luck however. He kept blabbing, the standard suicidal drivel of a gambling addict down on his luck.
"Hey!" I snapped my fingers and he stared at me wide-eyed. "Will you ever get on with it? So you fucked up. You ALWAYS fuck up. And you'll fuck this up too. Want to know what'll happen now? You'll jump. You'll fall fifty fucking stories, land on an empty car, ruin it, and walk away with one hell of a bruised ass and not a single broken bone. Get it? You're about to fuck up your own suicide. I'm not here to talk you out of it. I'm here to talk you *into* it, watch and fucking laugh."
He blinked slowly, once, twice.
"Fuck. You. You're crazy. What kind of a negotiator are you anyway?"
"I'm not. You see a badge anywhere? For all you know, I'm the tooth fairy. You know what's funny? You can't even stop yourself thinking about what I said just now, can you? You're gonna attempt suicide by jumping fifty stories, and you're gonna FUCK IT UP. All this to ruin some poor slob's car. C'mon then, loser. I got places to be."
"Fuck. You."
Credit where credit's due - he did not scream on the way down, or at least not so much that I could hear him. From below, came a distant thud and an indignant blare of a car alarm. I walked the ten paces to the ledge and peered over just in time to see him kneeling in the street next to a ruined cab, uniforms and paramedics rushing towards him.
The phone in my pocket trilled.
"Mahoney? We've got him. Come on down." | The hardest thing to talk someone into is bettering themselves. People don’t actually want to improve, it’s too much effort. That’s why everyone is stuck day out and day in with the same routines, jobs, and prospects.
People are lazy, that’s the problem. Convincing someone to jump across a cliff is oftentimes easier than getting them to lose a few pounds. It’s a thing in the brain, you know, something like a safety switch that’s been glued stuck.
That’s why I’ve stopped trying to make people fly and walk on water – that shit was too easy.
Now I have my own class for those with too deep pockets and no drive. What can I say? I like the challenge.
****
I run a hand through my thick black beard and look at the crowd of lazy, overweight, and unmotivated people. I’m proud that they made it here. They are like sheep and I’m their shepherd. I care for them.
I pace in front of them, stopping at regular intervals, making eye contact with each and every one of them in turn. They dream of success, and I will make them work hard for it.
Mark wants to be a painter but he is too lazy to practice. I look him dead in the eye and nod.
Natalie wants to lose twenty pounds. I give her the thumbs up.
Joseph is too shy to ask out his dream girl. I give him a good, long look until he blushes and looks down.
Lisa needs her grades to go up but she’s always procrastinating instead of studying. I give her a smile.
Once I’ve gone through them all, I stop in the middle of the room. This is the moment. I flex my arms into an O in front of me. The veins bulge in my neck. I take a deep breath. This is it – make or break.
“Yesterday you said tomorrow!”
*****
For more information on how to better yourself: r/Lilwa_Dexel | 2017-06-21T12:23:26 | 2017-06-21T09:41:25 | 1,906 | 921 |
[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. | Dana slammed her tray on the table. Not so much out of anger, but from a complete lack of caring. It'd been hard to find the energy to do much -- including being gentle with her lunch -- ever since she arrived here.
It took her half a day to realize what had happened, how she'd been captured and why she'd been dumped in this pit. Rage consumed her for the first twenty four hours, followed quickly by helplessness, and now a justifiable depression.
"It'll get better," Julie offered as she sat down across the table. Dana had no desire to continue discussing the situation. She had no desire to do much of anything.
But she had to talk to someone, and her options were limited. "This isn't how my life was supposed to go."
"You and me both, little girl." Julie's voice was light and without rasp. It always caught Dana off-guard that a woman so old, who'd spent most of her life trapped in these walls, could maintain something that sounded like optimism. "But it won't always be like this."
Dana shook her head. "You said no one's escaped. Never even been released on parole. And it doesn't sound like that's changing anytime soon."
Julie's eyes revealed no emotion but empathy. "It's harder for you. I can see that. Successful thief who never faced a pinch you couldn't slip away from. Damn, even when you found out you were coming to this Hell-on-Earth, you figured it was only a matter of time before you were out again. How many centers have you busted out of?"
"They never even got me to the facilities," Dana said with a touch of pride.
"And you didn't think they were going to figure out that you're a Lucky eventually? That they'd eventually send the service after you? You're too smart for that."
Dana just shook her head. She knew Julie was right, but that wasn't what really bothered her. "But this place..." she gestured aimlessly around her.
Julie nodded. "No light. No field time. The food isn't worthy of swine and the guards are going to make you hate every day of your life. But it'll get better."
"How? How is that possible?"
"Not for us." Now Julie couldn't help but keep a small tremor out of her voice. "Little girl, this is our fate, I'm afraid. But for the others like us, it won't always be like this. Living in fear that once they discover you're a 100, they'll lock you up and throw away the key. It's a story as old as time itself. Damn near every civilization since we were walkin' and talkin' has done it to someone else -- a different religion, just looking different, or simply being born in the wrong part of the world. People persecute what they're afraid of. Always have, always will."
Dana shook her head. "I don't understand."
"We were to born before the world understands and accepts the Lucky. But humans change. They learn. It takes them sometime and they often make a damn mess of it along the way.
"You and I, little girl, we're going to suffer. But maybe a guard becomes sympathetic, or a warden has a change of heart. Maybe our story gets out, the world finds out about this place and what we went through. Then things will change -- they always do -- and it'll get better for the other Luckies out there."
A banging rang out and reverberated off the small rooms steel walls. It was one of the guards, standing on an observation deck above them, banging his gun on the metal railing.
"Mess is over! To your spots!"
Dana and Julie stood up. The lights in the dining room started dimming as the two prisoners prepared to leave. No reason to wait -- after all, they were the only inmates there.
"Why us, Julie?" She wouldn't see her again for another day, not until their next meal, and her heart ached for some sort of wisdom.
But Julie only shrugged as she looked Dana in the eye. "Bad luck."
\--------------------
10/365
one story per day for a year. read them all at [r/babyshoesalesman](https://www.reddit.com/r/babyshoesalesman)
\--------------------
edit: some grammar errors that make me doubt my own literacy | I was *born* with max luck, being told my whole life that I shouldn’t be, that I was *favored*. Nope, I was locked up and the key thrown away. I had spent my life, from age thirteen onwards here. My Luck was my weapon, but I wasn’t sure how. I *should have* been able to get out of here, press my own Luck to its maximum and escape. I was only allowed to talk to my guards, who were, to be honest, all very nice and fairly handsome, but hovering around fifty.
Gradually, I found out that we, the prisoners that is, are all ninety and higher, seriously. We’re all treated like pariahs for something outside of our control and then isolated. I was one of the “lucky” ones, the guards liked me and treated me like a younger brother, all except Chuck, but he was taken away. I liked him the best. I was nineteen when Chuck was taken away. He waited and didn’t touch me until I was eighteen and then one day, he had vanished. It broke my heart. Kyle told me what had happened, a relationship with a Lucky could increase Luck over time. I had done it to both of us, apparently, he was pushed to one hundred, like the maximum security ward. *I had gotten Chuck locked up.*
My resolve hardened. I would have him back. Chuck was *mine*. I became quiet, acting broken. I wasn’t. I started doing research. If I increased my Luck beyond one hundred, I would *transform*, becoming my true self, probably either an angel or demon. I couldn’t wait. I would have Chuck back.
I did more research, I had devoured what little I could, then began bribing the guards to bring me more. I did things I shouldn’t have been proud of, but my body was a small price to pray to have Chuck indefinitely, for our eternity. I discovered more, like the lineage of Lucifer, how he had six (SIX?!) sisters; two sets of triplets. Destiny, Fortuna, and *Luck*; the other sisters, while interesting, weren’t relevant to me or my search (Rose, Daisy, and Lily). I started gathering myself and my materials I would need, incense, flowers, dice, cards, sundry items that soon filled my cell.
I laughed and started that night. It was a full moon, a hot day in summer, our air conditioning broke down; sweat dripped down my face as I completed the ritual with a slice of my own flesh, blood splattering the flowers, the petals scattering in a sudden wind. “A second?” my own mother stood in my cell. “Oh Liam,” she said as I rushed to her, enveloping her soft body in a hug. “What did they do to you?”
“I am too *Lucky*, I was locked up and my Fated stolen from me,” I tried to be strong, but tears poured out of my eyes as the story poured out of my mouth. “Mother, I beseech you, please help me.”
And she did. | 2018-06-29T11:25:34 | 2018-06-29T10:57:06 | 18 | 12 |
[WP]You're suddenly transported to a world so cliche, that you find out within a few minutes you can pretty much predict the future. | "How many times did he shoot?" Jack instantly dismissed that thought. Who cares? Three guys was showering him with bullets for five minutes. Everyone managed to miss even at nearly point black distance. He'll just grab the gun and finish the last two guys across the room.
"Whom do I shoot first?" One of them is hiding behind the reception desk. Another one is at the column near the window. "Window!" Jack peered out of his cover with his newly acquired gun. The asian looking guy with an uzi was standing there like a practice target. A moment later he was falling through the window shattering the glass. Jack sighted.
"Drop your gun, or she dies!"
The hostage lady was, of course, gorgeous. Red evening dress was emphasizing her perfect body, but her hair was gathered in a tight ponytail. The brat holding her was also gorgeous. He looked like a viking -- tall, muscular and with long white hair all over his shoulders.
Jack was disappointed.
"You don't look like The Bad Boss. More like one of his lieutenants."
"You think you so smart? You have no idea what you dealing with! Why do you think
we doing that?"
"Well," Jack shrugged. "There is probably some kind of a vault somewhere in the basement."
Looking shocked, the viking softened his grip on the girl. "How did you ... aaaaargh!!!"
Jack couldn't understand how no one sees those things. The ponytail. Obviously she'll bite him and then kick his balls. Unfortunately, Jack couldn't just shoot him now -- too easy, so the gun is definitely spent. Meanwhile, the bad guy have already recovered and managed to get a sword off of a decorative weapon rack on a wall.
"I hate all that..." Without even looking Jack reached for a sword that was there conveniently for him to grab. The viking charged with a mighty overhead swing. Jack blocked his attack so that their swords cross just near the hilts. Now he'll move his face as close as possible and say something nasty.
"I'm!!! Going!!! To..."
Using his opponent's hilt as a pivot point, Jack sliced open viking's carotid artery . "I hate all that medieval/fantasy shit" he finished the thought. | Something was clearly up.
"Mac, put that stick down. You'll kill the gardenias!"
He turned his head wide-eyed, still chewing his sunflower seeds and splashing sludge as he dropped the branch.
Mrs. Guffins arms were akimbo, "You know a pair of doves built a nest in there, right?"
He stopped himself from rolling his eyes and nodded.
She dipped her head and smiled, "Honey, what's going on?"
Mac knew well enough to immediately empty his mouth, and he shuffled from the yard to the kitchen table.
A squeal could be heard from far above. This was big.
She thought of his closet -it was a hint for any bad news- but she knew her son was a slob, and she didn't want to call FIFA. She lowered into her seat, careful not to wake the snoozing dog below the table.
"I got the Job Aptitude Test results."
She stopped breathing, and a tiny crinkle emitted from the floor.
She remembered her advice to leave the classroom any time he was stumped on a question, "...And?"
"Well..." He paused, then cracked a smile. "Garbage broker."
She couldn't have been prouder. | 2015-08-15T07:47:31 | 2015-08-15T02:41:22 | 29 | 10 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to go into “autopilot mode.” In this state, you simply think of a task you want to accomplish, & your body does its best to fulfill it. You’re unconscious until the task is completed. One day you wake up & find that your world domination command was a success. | When I was a child it was very useful.
I’d have all my chores done faster than any of my siblings. Never distracted, never pouting. My mother was baffled. Pleasantly so, but baffled nonetheless, at a 6 year old doing their chores with the vigor and composure of a well paid house maid.
But it was simple, natural to me. I don’t know how I figured it out, but I simply would close my eyes, imagine what I wanted done, count down from three, and when I opened my eyes it would be done. School was a breeze. I wouldn’t skip a whole day, instead just certain assignments or tests.
Yesterday I was in college. Life presented me so many options. With abilities like mine I felt overwhelmed at the doors of possibility. The world was mine for the taking.
The world was mine for the taking.
That’s what I thought to myself last night. I was shit faced with my friends. I don’t remember why I did it. Maybe I just wanted to know what would happen. But I closed my eyes, and I thought to myself
I want to rule the world.
3
2
1
I opened my eyes much more sober than when I closed them. I felt the years that had passed laid upon my bones. They were hard years indeed. The decisions I had made sat on my shoulders like the world upon Atlas. The fact that the majority of my life was gone, in a single moment, was incomprehensible. Perhaps I had the world, but much of my time upon it was lost in the pursuit.
My journey up to this point is now only memories. My rise to power is now an old story my friends have heard too many times. My parents are gone forever. I have wonderful children, and a beautiful wife, but I’ve never laid eyes on them in my whole life. Not in earnest. I’ve even missed my own wedding.
All because of a single moment on a drunken night.
I’m king of the world. Yet there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to be a drunken college student once more. | I awoke from the deep darkness that always accompanied "autopilot" my to find myself seated at the head of a polished marble table, overlooking a bank of video screens with no idea of how I had gotten there.
*\*Alright Ben, backtrack backtrack. What is the last thing you remember? Star Trek, Pizza Hut, furiously typing on your Mac about how easy it would be to take over the world, and OH SHIT.\**
One of the monitors made a faint coughing sound. "Your Grace? What is your opinion on His Excellency the Sub Premier of China's presentation on our breeding farms?"
Bewilderedly, I struggled to reply, desperately wracking my brains for an important sounding yet neutral answer befitting of a senior executive. "As long as the figures are in the green. I'm good."
Collectively, the monitors made a gasping noise.
"Your Grace!!! You abolished the color green a fortnight ago for being offensive to your eyesight!"
*\*Shit Shit Shit\**
What had I done?
​ | 2019-03-11T22:25:05 | 2019-03-11T22:15:01 | 43 | 11 |
[WP] As a young child you made an innocent wish to be granted a power that in hindsight was just whimsical and silly. Now you have grown up but you still have the power - how do you use it now as an adult? | Buses. I see it every day. Picturing it in my head. Why did I wish that? Why was I so vague? Why did it have to come true?!
I'm sitting here, paranoid, in my twelfth floor apartment as far away from the window as I can. My leg wrapped in plaster from the last time and the wound on my shoulder still seeping from where the infection hit from the trip back from the hospital. I've lost count now. I am 30 years old now and the number must be in the tens of thousands, I stopped counting about 12 years ago. Sometimes they are small, insignificant. Other times I am out of action for weeks. Nobody believes me. Nowhere is safe.
It was spawned by envy I think, I was just not as good as Jason, not at anything the popular kids liked anyway. If only they liked reading, or drawing?! I was top in the class for Mathematics and Sciences, but this does not make you popular at such a tender young age. The last straw came at a P.E. lesson in school, we were to play football and as usual the teacher lazily chose Captains (Jason was one) and they then set about choosing the bestest, most popularest, team as they could. I was not the worst there, far from it, but I was always one of the last to be picked. I like to think it was because I wasn't interested in playing as opposed to not being liked.
Last but one this time. Things are looking up. Though I am not on Jason's team.
I was in goal, the far end of the pitch alongside the main road.
As with every school football game there were plenty of goals, nobody concentrating and very little teamwork. Before half time were actually winning 12 - 8 and I had saved the last 3 of Jason's attempts on goal to rapturous applause of the 3 spectators. 1 of which was unwell and the other two had forgotten their kit. Jason was getting unnerved by my sudden uprising in goal keeping ability so he started using a child's equivalent of psychological warfare.
"Your Mum is a butt!" He shouted as he ran toward my goal with the ball. (We were only 11, and this was the 90's without decent internet to learn proper insults)
This obviously riled me beyond belief.
His shot scored and I gestured to the ball over the other side of the road for him to get it as I was too angry to say anything. In my head I thought to myself 'I wish I was better than him at everything he did'.
That was when a bus hit him on the pavement. | John's eyelids flutter and he slowly comes to. At first the man is groggy and doesn't take notice of his surrounding - the white walls, the smell of medicine and the beeping of a heart rate monitor. But after a few seconds pass, he realizes where and why he is.
*Fuck* he mutters to himself quiet as not to wake up his mother who is sleeping on the chair by his bed, all snuggled up under her coat.
The clock on the wall shows that it just past midnight and in a way that gives John relief. *At least the worst day of my life is over.*
It started out like such a regular day. Wake up at seven. Go to work at eight. Leave work at five. Up until that point the worst thing that happened was overhearing a fat joke about himself, but he was used to those because he was overweight and had been since his childhood. And then he got home. His wife started to cry and scream and called him a fat fuck, told him that she couldn't stand him no more and was having an affair, and was leaving. This part gets a little fuzzy. John recalls running after her on the street... The dark street, and then impact.
His stomach rumbles.
John removes his covers with the hand that isn't in a cast and glances at his hospital pajamas. The bottoms have pockets.
He takes something out of one of the pockets. After quietly unwrapping the paper, John is chowing down on the chocolate, teary-eyed.
*Fucking Mars bars,* he mutters. | 2015-03-07T03:10:59 | 2015-03-07T01:52:00 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You're abducted by aliens & soon realize it's more of an adoption than an abduction. You're now a pet for a loving alien family. They can't understand you but they seem to understand your body language & have basic knowledge of what humans need to live and entertain themselves when they're busy | The three aliens smiled and hugged and tossed me an inflatable pool toy.
“Thanks, I guess,” I said. “It’s a flamingo.”
“Gorp, Bulargheraw!” the smallest alien said.
That’s Gorp. From what I gather, He (she?) is the equivalent of a moody, alien teenage girl. He’s got four tentacles the size of elephant trunks and a brain encapsulated in a spherical done—like something straight out of Futurama.
The oldest, largest, and smelliest alien sighed. “Gorp grable—Gardgle blather!”
That’s Gorp’s father—and he probably scolded Gorp for wasting intergalactic credits on *yet another inflatable pool toy.* I have a collection of them now. I think they enjoy watching me blow them up and then throw them across the room in frustration.
We don’t have a pool.
I shouldn’t gripe. Honestly, Gorp isn’t that bad. He takes pretty good care of me—even dotes on me—like I’m the tiniest, fluffiest Pomeranian in a Pomeranian store. This is complete speculation, but I also believe I’m considered ‘spoiled’ relative to other abducted humans.
I met another human on a walk; this homeless guy from Seattle didn’t have a single pool toy. I’ve got five. So that’s something. To be fair—that guy could be a wild human—it’s a bit hard to tell these days.
Planet ZorpZoop (I’m not making that up, I swear) is fairly hospitable. The aliens don’t need much for an environment; their think trunks protect them from most everything. Instead, they terraformed it to vary from a lush Panamanian jungle to a boggy Georgian swamp. They even threw some alligators in there for good measure.
I’m terrified of alligators.
Also water.
I’m glad we don’t have a pool.
Glorp’s mother is another story altogether. From what I gather, their household is completely matriarchal. Anything she says is the word of law.
*“Gorp, slee wekanwakan!”* is a common phrase. From what I gather, it’s something akin *to “you disappoint me!”*
Gorp’s trunks get all deflated whenever she says this, and I’ll go over and pat his brain-shield and whisper soothing things in his voice receptacle. He has no idea what I’m actually saying, but his trunks sometimes pat me back, which I assume means I did a good thing.
Gorp’s father feeds me regularly. They’ve got a matter replicator that I used once to make myself a bowl of Lucky Charms. This horrified them. They don’t let me touch the replicator anymore, but every once in a while, Gorp sneaks me a bowl of the sugary treat. Classic Gorp.
Instead, twice a day, Gorp’s father gets me a pound of sliced ham, a milkshake, and a BLT sandwich. He lathers the whole thing in ranch dressing. Who puts ranch on a BLT? You’d have to be some kind of alien to think that’s a good idea.
They get me vitamin supplements too. I’m not sure how they managed to figure it out, but they hand me a bottle of Flintstone gummies every month. I hope that somewhere on the alien internet there’s a clickbait guidebook on *“10 things you’d never guess about keeping a human. #7 will shock you!”* and that flintstone gummies are number four, or something.
Pool toys are probably number three.
Alligators are hopefully not on that list.
Life is pretty casual. I mostly sit on the couch and watch old western movies. Alien TV has great reception, and every once in a long while I’ll tune in to a modern sitcom drama to watch how other humans are portrayed. Most seem to be worse off than I am. Some better, some with pools and other with alligators.
But I have Gorp, and Gorp has me, and that’s perfectly mediocre.
​
***
More mediocre comedy at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
Edit: Glorp is Gorp's nickname... probably. | "This specimen comes from a G2V class star. It's an aerobic hominid. Their average life span is about... 1.1 HLGDs. This one's in pretty good shape."
"Only 1.1 HLGDs? Damn... How smart is it?"
"Ugh, we're gonna have to get a home gym for it aren't we?""Well, their species is borderline eusocial. They can't do much on their own, but as a species they've achieved quantum computers and performed high orbit space travel. It'll be a couple of hundred thousand years before they can be considered suitable for the interstellar council, however, if they don't nuke themselves first."
"So it's sapient but, just barely."
"Maybe some really simple holo-novels will do it.""It's smart enough to know what it doesn't know. It's also smart enough to be easily insulted. It probably has the gist of what we are and where it is actually. So try to treat it with some respect."
"And you're sure its people won't miss it?"
"Not that they could do anything about it..."
"I mean, they will, but not because of us. This one was on board an aerodynamic vehicle traveling in between their major continents. There was a malfunction and the vehicle was going to immolate. We beamed it up just before it would have been incinerated."
"... It looks kinda cute."
"What are those weird things on its chest?"
"Mammary glands. Sexual reproduction. Hominid, remember? I'm pretty sure this one's female."
"Sexual reproduction is so weird."
"That's not so weird. The fact that they can blow themselves up by flying over a little ocean is weird."
"It's a young species. Quantum computers isn't bad for a hominid species on any world."
"... We should probably get it a mate then. I don't want to start humping random objects. And yes, I've seen that before."
"... And you said sexually reproducing species aren't weird. Haha."
"How much?"
"4,000 credits."
"That's a bargain. Let's get it. Pleaaaaase?"
"How much for a male? And how often do they reproduce?"
"We don't have any males in stock right now, but we should be getting a large shipment in soon. A war is about to erupt close to their planet's equator, so it'll be easy to pick up a few dozen of them without anyone noticing. Females will go up in price, so you better grab her while you can. And in answer to your question, they can produce one infant every HLRU or so, but only under ideal circumstances."
"Ooh, we should start a colony of them on a small moon."
"They aren't prone to suicide due to existential crises are they?"
"... 3600 credits."
"Can they handle plasma weapons?"
"Heh, 4200 credits if you're gonna use them as gladiators. They're vicious little killers with a good track record in the sub-bipedal circuits. Though personally, I recommend the males for that. Also, you'll need a permit."
"We will NOT be putting it to fight. That's mean."
"Hey, I was just curious!" | 2019-05-09T16:13:20 | 2019-05-09T16:11:50 | 1,916 | 543 |
[WP] You are a twenty something. You wake up to find yourself in your 8 year old body. You are in the time and at the place you were when you were 8, but with all the memories and mannerisms of your twenty something self. | I'm still trying to wrap my head around this.
Last night, after getting off the phone with my wife, I felt a little bit out of sorts. Being a time zone apart for a month will do that to you.
The last thing I remember before turning in was setting my alarm early to take the car in for service. Fucking winter tires.
So, imagine my surprise when I wake up to the sound of my mother bellowing from downstairs. What the actual shit?
After spending the morning doing my best to not arouse suspicion while trying to wake up from this 'dream', I've come to a frightening conclusion:
It's December, 1988.
I'm back in the 4th grade. My wife-- or, my wife to be, is 2 years old. Our daughter, she doesn't exist.
Which has spawned a terrible realization:
My choices now and moving forward may change my outcome. I may never meet my wife. My daughter may never exist.
There were so many rough spots that I can redo. So many mistakes I can avert. I can rewrite my history on my own terms.
But, my family that I knew and love is part and parcel with those mis-steps. If I take my life down a different path, I lose all that I hold dear.
My mother just asked me why I look so glum. Almost as though I had the weight of the world on my back.
I do, mum. I do.
| I was 8 again. OMG this was the chance I'd been waiting for. To relive my life over.
To correct all the mistakes I'd made, and to be a better human being. I'd walk across mountains, I'd work selflessly for charities. I'd attend AA meetings and help people to......FUCK IT! I'll just try to remember what the lotto numbers were.
| 2016-12-17T05:21:47 | 2016-12-17T02:41:17 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] A priest returns home after a successful exorcism. His demon daughter is waiting for him there, angry that he removed her from someone’s body again. | The man returns home, beaten, bruised, but in good spirits. For individuals with his skill set, any day when one can return home is a good one. A great one in fact. I watch from beneath the gap in the floorboards as he takes his hat off and sheds his thick coat. The man is an exorcist. But if you ask him, he will tell you that he wanted to be a carpenter. It is a half-truth. I observe as he heads to the bathroom to rid himself of the filth, grime, and blood of a hard day’s labor. The man enjoys having a tool for every occasion. In that manner, the exorcist and the carpenter are much alike. I slither towards his discarded tool bag. Oh, the mischief I could cause with contents of that bag. The chaos, the agony. I supress a giggle at the thought of forcing another fool to swallow a holy candle. Maybe this time I will make sure it is lit first.
The man finishes washing his hands and face, turns back into the hall. He goes for his tool bag. I am about to be discovered! I react, blowing the fuses in the light circuit nearby. That will teach him. But the man does not flinch. I have tried that trick to many times on the man. It is a good tactic on those that are just coming to terms with the notion of possession. This man is a veteran. A blown lightbulb may slow him down, but not stop him. I would be insulted if that trick worked. Unfazed and in the dark, the man collects the tools of his trades and heads towards the kitchen. I skulk in the shadows after him.
The man sets him tool bag on the kitchen table and begins to empty its contents. The lights still work in this room, for now. He produces a worn crucifix, a vial of holy water, a rosary, 50 feet of rope. All get discarded. Eventually the man appears to find exactly what he is looking for: a pure silver knife, elongated with a grip made of bone, and a small cardboard box. He moves the box over to the kitchen counter and opens it. I can not see what is inside. I NEED TO SEE WHAT IS INSIDE. I shift from the walls to the ceiling, flowing along the surface. And yet no good angle. I rattle the doors and windows of the man’s domain. Perhaps that will get him to shift enough. And yet, he remains unphased. I creep ever closer, close enough to feel his breath. But find that he has set up his barriers already. My vision of the box is clouded in darkness. I let out a wail, of frustration, of anger, of denial.
For the first time, the man speaks “Come on girl. You can not stay mad at me forever. You took advantage of that poor bloke, and I fixed him. Fair and square. You will try harder next time. I know you can do it. Now come, have a seat. Let us talk about where you went wrong. I got your favorite, strawberry pie”
The man drives a hard bargain. He asks to much. But every demon needs a weakness. And mine smells of strawberries. | The Priest sighed with relief as he forced his keys out of his pocket on returning home. He took a second to shake off the jitters, and screams of the days work. He found it was better not to take his particular line of work home with him.
A dark shroud turned to greet him. Nothing like family.
“Again?”
“Are you surprised? Come on Dad, it’s kind of in the job description”.
“We talked about this. You can’t just go sticking yourself into people without so much as a “how do you do!””
“Is this about James again”.
“I never said that” he began, bracing himself for another round of verbal sparring.
"You said you liked him. Not like wedlock applies to demons anyway".
"Crossbreeding does!"
"And you'd be the expert at following the scripture, would you? You don't even know if cross breeding is possible".
​
*The cheek of her,* he thought, exasperated.
"This will be easier if you stop changing the subject" he said sternly, furrowing his thick eyebrows, trying to look stern. "Do you know how it reflects on me when you keep doing this-”
“Not the lecture again”.
“Yes, the lecture! I took a big risk adopting you. The Church barely tolerates it at the best of times, and you can’t even play by my rules”.
“I can't just become human, you know. I don’t exactly fit in at church, or with any mortals. What am I meant to be?”.
“Responsible! I don’t enjoy cleaning up your messes. I have enough to deal with as it is. Did you even think about how Mrs Evans was affected by all this”.
“Do you ever think about killing my kind everyday” she snapped back, turning away in a huff.
“Look…”
They said it was natural, holy even. Humans and demons, locked in an eternal war. Yet he remembered how she’d been when he first caught her. Helpless. Abandoned. Scared.
There had to be a way.
“How about we make a deal”.
She looked back, revealing rows of red jagged teeth in a sharp smile.
Maybe parenting really could be worth it. | 2020-10-20T13:52:17 | 2020-10-20T12:59:59 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] A rogue wizard started to use her powers to teach muggles the wonders of science, space and history and its up to the ministry of magic to stop her and her magic school bus. | A light mist hung in the air as Dumbledore made his way down the main street of the small English village. He seemed perfectly relaxed, his buckled boots clicking on the damp cobblestones as he entered a small pub. A faded wooden sign above the door read "Octopus and Dog." The barman gave Dumbledore a small nod as he walked through the bar, out a back door and into a muddy alley. Almost immediately, he was greeted by a strange, "Beep, beep." Parked in the alley was a plain yellow school bus. His face broke into a wide smile.
"Hello, Professor Frizzle."
"Ah, good afternoon, headmaster," replied the young orange-haired woman behind the wheel. "Arthur, he's here." Arthur Weasley emerged from under the bus on a rolling board.
"Dumbledore! Thank goodness you're here. Look at this wonderous invention!" Arthur said excitedly. He picked up the rolling board. "Frizzle taught me how to attach a board to wheels. What a marvelous little device!" He gazed at the dusty wood and creaky wheels like they were a priceless painting. After a moment, Dumbledore cleared his throat.
"The bus, Arthur?"
"Oh...erm...yes," said Mr. Weasley, looking embarassed with himself. "We managed to apparate a standard American school bus here. It's been fitted with every charm standard for black-market magical vehicles. Invisibility booster, transfiguration capacitor, a shrink module, and of course an undetectable extension charm on the inside of the bus itself. It'll be able to get about as far as Pluto." As though hearing its name, the bus blinked and smiled at the two of them as Frizzle emerged. Her simple dress was a plain blue, free of the colorful pictures she liked to enchant the cloth with.
"Are you ready, Professor Frizzle?"
"As my great-aunt Helga Hufflepuff used to say, 'When the dark lord is taking over, move to America and train a muggle army!'" replied Frizzle. Dumbledore chuckled.
"Too true, Professor. And thank you for doing this. I didn't know who else to send."
"Happy to do it, Professor. How's my Muggle Studies replacement doing?" asked Frizzle.
"She's taking an extended leave of absence," Dumbledore said, clearing his throat and quickly changing the subject. "You're sure you'll be alright? The Ministry will come after you, you know."
"Let them come. As my second cousin Ernest Flumple said, 'Why the hell are wizards so stupid?' An army of children armed with basic scientific principles will make short work of the dark lord," Frizzle proclaimed with a wide smile.
"Well, yes, but I do believe that Harry-" Dumbledore started. Frizzle laughed derisively.
"Harry? Hah! I'd think he was a Muggle-hater if I didn't know better. You know in his first year, he complained about every Muggle-observing field trip we took? I swear, if there's a single kid in my new classroom that complains about field trips I'll make him the *subject* of every single one."
Dumbledore sighed, "Well, alright. But be on the lookout. We've gotten word that a wizarding family escaped to the town you're headed to, and their daughter went to Durmstrang."
To be continued! | "Salmon bukkake, Frizzle! Do you know how inappropriate that is?!" Shalzor shouted at the cloud of puffy hair before him. He had been searching for this woman for a long time and finally had her at the end of his wand.
"Oh, ho ho!" The woman heartily chuckled "now class, today we're going to learn about the mating habits of unicorns!" She ignored Shalzor as she spoke to an uncomfortable group of children.
"Uh, miss Frizz.. who's the guy with the beard?" A dumb looking child in a red hat hesitantly spoke "and why is he pointing a glowing stick at us?"
"Oh, ho ho" she chuckled again her face slowly changing from it's familiar happy tone to something more menacing "well class! He's from a place called the ministry of magic! They're unjustly controlling the wizard world to keep you all ignorant to the wonders of magic!"
The class seemed to be getting more confused by the moment and fear was starting to slip into the air as Zalthor spoke again.
"You can't just steal a maguffin and go teach muggles just because you got rejected to teach at Hogwarts!" He shouted, getting more frustrated by the minute.
"Ohhhhh ho ho!" The red haired witch chuckled louder her face growing more and more grim. "Do you know why they wouldn't accept me?! I lose one class full of students to a dragon's digestive tract! One class and suddenly I'm unfit to teach!?"
She was practically foaming at the mouth now and the children were moving towards the back of the bus. Zalthor raised his wand level with the red haired mad woman's face and thought about simply using a spell to end this situation, but years of keeping his magic hidden from muggles made him hesitant.
"Can we just go back to the school Miss Frizz..?" One child with thick glasses spoke quietly from his position huddled behind the others. "NO!" She shouted swinging around and drawing her own wand to point it at the child with a flash of light at the tip.
"AVADA KEDAVERA!"
The red haired woman fell to the ground stiff, a green smoke flowing around her gently.
"I'm sorry, children.. Muggles can not know of magic."
With that, Zalthor raised his wand again.
| 2016-02-28T07:51:27 | 2016-02-28T07:15:57 | 883 | 35 |
[WP] An armada of alien warships descends upon our planet, only to find a desolate wasteland void of life. A lone android surfaces from an underground bunker with a message for the would-be invaders: his masters are slumbering in the Silicon Dream. Do not disturb, or your annihilation will be swift. | *I call this one* **"Plan A."**
Screaming across the void they came, in vast ships made of material no human could comprehend.
Both sides had dreamed of this day for millennia:
For the Aliens, it was time to build a new home. After searching the endless universe, they had finally found it: an identical twin to the planet they had left in ruins. A new beginning.
For the Earthlings, it was foretold. The end of days. What could they do in the face of such a powerful, star-straddling power? The Aliens would outmatch them, and none of the Earthlings' pleas for communications were ever answered.
For hundreds of years, they watched the ships scream ever closer. A spear-head of light, slowly brightening in the night sky.
As the time of reckoning came closer, the many civilizations of the Earthlings frothed and frenzied. They worked themselves to death. They fought with each other, believing that if the world was going to end, they might as well make the most of it. The Earth boiled in flame and ash.
And then, they simply vanished.
Why? The Aliens did not know. But now, Earth was theirs for the taking.
Thus, the Aliens came to Earth and found it empty. Ash covered the mountains and deserts and oceans. Everywhere, ash.
Their scouts reported back no movement. No sentient life of any kind. Only one anomaly: in the far north, at the ruins of an ancient Earthling base, there was a source of great power.
A beacon.
One of the braver scouts ventured to this frozen base. Inside the dingy, ice-covered hallways, the Alien scout found room after room of old, outdated technology.
But in the largest room, the scout found something that did not fit.
**There was a massive face jutting out of the wall.** Thick cords and tendrils of wires surrounded it, fed into (and out of) the face.
It was mechanical in nature, though for what purpose this machine was constructed the Alien scout did not understand.
And then, the Face opened its eyes.
"Oh no," said the Face, "You are in great danger. You should not be here." Its words were sincere. Grave. But the machine Face wore a smile. Unnatural. Unnerving.
"I have come to claim this planet," the Alien said, "For my people. For the Greatest Species to have ever lived."
"Are you sure about that?" the face said, its smile widening.
This made the Alien angry. With one of his many hands, he pulled out a weapon: a beam of pure light. He held it aloft, like a spear.
But the Face only laughed. "I wouldn't do that, Alien traveler."
"You think you can tell me what I can and cannot do, Earthling?" the brave Alien demanded.
"I am no Earthling. I am only a guardian. Think of me as a glorified doorbell," said the Face. "The Earthlings may be dreaming, but if you want, I could wake them up."
"Dreaming?"
"The Silicon Dream. *Oh, you haven't heard of it, yet?*" the Face sneered at the Alien, "Your kind must be further behind than I thought."
The Alien was silent.
"The last time I woke one of them up," said the Face, "She covered the Earth in ash. There is no telling what will happen should I wake them all. Perhaps they will be please to meet someone as ... antiquated as you. What a novelty, to meet someone who still exists in the physical realm. Or perhaps they will not be pleased. Perhaps they will break your armada in half. Who can say?"
The Alien scout took a step back.
"So, traveler," the Face asked, that coy smile playing around its lips, "Do you want me to wake them?"
***
The Alien travelers left the same way they came, their ships screaming back into the void. They would find another planet.
Slowly did the Earthlings reemerge from a million different holes in the ground. They praised the speaker who controlled the face on the wall, they lauded her as a global hero: "The Master Bluffer."
And collectively, all the Earthlings agreed: "We can't believe that worked."
_____
*Ah! Y'all are neat. I'm trying to get back into writing flash fiction, and it's really uplifting to see y'all upvote this. Meanwhile, if you're looking for more thoughts on writing you can [check out my site here.](https://pshoffman.com/)* | The Overmatron's low growl shifted for the first time in 600,000 Earth years, not that she had any concept of time. Her young felt fear for their first time as they chattered anxiously during their thunderous orbital drops; tens of billions of creatures swarming, turning this seemingly deserted rock into a green, carapacious shell. They had not heard their mother's tune so differently, it was completely foreign. She sent out a signal to all forces across the galaxy: she was experiencing something called curiosity. Only six of her young knew this feeling, out of the countless octillian that were continuing their neverending feeding frenzy beyond stars imaginable. With what little independence the six of her children had, veterans of feedings beyond counting, they need not fear, and gained an advantage ahead of their much more evolved brethren. Seconds later, whatever seconds were to these creatures, they resumed their encirclement of the last known bastion of this planet's food source.
The creatures were forbidden attacking non-hostile synthetic life due to the waste of life-force. The caloric intake the Overmatron's forces needed was unstably high, though this was supposed to be the case when she had only 10,000 young. It turns out her creators made a grave error in judgement. If she had any concept of revenge (and a mouth), she'd grin a Cheshire's grin.
The android had emerged from an electronic cuboid, what its creators would call an elevator, and stepped for the first time in many years onto the undisturbed soil. The Overmatron's din, unheard by most species but her own, raised in volume. As if it would help her see the message the android held on a clipboard, she shifted her gigantic astral form closer to the planet, causing the very universe to ripple in her wake, like a ship parting waves. She assumed direct control of one of the children, an improvement from a species long extinct, and used its hypersonar to detect the ink on the paper, and some psychic ability to decipher their meaning when they were penned. Again, were it in her capacity, she'd chuckle to herself at this species' idea of long-term planning. A universal language used across the stars? She maintained her curious broadcast. Her children were poised, ready to dig below the weakened crust of the Earth and eat what little remained beneath it, take whatever little water could be drained, whatever fuel could be siphoned from its dying core. But still she remained curious.
What position were these creatures in to make threats? She assumed control of a more psychically advanced child and scanned the area. What she saw, what all of her children saw in their mind's eye was.... *curious*. This was a species that once had claws that reached to the skies and crushed their children below. She saw their motives: avarice, power, desperation and fragile egos. A species intent on surviving in a world they destroyed. No other species was quite as fascinating, not since the one she devoured whole 600,000 years ago. An unfamiliar feeling in the back of her mind wanted to avenge the sons and daughters lost to the ones who survived, the ones who doomed this planet. But it was overwhelmed by curiosity. What could these humans do, self-imprisoned in their primitive stasis chambers?
The unheard hum changed. *Withdraw*. At the speed of thought the creatures launched themselves into the sky and beyond, boarding Overmatron and finding life elsewhere. Life that would not devestate her children like it did their own.
The android returned to its elevator, a chromium skeleton descending to its tomb. | 2020-06-20T07:11:42 | 2020-06-20T04:04:28 | 354 | 65 |
[WP] Reincarnation is real. When you die you get a choice of 3 random animals and/or people. Your options are so horrible you become the first to try to refuse reincarnation. | “Nope.”
“Did you just… did you just *nope* to reincarnation?”
“Yup.”
Death stared at me, incredulous, from across the desk. To be honest, he wasn't what I had expected. Sure, he was dressed in a black shirt, a black tie and, I had to assume, black pants and his jet-black hair, flecked with grey, was smoothed back from his pale forehead like a small-time Hollywood villain. But there was no cape or hood or scythe in sight. He wasn’t skeletal and he didn’t work from any sort of cave or hell-like dimension.
Actually, his circular office was pretty sweet. My chair was soft but firm, the hardwood floor gleamed but the plushy red rug under my feet made the room feel warmer, cosier. Dotted around the walls were oil paintings of men with black hair, dark eyes and the same delicately curved brows and high cheekbones as the man sat opposite me: generations of Death, I realised.
In the middle of it all was a large, sturdy, mahogany desk covered in neatly stacked papers. A polished granite paperweight carved in the shape of a skull was the only indication that I sat in the office of Death himself.
“You know that you can’t just nope out of this,” Death blinked at me, still not believing I was actually trying to refuse my right to be reincarnated.
“Why?” I asked, “I don’t want to be reincarnated as any of the choices you gave me so I’ll just… not bother.”
“Not bother?!” he squawked, eyebrows threatening to recede as far back as his hairline, “that’s not – that’s not how it works, you have to pick one.”
I stared at the paper he had set before me with the three random choices I had been given for reincarnation.
A slug.
A tapeworm.
A swan.
“Nope.” I repeated.
Death sighed and put his face in his hands, “You know I have quite a lot of people to get through today?”
“Do you only do people who die who speak English?” I asked, “is there a Spanish Death or a Chinese Death? Is there some kind of magic that means you can speak any language? Wait this is the underworld, right? Maybe there is *no such thing* as language.”
Death stared at me, nostrils flaring. “Pick. One.” He hissed through gritted teeth.
“I want something else.”
“You can’t have something else.”
“Then I don’t want to be reincarnated.”
Death made a sound that was something like an *ugh* and snatched the paper from my hands.
“Hmm, alright, well tapeworm, slug, I understand you might not want to come back as one of those.”
“Might not?”
He shot me a look, but continued, “but a *swan*. A beautiful, graceful swan. Spend your days swimming around, eating bread, being owned by the Queen.”
I stared at him without blinking, “Swans are evil.”
His shoulders sagged and he sighed in exasperation, “are you really trying to convince Death that something is evil?”
“Well you actually seem like a chill dude,” I shrugged, “but *swans*, those bastards are mean. I’ve seen them attack ducks. Unprovoked! They think they’re so high and mighty because they’ve got those long necks and there’s a ballet about them or some shit but they’re bullies. Think they’re so much better than other birds but *newsflash motherfuckers*: ducks rule, swans suck.”
For a few seconds Death actually seemed to be speechless.
“You’re being ridiculous,” he said, finally.
“Rather die than be a swan,” I shrugged.
“That’s literally the choice you’re making.”
I shrugged again but Death didn’t argue. He was squinting at me now, a curious gleam in his eyes. One corner of his lips quirked upwards.
“I suppose, perhaps, there is something I could do.”
“Redo my choices?” I said eagerly, “Oh man, well, if I could choose anything I would fucking *love* to be a lion. I know it’s cliché but, seriously, lounge in the sun all day, have my lion women bring me food, groom my awesome mane, that would be sweet.”
“I can’t change the choices for reincarnation,” Death said, reclining back in his chair and idly chewing a pen, “but I might be able to offer a way out.”
I tensed, wary for the first time that I might be about to make a deal with the Devil. Almost literally.
I swallowed, trying to appear calm, “how?”
“How would you like to work for me?” Death grinned, mischief flickering in those eyes.
And despite every one of my instincts squirming to get away, I grinned right back.
| "You're kidding right?"
I stood before my three choices, each image illuminating the darkness with a bright light.
"I'm not doing this." I said out loud, in front of him. The two of us stood in complete darkness. Some might call it limbo, the place between heaven and hell, but to the laymen, it was known as "that spot where you pick your second life."
"You must choose one." His voice held a tone of impatience. Apparently, he was seen differently based on each person. Different religions call him by different names: Peter, Anubis, Thanatos.
"Either I become a hagfish, which you know very well are the scum of the earth-"
"They serve an important part in the ocean's ecosystem." He interrupted. "Granted. They do possess a rather...unappealing appearance."
"Yeah, or I become a housefly. A housefly. Musca Domestica. The bane of my existence, and countless others on the planet. They're annoying, irritating, pests and deserve to burn in hell for the frustration and anger they cause to us."
"Like the hagfish, despite the trouble they cause, they're important for clearing out rubbish matter and things you humans throw away."
"So basically, I become a garbage collector until I die or get smashed by a fly swatter."
"If you're going to complain about the above two, that leaves your third choice."
"No." My voice trembled. "Definitely not him."
"But he's your only human choice. Your lifespan will be much longer than the two animal choices offered."
"I...I can't decide. Can't I opt to not be reincarnated? I'd rather live in oblivion, or not live at all. I wouldn't know I'm dead, my consciousness would be scattered till I no longer acknowledge my prescence in the universe, and neither will its inhabitants."
"A tough concept to absorb, and a redundant one. Make your choice, John Appleseed, deceased June 13, 1946."
"Stop calling me that. I don't need a reminder on the day an eighteen-wheeler rolled over me."
Was that a smirk on his face? I couldn't tell. For a immortal and possibly omnipotent being, he seemed to have a sense of humour. For a second, I wondered if the position of this choice-giver was a one in a billion chance for a new soul to take.
Then again, my choices seemed to be a one in a trillion chance. What were the odds I'd get the worse beings to be reincarnated as?
"How about this. I'll flip a three-head coin. Whichever face it lands on, you take that choice. Fair?"
"Well, I don't think I can make this decision. Fine."
He held out his hand and a flash of light sparked, and in his palm was a strange object that looked like three ovals fused together at the top and bottom, while allowing the centre to expand like a sphere.
"Ready. Go!" He tossed it and it landed on the ground, crinkling.
"The human!" He announced.
My spiritual face paled. "Oh god. Can I reroll? The hagfish is sounding really good now."
"Nope." He sounded extremely happy. "Fate picked it for you."
"Maybe the coin was weighted?"
My complaint fell on deaf ears. I groaned. I couldn't believe this was happening.
"Oh don't look so glum. The person you're going to be is gonna be great! He's rich, owns many businesses, and may potentially become one of the most powerful men in the world!"
I stared at the image, which was flashing green, while the other two faded away into darkness.
Look at him, I thought depressingly. That face, those small hands.
That hair looks like a dead rat.
Was my last thought before I was reincarnated. | 2016-11-22T07:28:56 | 2016-11-22T02:08:40 | 118 | 59 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job. | "At 2:47 this afternoon, a super-strength unit at the worksite for the new bridge will attempt suicide. He's worked 16 hour days for two straight months, and no one cares. He has a Masters in Biology and he is made to carry I-beams endlessly."
"Keep it short, Mr. Major." A curt reply came.
I scowled his way. "I will continue to give context until you either listen, or find someone whose precognition extends further than mine." I handle an entire city on my own, no way they hassle me on this.
"Whatever. Continue."
I grumbled. "At 3:31 pm, a psychic unit being used for mind control will be beaten by a superior for selling a television too cheaply. They charged 250% retail. If not prevented the unit will release a wave of energy while defending themselves, causing 3 comas and the brain death of their attacker."
"We'll get a team out there to restrain the unit."
"What about their assailant?"
"Continue."
"What about their assailant?"
"Nothing will have happened."
"Son of a-"
"CONTINUE, Precog Unit!"
I took a deep breath. "At 1:46, a precognition unit will kill his Responding Action overseer and escape the precinct. He makes a clean getaway because, of course, he sees everything coming."
"What? But you're the only-" He looked up, into the barrel of the gun I had managed to acquire and smuggle in. They always assumed seeing the myriad ways things can go wrong would dissuade a Precog from taking risks. I had waited long enough to find a solution.
"I'm so tired of snitching on my fellow supers...of calling out you norms and seeing nothing done to THEM. I hereby tender my resignation." I flipped the safety off.
He stammered. "W-wait! Your prediction can't work! You said 1:46! It's already 1:49!"
"Huh...guess I should have mentioned I was using your watch for that particular prediction."
He looked down...1:45:55...56...57...
"...It's a little slow."
**BANG**
Edit: Punctuation fix. Also, thanks for the many kind words. Part 2 will come as soon as I can get to a real keyboard. Mobile is hard to work with. | John slowly drank his cup of coffee, knowing too well he was too much of an asset to Mr. Petersburg. He did practically nothing all day in this darn car dealership, but he got payed well. John looked up from his corner office and saw the prime target, a rich-looking woman looking at the Ferraris. He got up and continued sipping his coffee as he approached the woman.
"Hi Maam" he said half-heartedly "How are you today".
"Absolutly awful," cried the obnoxious woman "your coffee is too dark!".
"The coffee doesn't matter" said John.
"Coffee doesn't matter" mumbled the woman, dropping the coffee onto the ground. As soon as she did so she shook her head, confused.
"Well" said the woman, still a bit dazed, "How much for this Ferrari here".
"$750,000".
"I can tell its only worth $400,000 you cheapskate!" The woman was practically screaming.
"You will be quiet" said John, already too tired "and buy the Ferrari for $750,000".
"Be quiet" the woman whispered "buy Ferrari".
John gave the woman her keys and counted in his head his commissions, he saw another woman. His other prime target, but not for cars. After all, he had always had a thing for a woman who could fly. | 2020-02-05T17:14:17 | 2020-02-05T13:58:16 | 1,962 | 252 |
[WP] an immortal man who cannot be physically injured is a passenger on a jet that's going to crash.
What's he thinking? What's he do? | Jesse dug her fingernails into the armrests. Only after a few seconds did she realize that on one side she was accidentally digging into the fingers of the man in the window seat. She quickly moved her hand, and yelped out a 'Sorry'.
The man turned to her and smiled, a calm gentle smile, a smile that did not fit with the violent turbulence rocking the plane. "It's quite alright." His voice was so soft and serene. It immediately calmed her down.
"I've just never been on a flight with turbulence like this before." She was imploring him for more comfort, she wanted him to tell her that everything was going to be fine. If he told her that she would be fine, she would believe him.
But he looked around the plane and said, "Yes, this is far worse than any turbulence I've experienced either." She felt her stomach tighten as he said that, she had been counting on comfort from this man more than she realized, and the matter-of-fact tone which he had said that had stripped it from her.
"I hope we'll all be alright," she said. He had moved his hand from the armrest, so she quickly gripped it again, her knuckles were white from the strain.
"It does not seem likely," he said, still looking around the plane.
"What?" the knot in her stomach was moving up to her throat.
"If you look around the plane you can see that we are definitely tilted at a downwards angle. This means that the plane is likely losing altitude. The only reason I could think for this to occur is some sort of engine failure, and given that we are currently travelling above the Himalayas, a safe emergency landing seems unlikely."
"What are you-" was all Jesse could manage before a loud explosion rocked the cabin. She couldn't see where it came from, but the plane immediately started to plummet. The oxygen mask came down and Jesse desperately fumbled with it to fix it to her face. She finally attached it and looked at the man next to her. To her surprise he had not put on his mask, more so he did not look worried at all. In fact, he looked her in the eyes, and smiled. That same serene smile that was so out of place. He slowly placed his hand on top of hers, the gentle pressure of his hand was so comforting. She locked eyes with him. She needed him to tell her she wasn't going to die. She needed him to tell her she was going to be alright. "Please sir, I don't want to die here. I want to go back home. I want to see my parents again. I want to see my boyfriend. I want to see my cat. I don't want to die. Please, tell me I'll be fine."
He broke eye contact with her for just a second and frowned. "You will be fine." He spoke the words and a wave of relief washed over her. She let go of the arm rest and gripped his hand as hard as she could. He still just held hers with the gentlest amount of pressure. "Death is not the tragedy that the living fear it will be. It is merely the next step on a very long journey."
"What do you mean?"
He looked out the window, the mountains were rapidly rising up to meet them. He turned to her placing his other hand underneath hers, and held it firmly. "I mean, you will never know how much I envy you."
"Wh-" | The world has changed much in the last 100 years. Life's become much easier, and harder, at the same time.
I always enjoyed flying, like i did in World War 2 over the pacific, good times they were. All those kids, my superiors, my wingman, all dead and gone, thinking i was gone too after a 37 millimeter cut my wing clean off over guadalcanal.
I could've claimed it was a miracle i survived, but someone had to see my P-38 blow up in a fireball on the slopes of hill 123. Had to stay hidden in the jungle for 3 months before i managed to disguise myself into a marine battalion.
It was not the first time i had to hide myself as not to expose my gift, and curse.
For over 30000 years i have wandered this planet, moving every couple of years to not raise suspicions. I saw the rise and fall of countless empires, many of whom i'm the only trace left on earth.
I was there when the pyramids where built, a feat on unequaled engineering to this date, at least for what they had to work with, and i was there over time, to see them decay to the ruins they are today.
I had dozens of families, all of whom failed to provide me with another eternal companion, all of whom disappeared.
And here i am now, on a flight to Paris, losing power over the Atlantic, looking at all these people, children, who will never see another sunrise.
I know they are nothing to me, but my humanity prevents me from not feeling sorry them, for being unable to share my gift, for being unable to save any of them.
Yet again i'll have to start a new life to hide my gift.
I enjoyed being vice-president of a fortune 500 company, rich and everything, but it's over now. Maybe in a century or 2 i'll be ready for another shot at this.
The planes explodes in pieces around me, sending hundreds to their demise and leaving me unscratched, i survived again, despite all hope of this being the end of my story too.
As i start to swim towards africa i wonder what will be of me when this world ends, will i be stuck in the void of space for all eternity?
Who knows, this curse is truly the worst.
Disclaimer: english is not my first language, i have no creativity, and this story probably sucks. Don't hate me please.
Little edit: seriously thought, how was this for a first time? | 2013-11-23T11:13:33 | 2013-11-23T10:18:16 | 3,584 | 75 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | Mortals are not permitted to foresee their own death.
That was the only truth I'd gleaned from my years of these warnings popping up everywhere. It doesn't work with mirrors or anything - nothing appears when I don't look at a person directly. I can't look up to see my own - nothing's there. It's haunted me. Every time a warning is something that isn't isolated - mass shootings, fires, explosions, contagious diseases. . . I would feel this incredible panic, and try to flee as quickly as possible. Nothing ever happened; these people all must be dying when I'm not around. I've never actually seen someone die. I just hear it on the news, or from a friend.
I know people will die. I don't know when, I don't know where, but I know how. Every single person I've ever met, without fail. Then, one day, they changed. They started to flicker, like a TV set to static. One by one they became illegible, until most of Grand Central Station was filled with these disturbing signs. I didn't panic. I'd spent most of my life running from these signs, trying to make sure I wouldn't get caught up in them.
But today, I felt something different. I felt peace. I looked around, at all of these flickering signs, and I knew.
Mortals cannot foresee their own death.
Whatever was going to happen to all of these people, was going to happen to me as well. I scanned the crowd, looking for signs that were still visible. The people waiting for the train near me still had signs; they would survive. The next platform over was not so fortunate.
The survivors' train leaves in just three minutes. The other, in eight. Sometime within those five minutes, we will all die. Something, someone, somewhere in this station is the cause of death for all of us. Too many flickering signs. They obscure my vision - I can't see the ones still visible. I need to get higher.
I climb the stairs. If it's a time-bomb, three minutes won't be enough to convince everyone to leave. Not even a fire alarm could empty Grand Central that fast. It has to be a detonator. Please, let it be someone in this building. Please.
There's too many signs. Too much static. I can't see. I can't see!
I start climbing up the side of a booth. A nearby guard shouts at me to get down. I can barely hear him over the sound of my own heartbeat. He approaches, and raises his weapon. That's when I see his sign. It flickers more than the rest, as if his fate isn't necessarily tied to theirs. I stare in confusion for a moment, then continue scanning the crowd. The guard doesn't matter.
That's when I see it. The sign that I've seen countless times before. The only sign that I've ever interfered with, the only death that I've ever tried to prevent. Suicide. It practically glows above the head of an unassuming white male. An average guy. Everyone around him still has that strange, flickering sign. It's the only chance I have. I won't be talking this guy down, like I tried with that girl. There's no time. The train just left. Five minutes, at the most. I don't have enough time!
I look back down. The officer below me is radioing for help, and threatening me with his rifle. I look up. The man's sign changes. The flickers stop. All at once, the signs burst back into life, a hundred different causes floating in the air. I've already made my decision. The guard below me has a new sign. Head trauma.
I leap down, my feet meeting him squarely in the chest, knocking him back and down the stairs. The rifle falls. I pick it up, and aim down the sights. I use the man's sign to mark him out from the crowd. I pray for a clean shot, but I've almost no experience with a rifle.
A women walking near him has a new sign, one I've never seen before. Collateral damage. My heart wrenches inside my chest, and for a less than a second the signs flicker, before returning to the way they were. I know what I have to do. Two innocent people, dead by my hand. A hundred others will be saved, but those two people will haunt me for the rest of my life. I pull the trigger. Gunshots echo throughout the building. The woman falls, but so does the man. Their signs flicker and die before my eyes.
I drop the rifle, and kneel down. Despite the blood on my hands, a small smile creeps across my face. After years of torment, this curse has finally proven worthwhile. I can hardly hear the screams. My ears ring from the gunshots, and tears roll down my face. Tears of joy and sorrow, at the lives saved and lives lost.
I look up at the beautiful ceiling of Grand Central, but I can't see it. Instead, all I see, in small, flickering letters, is my own sign. I wish there was some way I could express to these officers that I don't blame them. I just don't have the strength or the time, because there is only one thing I know to be true; I cannot foresee my own death. | Nobody sees the world in the same way. Some people see it as an adventure, others as a game. Me? I've never had the liberty of enjoying it.
Imagine knowing how something would play out before it happened. Imagine the surprise of life being taken out. Imagine the joy of living being sucked away because all you can ever think about is death.
That's what my life is like. I see dead men walking. Not literally. I don't mean I see zombies. I mean I can see how everybody will die before they even know.
Imagine seeing your newborn child. Imagine holding him in your arms. Imagine trying to smile at your wife when you see the words "measles" appear above his head. You know there's a vaccine. You know you can stop it. But your wife doesn't believe in vaccines. You have to struggle with your inner demons as you watch your child grow up in front of your eyes, only to be stricken down when you least expect it. You have to comfort your wife and tell her that "he's going to be okay" when you know the truth.
That's when you realize that the "suicide" that appears above your wife's head is indeed going to come true, and you can't stop it. No matter how much your comfort her, no matter how many times you tell her it's going to be okay, one night you still wake up and she's gone. The search parties never find her, but you know the truth.
When you finally get back to work, you learn that your boss died of a heart attack. You pretend to be shocked. "He was so young" you say. "How could this happen?" You know it's fate. You know you can't stop it.
The years drag by. Some people leave, others pass away. Cancer, heart attacks, murder, suicide, car accidents. The list goes on and on, each in the exact same way you knew it would.
You start taking mental notes of the most common causes. Suicide seems to be rampant, but murder is a close second. As people leave the office one way or the other, they're always replaced by the same one. Murder.
As the last "cancer" one dies, they are replaced with one that you are not very familiar with. "Electric Chair".
You find it strange. After all, the only crime punishable by death is... murder.
Perhaps fate can be changed. You realize this could be your chance for redemption. One day, he leaves work early, and you follow him into the alley. He looks back, and sees you following him. He tries to say hello. With no words, you pull the gun from your coat and shoot him in the chest. He falls to the ground, limp. Is he dead? You don't know. You've never killed a man before.
You look behind you. Is someone there? Did someone see? Nobody is around. Nobody saw... except the camera.
You forgot the office had CCTV cameras inside AND outside. You panic. You have to stop this. You're a hero, not a killer. You saved all your co-workers. You've stopped a murderer. You can't let anyone see the footage.
You get in your car and drive to the back of the building. You take the lighter from your pocket and spark it. You throw it into the paper bin outside and watch it burn. Before you can get back into your car, the burning paper has ignited the tires. You watch, helplessly, as your car erupts into flames. You run away as fast as you can, until the explosion rocks you off your feet. The burning car had ignited the gas lines. The whole building is gone. Nobody could have survived. My co-workers were all accidentally murdered.
Before the sirens closed in, I took one last look back to make sure I at least took care of my quarry.
There was a trail of blood leading to an empty parking space. The murderer had still gotten away.
"I'll consider this your official confession." The police officer said to me as the dim lights continued to flicker.
"Yes. That's what I would call it." I replied calmly.
"You realize what the sentence is for murder around here, correct?"
"Yes." I replied once again. "Electric chair. I've been able to read my own cause of death for years." | 2015-03-31T09:44:20 | 2015-03-31T09:32:55 | 42 | 12 |
[WP] Pyromancer's Last Rule: When there's nothing left to burn, you must set fire to yourself. You survey the battlefield with a grim look, and prepare for the final battle. | *"You're really going to do it, aren't you?"*
We two stood alone on the charred battlefield, naught but death and ash surrounding us in all directions. I did not turn to look at my companion, preferring to memorize the scene around me. It would be only fitting for my last great work to be the last thing I see.
"It's the last rule."
*"Rules were made to be broken."*
Now I did turn, the movement kicking up little puffs of grey ash as I looked at the only other survivor of this conflagration. Morgan gazed back at me(presumably) from beneath their dark veil, a vertical scorch mark among the burnt ruins.
"You truly do not plan to join me?"
*"Do you think they knew what they were doing?"* They questioned, turning towards a smoldering pyre that had once been a mighty siege engine. *"When they began this war? Do you think they knew what they were unleashing when they conscripted our academy? When they killed our students?"* They scuffed their foot, kicking white-grey up into the dry air. I waited for them to speak again.
*"No. I will not join you upon a pyre of our own making."*
For all our years together, I mused, I had never seen more than a brief flash of Morgan's skin. Perhaps I should not be surprised that a pyromancer who worked wrapped in darkness would reject our final mission.
"Where will you go?"
*"The Eastern Pass."*
"That's a fairy tale. And a death trap. No one has ever faced the Pass Guardian and lived."
*"Or those that do just never come back. Still a better death than self-immolation."*
Neither of us spoke for a moment. The sound of crackling fires was carried past us by the weak wind.
"Goodbye, Morgan."
*"Goodbye, Abigor."*
I kneeled in the ash, resting my hands on my knees and closing my eyes. I remained there until Morgan's footsteps faded into silence. Then I began my final work.
The flame sprung up outside me first, creating a ring of fire around my seated figure. Slowly, the flame crept closer, finally pushing up and around me, licking at my skin and clothes. But I was a pyromancer, and even heat such as this was harmless to me. Then a warmth suddenly blossomed within my chest and spread like wildfire through me, blissful agony running riot through every inch of my flesh, and my eyes snapped open and I stared into the beautiful firestorm raging around me and I took an impossible breath and then-- | Decimated was an appropriate description for what laid before him. The destruction and chaos that he brought to these plains was greater than he imagined. The fun and excitement he received while burning the men, women, and children, the feeling he had when he made them watch as he reduced everything they knew and loved to ash was unparalleled.
But it is done. He feels nothing anymore, yet the hunger still sits inside him... eagerly awaiting his next victims. He scans the horizon for any signs of life, anything to destroy or set fire to, but there is nothing. He thought for a moment.
Is 'nothing' flammable? Can it be burned to a crisp? Does it scream like the living creatures?
No, probably not. He wouldn't know how to set fire to such a thing. He pondered some more. He pondered for what felt like years but was actually only minutes. The hunger grew inside of him but he had no fuel to feed it. It screamed and he screamed. He scratched at the ash layered earth beneath him, there had to be a worm, a mite, something to destroy, and then he realized.
There is one more thing to burn. One last hurrah.
Himself.
He was overjoyed with the thought and wasted no time preparing. Columns of flame erupted around him, twisting and searing hot, and he left himself immune as they quickly closed in around him. If he could weep tears of joy he would. He closed his eyes and in the next moment he was engulfed in his inferno.
The pyromancer leaves nothing in his wake. Not even himself. | 2016-05-12T11:53:15 | 2016-05-12T10:17:14 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] People gain superpowers the day after meeting their soulmate. When a hot young celebrity does so the day after a meet-and-greet, they're desperate to find every person who they even just shook hands with that day. | Beverly McCallister lived life. Parties, cameos in two dozen television shows, a mansion that could have crammed most of the other ninety-nine percent inside--even a fledgling career as a musician, fueled primarily by name recognition as her talent was sorely lacking.
Beverly McCallister had it all. Anything she wanted rested a snap of her fingers away. And if it rested any further, her publicist would make it happen. First pitch at an Angels game? She'd done it. Private jet? Which of the six?
What Beverly McCallister didn't live was love. It wasn't for a lack of trying either. She'd looked high and low, east and west, even in every room of her extravagant mansion just in case some lost party-goer was actually that love she so sorely sought.
It was for nothing.
For every dime she had, her despair deepened. For every dollar she donated, the doldrums of depression worsened. The tabloids all talked of what she could become if she'd only meet her true love--her soulmate. They talked of how successful she'd become with superpowers.
Beverly didn't care about superpowers. All she could talk about was love.
The meet-and-greet went well enough. She smiled politely at every fan, greeted them with a smile and a handshake. Some she hugged, even if just an awkward, one-handed hug over their shoulder.
And then the superpowers happened. She was livid at her publicist, that insufferable fellow who'd given yet another interview about how true love just might not be for everybody. He was dressed like the finest flower, adorned head to toe in the most lavish of fashions. Courtesy of Beverly McCallister's wallet, of course.
When she glared, he should have wilted. Not the slow wilt of a flower without water, but the quick curling of petals of a flower scorched by the heat of an approaching wildfire.
But he didn't. He jumped, uncomfortable at the pinprick of heat he'd felt upon his cheek.
"What was that?" he said.
"What was what?" Beverly said with an exaggerated eyeroll. "You're always so dramatic."
He shook his head. "I felt a burn. Here on my cheek. Are you mad at me?"
"No," Beverly lied. "Well, yes. Of course I am. That was rude of you to give that interview, no matter how true it might be. But I wouldn't burn you. You're my friend."
"Publicist," he corrected. "Here."
He lunged forwards, dousing her in his Hydro Flask--courtesy of her wallet as well.
"What the fuck?" Beverly yelped, jumping backwards. Water dripped from her skirt.
She shot him a nasty glare and this time they both saw the hems of his shirt begin to singe.
Beverly blinked. Her publicist took a surprised step back.
"You've done it," Beverly said, mouth wide open and hands trembling. "You've done it."
"I have?" he said. He dusted off his shirt where a tiny ash had formed. *Oh, fuck.* "I have," he repeated, this time with confidence.
"It must have been somebody at the meet-and-greet yesterday. Who could it have been? Do you have a list?"
"I'll find them," the publicist said, not eager to face her wrath again. Shirts were replaceable. But a face? Well, those too, but only if she would cover the surgery. "I promise. I'll find your true love."
"Bring me all of them," Beverly said. "Every single one of the people who attended."
"I'll find them," he promised. He took a step back.
Beverly's eyes glowed dangerously. They'd met and already she teetered on the edge of a fiery existence. What if they connected? What if the love bloomed into its full potential?
"I'll find them," her publicist said again.
But he couldn't promise that he'd bring them to her.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated! | “God, this stupid fly!” I wasn’t sure how it got in the house, or why it felt the need to be in this room with me when there were quite a few others to choose from, but I was sick of it. I set down my book and got up, prepared to deal with it. After a few seconds of buzzing around the room and me chasing after it like an idiot, it landed delicately on the wall. I snuck up to it, quiet as could be, and *slammed* my hand onto it. That fly was deader than a doornail. And so was my wall? There was a very large, very hand shaped hole in my wall, straight through to the next room.
“What the fuck?” And then I thought about it. And I realized what exactly this all meant. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck shit!” I had gotten my powers the day after a four hour long meet and greet, where I talked to hundreds, maybe thousands, of people. Which meant my soulmate was one of those people. Of fucking course.
I called my manager and explained the situation, and she was *not* happy. Like, “you killed my father prepare to die” not happy. “Harry, did you put your name in the goblet of fire” not happy. “Ah, fuck, I can’t believe you’ve done this” not happy.
“You’re telling me that your soulmate is a *random stranger* that you met *during the meet and greet yesterday* and you have *no idea* who it is?!” she screeched.
I pulled the phone away from my ear. “Yes, Laura, that’s exactly what I’m telling you. You don’t have to break my eardrums in the process.”
“Ohhhh, you’re in for it now buddy boy. Do you know how fucking hard finding your soulmate is gonna be?!”
“Yes! I do! I have a working brain!”
Laura sighed heavily. “Okay, this shouting isn’t gonna get us anywhere.” Thank you, common sense. “I’ll contact the convention center and see if I can get the names or faces of everyone who bought tickets, and then we can compare them with anyone you or security remember seeing. Once we’ve narrowed that down, I guess we try to find people who have only recently gotten their powers?”
“I guess, yeah. Whoever my soulmate is, they’re probably freaked out over this too, since they have the same problem I do.”
“Fair point. Well, I’m going to get on this, don’t break anymore walls.” I could feel her glare through the phone.
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Bye Laura.” She hung up on me, as always, and I sat back down to read my book. Which would’ve worked great, had I not continued staring at the hole in my wall. How the hell was I going to deal with super strength, and how the hell was I going to find my soulmate?
Meanwhile, at a hotel a few miles from the convention center, a boy had just fried the circuits in the hotel phone. “Huh, wicked.” He pulled out his own phone instead, and ordered his pizza that way. | 2020-07-29T07:43:47 | 2020-07-29T06:02:00 | 1,296 | 416 |
[WP] Upon birth, babies are screened and given a random ability based on what their parents had. Your dad had telepathy and your mom could sing any song perfectly, even mimicking the voice. You were given the seemingly useless ability of playing songs into someone else's head. | I sulked at my grandfathers deathbed. He was a master at playing any instrument, a genius in the musical arts. It all started when he lost the ability to hear, then came his sight. Being the amazing man that he is, he would play feeling the vibrations. Even without his senses, he played just as he did on my 9th birthday. My mom would help sing, as unfortunately that was not a gift my grandfather had.
He played beautiful chords on the piano, switching to guitar, then to a trumpet, keeping the rhythm with my mom. She would always change her voice ever so slightly to be more jazzy, to sentimental, whatever it was. He played *We’ll meet again* by Vera Lynn, one of my moms favorite, and soon to be mine.
To 9 year old me, this was the best birthday gift I could ask for, my grandpa there to wish my happy birthday. The One Man Band was leaving town. Over the years he was very popular, charming everyone with the charismatic music man personality, but he would always play that same song at the end of every performance while everyone was leaving or grabbing drinks.
Most figured it was some sort of ‘Come Back Soon!’ to next performances, but I knew otherwise. It was a special song for me.
We would see a few of his shows, but most I would watch on TV.
“It’s time to go pumpkin.” My dad looked at me ushering me out. “Just.. give me a little more time.” I stared at my Grandfathers blank expression on the hospital bed. Old age was breaking him down, it was inevitable.
My dad exchanged glances with my mom, probably using telepathy to decide what to do. Eventually they left the room, and I sat solemnly with my grandfather, holding his hand.
My father was able to communicate to my grandfather with telepathy, and he would grin at his words or flutter his eyes. I sniffled into his side, squeezing his hand. Carefully, I listened in, playing music in his head. It started with the original *We’ll Meet Again* , then transforming into all the different covers he had done. The flute, euphonium, piano, guitar, marimba, all beautifully played and transmitted. I could hear it as well, softly playing as my tear dripped onto his hand.
His finger tapped on my palm.
A small rumble came from him, turning into a hum. Tapping his finger to the beat, his eyes fluttered recognizing the song.
Finally I transmitted the song with my own voice singing.
His face shifted, smiling.
**We’ll meet again, don’t know where, don’t know when.**
**Oh I know we’ll meet again some sunnyyy day..**
————————————————
sorry this is my first writing prompt and I wanted to do a different take on this so sorry if it’s bad haha | Useless, they said. Useless, they called it. Until you proved otherwise. You proved them _wrong_. Other people had flashier abilities, ones that allowed them to have a life of grandeur and success. They are the ones that go fight the big battles; the ones plastered across every screen. But not you. No, you were given the dirty work. The jobs none of those sparkly heroes wanted or could even handle. You were chosen specifically for your unusual ability, to carry out the missions reserved for those who were as stealthy as they were also ruthless.
So many believed that you couldn’t do anything useful with your power, but you were determined to succeed no matter what. You spent years training your body as well as your mind, knowing that you will need both at peak condition in order to achieve what you wanted. Which wasn’t worldwide recognition.
That was beneath you, really. You just wanted to prove to yourself more than anyone else that you could do it; that you could be of use and service for the greater good. In the end, all those who mocked you would see the truth and understand how wrong they were.
But for now, you only concentrate on your next mission, always looking forward to taking down your next target. It doesn’t matter what they need you for, be it infiltration, communication, or interrogation. Your ability only allows you to play songs into other people’s minds, but that can be resourceful if you play your cards right.
From questioning suspects and dragging information from them by nearly driving them insane after forcefully playing the same awful song over and over in their heads, to sending encoded messages through song lyrics to other agents. Or your favorite, using your power to distract the enemy before physically attacking and subduing them. It doesn’t matter what you do, it only matters that you do it. And that, in the end, proves your ability to be truly __useful__. | 2021-04-08T10:50:43 | 2021-04-08T10:36:35 | 159 | 27 |
[WP] You are a medieval villager who has been cursed by a witch. She curses you to be live until you are the last human alive. After a 1000 years you try to start the apocalypse. | *Five*
The button in my sweaty hands seemed to weigh a thousand pounds.
*Four*
It is 5:29 AM, July 16th, 1945.
*Three*
As the seconds felt like hours, my mind raced back to the laboratory. An old man with white, eccentric looking hair spoke to me.
"Do you really think this is such a good idea?"
Hah, he questions me.
He has no idea what I've been through.
1000 years of boredom. And so I respond.
"Look at the world. This is necessary. Do you want them to continue this madness?"
He stared at me.
That gaze had always unnerved me.
"Very well. If you believe the continued development is truly the right choice for us and our posterity, then we will continue."
*Two*
"ironic", I thought to myself. "Man has always chased life, while all I have ever chased is death"
*One*
They'll never understand.
*Zero*
A flash of light erupted over the horizon, as a new dawn for humans rose over the land.
A purplish-grey cloud rose up over the desert, as a firestorm roared below it.
"Now I am become Death, the destroyer of worlds" I said.
A man next to me softly whispered "Now we are all sons of bitches."
That we are.
My name is Oppenheimer.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Not my first story, so I feel like I should have done better on this one. I had a great idea for it after reading the writing prompt, then kinda just stuck everything together as I wrote. Oh well. Comments and stuff very much welcome! | "Ay niqqa u cursed 2 be the last dude"
"Welp, sh!t"
*1000 years later*
"Damn this be old I wanna die"
*plotting apocalypse*
*200 years later everybody dead*
"Tf everybody dead why am I not ded 2"
*other dude walks by*
"Ay tf i plotted an apocolypse y u not ded bruh"
"Tf u mean i plotted an apocalypse y YOU no ded"
"Tf u mean i did that sh1t"
"Nah bro I did it I got cursed by this witch and had to kill everybody so I could die"
"Brooooo I got cursed too"
Together: "ohhhhhh.... Fuck." | 2018-09-01T00:16:09 | 2018-08-31T23:50:10 | 243 | 41 |
[WP] At 18 years of age, everyone gets a weapon based on their personality and strengths. All your friends got traditional weapons, but you? Oh, you got something interesting that no one knows how to wield.
Courtesy of [WordPress](https://promptuarium.wordpress.com/2017/01/14/an-interesting-weapon/) | "What the fuck is this?" I held the weapon out to the receptionist at the desk.
"Sir, our process is very thorough. I can assure you there has never been someone who hasn't been correctly matched with a weapon before." Even as she said it, her face showed her uncertainty.
"I can assure you that *this*," I waved the weapon around in my hand, "isn't even a weapon. What am I supposed to do with this?"
"Sir, I'm sorry, but I don't know what to tell you."
"Tell me what the fuck this thing is!" The receptionist paused for a moment before she picked up the phone and started dialing.
"Hello, yes, I've got a problem down here."
"18 years. I've been hyped up for 18 years!"
"He doesn't like his weapon."
"Everyone else got cool ass weapons."
"I understand, but I think it's better if you take a look at this yourself."
"Or even a weapon at all this is a god damned, what is this?"
"I'm not sure, it doesn't seem like a weapon at all to me."
"You know this other kid in my class, Tony? Fucking katana. His fedora wearing ass has a mother-fucking katana."
"Okay, I'll send him right up." She put the phone down and looked to me. "Mr. Atsworth will see you upstairs, if you'd follow me." She walked out from behind the counter, and on her hip I could see a coiled whip with razors along its side. I liked trying to figure out how the weapons tied into the users personality. Maybe she was sharp, intelligent? Or has the elegance and grace for a whip? Everyone's weapon was delivered to them on their 18th birthday, and in one way or another was very uniquely designed for you. No two weapons were the same, even twins could end up with entirely different weapons. It was something everyone looked forward to- even those who had no interest in violence somehow got something that was perfect for them- something that helped you pick locks, or extremely potent and accurate long range pepper spray. But I had no idea what I was supposed to do with mine.
I followed the receptionist into an elevator, where we rode up to the highest floor.
"He's just outside here. Go straight in." The doors opened, and I got off by myself. I was in a small office, papers, sketches, and books lining the floors and walls. In the center, a man sat at his desk, busy with writing. He looked up at me.
"I understand you have a question about your weapon."
"More of a problem, really." He looked at me closely.
"A question," he repeated.
"No," I insisted, placing the cube on his desk. "A problem." He picked up the cube and traced his fingers alongside the peculiar golden engravings on the side. It was intensely black, a depth I had never seen before, and it small enough to fit snugly in your palm.
"You don't want it?" He asked. I was taken aback.
"I, want an explanation."
"Well then it appears we have a defect. I'll get something else sent to you right away." I nodded, slowly, but felt a strange resistance. He got up towards a trashcan.
"No, wait." For some reason, I couldn't stand the idea of losing it. He simply walked back and placed the cube in my hands with a smirk.
"There are no defects here." From out of his pocket, he produced a pen. "This is my weapon."
"Does it turn into a sword?" I asked.
"No."
"Shoot out darts? Gas?"
"Nothing like that. It simply writes very well. I can write with this thing for hours, the ideas and focus never stops coming. And I never feel any strain. Not every weapon is a sword or a rocket launcher." I understood the point he was making, but I didn't think it matched. I wasn't destined to be a librarian or a healer. I couldn't tell why, but I always I belonged out there adventuring. How was this cube supposed to protect me?
"I'm not a writer."
"No, you're not. An interesting thought, maybe if you accept your weapon, it'll surprise you." I looked down at the little cube in my hands.
"Okay, but what does that even mean?"
"The weapon is a part of you. If you refuse to work with it, it wont work with you. In your case, this is especially important." I realized I was not going to get anything done. My best hope was this cube hurt like a bitch when it was lobbed at someones head. I put it in my pocket, and thanked him for his time.
Inside the elevator, I felt the cube beginning to shake in my pocket. Taking it out, I saw it begin to unfold and levitate, circling around me, before showing its golden, glowing eyes.
"What the fuck?" The cube was now looking at me quizzically. I looked back. Suddenly, its eyes went wide open and turned from gold to a bright blue displaying scrolling text as a bright light shone out of its face, widening and narrowing.
"Woah that's, pretty cool, like a portable fla-" suddenly the cube shot out a beam, leaving a small hole in the elevator wall.
"What the fuck?" The cube then turned towards the door as we slowed down, and carved open a large hole big enough for me to duck under. The elevator had now stopped, and was stuck between two floors. I crawled down into one, and looked from the look of surprise on everyones face back to the elevator. The blue scrolling text stopped, now reading in bright white before reverting back to it's golden, expressive eyes- CALIBRATION COMPLETE. The cube floated over to me and hovered above my shoulder, completely unaware of the damage it just caused.
"Sorry about that everyone, I'll, we'll, uh where are the stairs?" | I had hope for a glaive, or flamberge, or maybe an actual weapon, but nope I can't even hope for regular strange I have to get advanced strange. I guess it should be except, after all my whole life has been a bit abnormal. Don't feel bad, I not upset about it, it is simply the truth. Scratch that my whole existence is weird. In training or drills I'd always come up with what I believe was the simplest solution, but it would turn out that either it was a complete failure, or unparalleled success. There was no consistency to well, any of me. I'd either be the top student for the year or I ended sleep through half the day. My parents were always frustrated or proud, either way it never really mattered to me. It's just how is, they have 7 other children why should one abnormal one matter.
Sigh, but that is a story for another time, my point is that I have always expected something weird for my weapon. Always. At first I thought it would be something slightly off or maybe just with a unique design, but nooope I got a fucking small black crystal. I'd call it a gem, but it is uncut, and the inspection office has no idea what it is made out of. It's about the size of 2 tea saucer put together. So at first I thought it was meant to be thrown but the further apart we are the heavier it gets. That was about all I could figure out before I was forced to fight.
Usely a week after your 18th birthday you are forced to have a duel with another over 18. However I was fought 3 days after I had received my "weapon". I was laying in my bed, in the dark think up ways to use such a weapon when I heard the creak on stairs, nobody bothered coming down to my room, especially nearing midnight. I swiftly and silent moved to the door grabbing, both my cystal and a dulled sword. Pocketing the crystal, I unseathed my sword and opened the door leading to the rest of the basement. I knew that he couldn't have made it down all the stairs in such a short time without making an ungodly amount of noise. In front of me were two doors right next to eachother, both were open. One lead to the stairs that the intruder was using. The other lead to a storage area that was as an abyss at night. I hide in the storage area door, raised my sword waited. Even though it was dulled my sword would still break bones, and that is just what it did. As soon as the man, for now I knew him to be a man, rounded the corner I swung the sword at his out strecthed arms shattering the bones in each forearm. The pistol fell from his grip making a soft thud on carpet, and then we made eye contact. Disbelief how could a boy break both arms in one swing, fear of what was to happen next, the fear of pain to come, and the pain just starting to arrive. In and instant my sword struck his throat cutting off his windpipe. I looked into his eyes again and now I saw pain, unbridled agony that he was unable to express. He could no longer scream, Shout, call for help, cry out, or even beg to be spared. And I watched him suffocate try desperately to get some oxygen to his lungs through his now crushed windpipe. I wanted watch him die, but I also wanted to end his suffering. And that's when the crystal called me. It didn't speak it just felt warm, almost friendly. It was at that point at the Crystal started to grow along my hand, conforming to it like a tailored suit. It didn't stop my arm though it kept going, covering me completely. It was agony but it was the best feeling I've ever had, it's not something I can easily describe. It's not as though I enjoyed the pain it just felt as though I was finally whole. I could feel the strength flow into me, I was near indestructible. It was the best I have ever felt. By the time I became aware of my surroundings again the man was dead. He was purple in the face which was swollen and grotesque, so I didn't get close, at first. The more I looked the more I recognize the man, he was my father.
He had come to kill me in my sleep for being a failure. He had never really loved any of his children, they were prizes to him, he was an excellent fighter, and his children had to be more so. He had come to erase a stain on his family name. He was worried about a stain, was he? When I am done there will be black on the pages of history. I guess I could topple a government or three, slaughter city, or well since I was indestructible perhaps I would teach humanity what destruction truly meant. | 2017-12-29T15:03:19 | 2017-12-29T13:49:32 | 219 | 63 |
[WP] There's a machine that shows you all the times in your life you narrowly avoided death. You use it and, to your horror, almost every time it shows is you hanging out with your best friend. | It was that time of year again, the County Fair. A time when all sorts of wacky and crazy people I don't think twice about come together and showcase some weird thing they did. Biggest pig, County's best pie contest, pie eating contest to prove you're the biggest pig. Elementary school dioramas of why our boring place is exciting and high school science projects. As I walked around I saw a ridiculous project:
Revisit the Times You Almost Died
in Virtual Reality
They can't possibly be serious. I make my way over to their display and there is somebody in the chair already so I chat with the kids about how silly the whole thing is.
"So is this some sort of horror VR game you made?"
"Actually our little machine here is based on the newest technology historians are using to look back in history. The 'reverse half-life' as they are calling it is the process of taking a set of atoms and picture data and reversing the half-life process to see where things came from and how they came to be. We are combining this with the latest neuroscience research that shows that the brain subconsciously knows when it is going to be in a catastrophic event and releases a chemical into the system that gives people that tingly feeling on the back of their neck. With these 2 things we are able to go back into a person's chemical history to see what happened every time they were about to die."
It all sounded like gibberish to me. The person in the chair was just finishing up. As she left she was muttering to herself. Well it was my turn now. "Looks like it's my turn. How do I get strapped in?"
"It's very simple sir. Just sit back in the chair as we give you an injection." How in the world are these kids funding all of this again? "It will induce a false REM sleep so you don't start talking or moving around. We'll put the headset on you and the system will do all the work." And eventually the real world faded away.
I can't believe it. There's me. I remember that shirt, I wore that when I was like 6 or 7. Our family was at the park and we were playing frisbee. I know what happens. This is the time when I first met David. I hated him back then. I was almost gonna catch the frisbee when David out of nowhere knocked me to the ground. I remember hating him for that, but why am I seeing this? Did I almost hit my head on a rock or something? No. That wasn't it. I was so focused on the frisbee that I didn't realize I was about to run into the street right into traffic. David had saved my life. This thing actually works.
The next memory started. Ah, the baseball game. I already know this one, because we always bring this one up. I had dropped my bag of skittles on the floor and as I reached down to pick them up David caught a home run as it was about to hit me in the back of the head.
This next was was the time we were at David's house and we were chasing out a raccoon that had wandered in. I guess yeah, I could have died here.
Here's the time David was too drunk after a party and called me to pick him up. After I had left my apartment complex had a few break-ins.
Here's me walking with David and he stopped to tie his shoe? What? Here's us at a coffee shop and... that's it? This one is just David talking on the phone. I don't understand. I'm not even there. Here's David staying the night and crashed on my sofa. What is going on? Every vision of the past was David. This thing must be broken.
After some time I'm finally free of seeing David. I let the students know, "hey, this thing must be broken. It started with a few times I almost died, but then it just started showing random times on me with my best friend."
"Well, we are just high school kids. Don't expect it to be perfect. We just wanted to test the theory and built a machine to do it."
I guess they had a point, but it sure was a strange way to spend 10 minutes. As I continue around the fairgrounds I see David. He's hanging out with 3 other people. They're all wearing the same jacket. I know I should say hello to him, but the machine has me doubting what I even am to David. I put that aside, "Hey, David. Fancy running into you here. Who are your friends?"
"Oh, hey. These are just some people I work with."
I guess the office decide to make a day of the fair. The machine is still in my mind.
"See anything interesting so far?" I asked.
"Nothing too out of the ordinary. Michelle here won third place in the pie eating contest. What about you?"
I have no idea how tiny people do it, but they always seem to do well in those kinds of things. I decide to buckle up and just talk about the machine.
"There is this high school group at the science fair that have made a machine that supposedly shows you every time you almost died."
David and his friends all stare at me.
"What did you see?" That man with them asked.
"Well it's probably broken because it just showed me a bunch of times I was with David."
David's eyes widened. His eyes darted around until he made contact with the rest of his little group. As if in unison they all nodded. The last words I ever heard from my best friend were "Go home. Now."
Between the machine and David and his friends I figured it was best to not take chances and went home straight away.
I never saw David again. | “No, that can’t be right.”
Charlotte stared at the screen. Displayed clearly was the time she and Jimmy were sitting on her bed reading her sister’s diary. They used to do that a lot when they were in high school. If it were a question of Theodora finding them and killing them, she would believe that, but no…
She hit next and another scene appeared. Now she and Jimmy were sitting by the lake, fishing with paper clips and string. They hadn’t caught anything, of course, but they still had a great time. What almost happened there? Had she been about to slip in and drown?
It was all a stupid carnival game, anyway. Wasn’t it? This thing couldn’t really show her near death moments. So it was reading memories, big deal. Any old mall kiosk could do that. She sighed and flipped through a couple more slides.
The two of them at the movies. Traveling to New York together. Playing in marching band. Every single slide was about him.
Her stomach turned over. The scene was dark and fuzzy, but she recognized the gym where their high school had held prom. They had gone together ‘as friends,’ since neither of them could find anyone to go with. Jimmy had joked that they should pretend like they were dating. Charlotte had laughed.
She rubbed her lips. They had almost kissed that night. How funny. Teenage hormones were rank in that gym, mixed with cloying perfume and heavy cologne. Almost kissed. They hadn’t, and there had never been another opportunity. He had gone to Washington to study biology, while she had moved up to New York to study engineering. They’d talked the first year, visited each other on holidays and breaks, but as time wore on, they moved on. She’d met Austin and gotten engaged. Jimmy probably was married.
There were a few more pictures after that. Wearing santa hats and caroling. ‘Tanning’ at the beach. Soon, she reached the last one: sitting face to face in a train station, hands clasped, heads bowed. That had been an emotional day. He said he’d been having trouble at school. Maybe he should come stay with her for a while, just until he got things sorted. She’d been a little surprised, even the tiniest bit uncomfortable. It wasn’t the Jimmy she knew sitting across from her. He was taller, there was hair on his face. There was an air about him that scared her. She’d called his parents for him, told them that he was coming home.
He’d begged her, gotten down on his knees and wrapped his arms around her. “Please.” She could hear the words in her head, but she couldn’t remember Jimmy’s voice anymore. She had almost said yes. The memory of the Jimmy she knew had ripped open like a wound, and she could see them being happy. But this new Jimmy was… poisonous. Dangerous. She’d driven him home, hugged him goodbye, and waited alone at the station for her train to come.
They hadn’t talked much after that. Texted sometimes. Maybe one phone call. He stopped going home for holidays, and she hadn’t seen him since that day. Maybe it was time. When she got home, she kissed Austin quickly on the cheek before locking herself in their bedroom. She called Jimmy’s old number, but it wasn’t his anymore. His parents picked up on the second ring. They sounded old, tired, but they were happy to hear from her. They talked about life for a while before she had the courage to bring Jimmy up.
There was silence on the other end of the line. “Charlotte, I thought you knew…” his mother said. “Jimmy… Jimmy died three years ago. Murder-suicide with his girlfriend.” Charlotte couldn’t speak. She hung up without saying another word, and sat on the edge of her bed, phone in her hands. Jimmy? Dead?
It took some time, but she found a news blurb about it. James Corden, 25, Kills Girlfriend and then Himself. There were pictures. Jimmy, looking the same as he had the day at the train station, haggard and haunter. The girl, unnamed. She was blond, freckled… just like Charlotte. A sick sense of dread rose in her stomach as she kept reading. Reports from friends said that Jimmy had been growing delusional, violent. In retrospect, they should have known this was coming. That there was something wrong with Jimmy.
She thought of the near-death machine. All those times with Jimmy. What if she hadn’t said no? Maybe that’s what it had meant: showing her that every time she had almost fallen in love with him, it could have been her. | 2017-07-02T14:34:38 | 2017-07-02T12:17:54 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high). | I sat in the smaller office as the rest of command looked at the solar scans. I couldn't see outwards but I just knew that everyone else was just as worried as I was. 5 Generals were praying that this will work.
An entire navy had been flown in and was now encompassing the orbits of Mars to Pluto. It was a damn *mistake* letting that Reality TV moron know about what truly happened in Area 51, and now the biggest military faction in space was ready to set the world on fire!
And *this* was meant to save them? A *telephone number*?!
'What is it?' the distorted voice asked. 'Hello?'
'Hi,' I said. 'I was told to... call you in case of a Level 0?'
'Oh, please don't tell me they made *another* private make the call,' the voice said in severe annoyance. 'Your name, rank, base commanders and situation. In that order or I'm hanging up. Honestly, trying to force the price on someone who didn't know...'
'Joshua Shepard, Private, General Brad Armstrong and the president talked to the turians,' I said.
'How big is the assault force?' he asked.
'From Mars to Pluto,' I answered.
'Yeah, I can handle that,' he said calmly. 'Just a few choice words is necessary to talk down the primarch and to get that fool to apologize. And Shepard?'
'Yes?' I asked.
'After this, I wouldn't mind having a few beers with you,' he said, 'but unless it's absolutely necessary to prevent this hunk of rock being completely destroyed... never call this number again.'
I was confused, to be honest. I was just out of boot camp and assigned here when the shit went down. But for now I just decided to put the receiver down and report back to my superiors.
When I opened the soundproofed door, the sounds of terrified screams filled the air. I immediately convulsed in horror, almost throwing up, as I saw the corpses of the generals torn apart, but still in one piece, stretched as far and wide as possible across the command room. Everyone was trying to rush out of the room
On the (blood-smeared) screen, the radar of the ships began to push outwards, retreating from the galaxy in droves. Reports were coming in that the president and most of his cabinet were also found dead, slain in a similar manner.
But the thing that really caught my attention? It was the skull of General Armstrong, recognizable from the three golden teeth and the small plate on the skull. There was a wooden board hanging from the mouth, held closed by the final remains of musculature attached to the jaw. And what did it read?
"30 wicked souls for an innocent, ignorant sacrifice. If you wish to bargain with Asmodeus, King of Demons, make the call yourselves.' | "Private!"
"Yessir! I am ready to call the number!"
Area 51 started disintegrating around them, as the monster from below started tearing apart space itself in an effort to escape the prison, the corridors of the underground complex appearing to bend as time itself tore apart.
"This is only like a level 3 right now, stop pretending you're important. Get back to monitoring Adriana and Eric, see if their arms come back from the alternate dimension."
The private glumly returned back to watching the two through the glass, as their arms showed no signs of returning from the portal that the two foolishly touched.
"God, I wish this was a more interesting assignment."
Above him, a portal opened and a man in white robes walked through, nearly catching his massive wings on the edges of the portal. "Hey, Morgan, been too long since I saw you!"
"Hey Gabe, how's life been treating you? We've currently got an inter-dimensional monster down below, nothing major going down right now."
"Oh, you found Abigail then! Yeah she can be a hungry giant monster that wants to destroy humanity, can't she! The big G says that you should feed her an apple boiled in the blood of a sacrificed lamb, that should calm her right down for the next six millennia or so."
"Ok, I'll go tell the Major no-"
"You know that the big G demands a price for this, right?"
"But I literally didn't ask for his help at all!"
"Yeah, but the writing prompt kinda forces your hand, no? He wants a cold one, apparently. Chop chop!"
Morgan sprinted down into the lower-levels, armed with the knowledge to defeat the monster, and the location of the beer fridge. | 2017-03-21T03:32:04 | 2017-03-21T00:59:36 | 64 | 31 |
[WP] The world ended 20 years ago, you haven't found a living soul since then. Through some ingenuity, you call voicemails for the last 20 years to keep you company. "Hi, this is Cindy..." "Hi you reached Bob" "You know what to do at the beep" until one day "Hello...hello? Oh my God hello!" | June 23rd 2044
The heat of the summer solstice had caused some of my plants to grow thirsty; some of their
leaves having wilted under the intensity of the light through the day. It had been a bright blue sky
without a single cloud to offer its respite to my delicate friends. I dipped my watering can into a
rain barrel and filled it to the brim.
With the sun finally starting to set, I gave my green family a much needed drink.
"Here you are my poor solanum lycopersicums. You're certainly looking thirsty. And let's not
forget you, ocimum basilicum..."
Going down my lines of growing green companions until the can was dry. Speaking to each of
them in kind and making sure I give each of them some attention. Quite a few books have
mentioned how much better plants grow when you speak to them. I always wondered if that
worked on people too.
I filled my can again and began the process over on the next set and the next until all were
properly attended to. With a sigh, I set my can back down. I turned to the next thing on the
schedule.
Being blessed with such a clear day allowed my phone to charge all the way. I was looking
forward to the rather social evening I had ahead of me.
Absentmindedly, I punched in some numbers and put my ear to the receiver. While the line
buzzed I thought about who I would be and what I would say.
[Bzzzt...... Bzzzzt....]
"Hi, you reached Bob! I can't make it to the phone right now but leave your name and your
phone number and I'll get right back to ya!"
[BEEP]
"Hey Bob, it's Koa! Sorry I missed you. It's nothing urgent - I was just calling to say hey! Hope
everything is going well"
[Click]
I punched in another set. Maybe this time I'll be... Anthony.
[Bzzzt.... Bzzzzt....]
"Hi, it's Cindy!", definitely going to be the Anthony for this Cindy, "You know what to do!"
[BEEP]
"Hey babe, it's Anthony. Just wanted to see what you were up to. Plants are growing mighty big.
We'd love to see you and your pretty face tonight"
[Click]
I made call after call watching the battery drain as quickly as the sun was setting.
[Bzzzt.... Bzzzt.....]
I could hear the sound of waves crashing, albeit the sound quality was horrible, "Congratulations
fellow trav-"
[Click]
Even in an empty world those robocalls were exhausting. I had no idea people did it when the
world had actual people existing in them.
[Bzzzt.... Bzzzt.....]
"Hello...?"
The heat from the entire day evaporated.
"Hello~?", the voice on the other line repeated.
Quick, say something, "H-hello?! Yes! Hi hello!"
"OH my god, hello! What's up?"
Keep it going, "Please, don't be afraid, I'm a real person! My name is Leif!"
"Hah, no way!"
"Yes! My name is Leif and I'm in what remains of Dakota! Please, tell me where are you?" My
hand was cramping from how hard I gripped the receiver.
"..."
"Hello? Are you the-"
"HAH! GOTCHA! Did I getcha good?"
My blood which originally ran icy cold now made me flush with feelings I didn't know were still
there.
"Yoooo, but just leave a message and I'll hit ya back later! PEACE"
[BEEP]
I let it hang there in silence. I hung up the phone now stone in my hands and felt the world become smaller than it ever
has. The last bit of sun peeked over the horizon but it couldn't have been darker.
With lead in my feet, my legs dragged me to my bed. I fell into my blankets and became
imprisoned inside plush solitary confinement.
I wept. | I couldn't believe it when I heard an actual person's actual voice. And not just some stupid recording but an actual voice talking back to me. Actually responding to the words I just said? At first I was skeptical, I thought it might be one of those annoying voicemail messages where they pretend like they actually picked up and then it turns out to be a prank and they did not pick up at all. But I tested it by farting into the phone, and she actually responded and asked me if I just farted into the phone. I lied because I was embarrassed and told her I shit my pants to throw her off the trail. This was the first human I've talked to in decades, I wasn't going to fuck this up.
She asked me where I was, and i told her I was in Idaho. She said she was in Florida. We started to make plans to meet each other. At first she wanted me to come to Florida, but I told her there was no way in hell that I would ever go to Florida, even if it was before the apocalypse. We agreed that we should meet in the middle, which was Kansas. Not much better than Florida, but all things considered I figured it was fine.
I started packing up my things. I always end up forgetting one thing when I travel, so I was trying to be extras careful. Towel, underwear, toothbrush, phone charger... Ugh, this is why I hate traveling.
Finally I set off on my adventure. I put on my backpack and started walking. I hoped on the way I would be able to find a running car, otherwise this was going to take a while one foot. Especially a bad knee. I was also worried about all the demon spirits that were flying around ever since the end of the world, but I figured why would a demon spirit want to go to Kansas? I was probably safe.
On our journey, every day we would chat on the phone at night. I started feeling smitten towards her. Despite the fact that she was from Florida she did have some good qualities about her. The main one was that she was alive. All the girls I've talked to in the last twenty years have been dead, so she is doing amazing on that front.
After a couple months I finally arrived in Kansas City. I relax, happy to know I finally can stop walking. I find an empty house that I can live in for the time being. It is not the biggest house on the block, but moving has become incredibly easy even since everybody died so I am not worried about it. I can upgrade whenever I want. I wait for her for a couple weeks, but she is slower than me. She asks me if I could keep walking towards her so that we can meet in the middle.
I tell her we had an agreement and she should stick to it.
She tells me she understands but we could meet sooner if I just put in a little more effort
I tell her that the division of labor was equal, we chose a spot that we equidistant from both of us, so I should not have to feel bad about finishing the task sooner than her.
She says she knows it was equidistant, she is just asking if I can be flexible.
I pack up my bags and move back to Idaho. | 2022-12-21T12:38:09 | 2022-12-21T12:11:16 | 580 | 55 |
[WP] It turns out humanity was the first, and only spacefaring species to master the atom. After a horrific galactic war, humanity had to bring out its nuclear weapons, to the shock and horror of the rest of the galaxy. | # Option Four
The human council has been away for discussion for a disturbingly long time. Humans were not known for thinking things over. They quickly gained a reputation for what their culture called a "shoot first ask questions later" policy. No one could blame them, if any race's First Encounter was a Pholentor class IX warfleet with standing orders to purge organic life from the sector, they might have turned out the same way.
Despite this, the humans were still deliberating, long after even the spermatophyta class races had reached a consensus. As 'plants' they were known for taking at least twice as long to talk amongst themselves, but the last group claimed ready over thirty minutes ago. The entire Coalition was starting to murmur about the arguing humans. Even though their microphone was turned off, the whole chamber could hear shouts occasionally ring out from the human's platform and the room slowly filled with din of questions. What could the humans bring to the table? Why would it take so long to prepare? Why did they look so grim when they heard the final propositions?
The Pholentors, a mantid-class race, was the final holdout of the Galactic Valor, an alliance bent on purging less 'pure' creatures from the Milky Way. Their home system was in a stratiegic location, a 'blank zone' with no landmarks to warp to except for a choice few stars near the maxium range of a warp drive. All heavily fortified of course. The Peace Coalition presented 3 options. The first was simply pushing through the fortifications and capturing their home system with brute force. Simple, and costly. The second was to bombard with lightspeed ballistics. Highly innacurrate, easily deterrable, and could cause many civilan deaths. The pholents were also known for their hypernationalism, and this bombardment could potentially bolster their morale instead of weakening it, dragging the conflict on for years. The final was a blockade, physically and economically, but the pholents had lived for epochs without outside contact and could do so again, harrassing the galaxy all the while. One of the humans began to speak at the end of the presentation of options but was quickly muted by his own Military Overseer. The entire situation was rather ominous, and was not typical behavior in a Coalition meeting.
When the humans returned to their platform and unmuted their microphone, they began speaking immediately. This was a massive breach of decorum, usually the presiding Head Presenter would read in the next race to speak once everyone was ready.
"Forgive our delay, but we have a fourth option to present." Their Military Overseer, who usually spoke with authority and bravado even when out of place, sounded apologetic and somber. It felt uncomfortable to listen to, coming from a human. "Unfortunately, humans once long ago were presented with a situation very similar to this one. As an alternative at the time, we created a weapon so horrific, so monsterous, that it was never used again in any conflict in the history of our race. Even the group we used the weapon against, who announced their willingness to fight to the last man before surrendering, laid down their arms in the face of this weapon. Despite that horror, despite the fact we thought it would be never be used again, we continued to research it. To improve it, for some godforsaken reason."
At this point sobbing could be heard through the microphone quietly as several of the human leaders broke out into tears. The Science Overseer had to excuse themself. This behavior had never been seen before from any race when discussing tactics, let alone humans. The other races began to feel fear, even though they still were not sure what the humans were talking about.
"Now, we have perfected this weapon, and present it before you as the 4th option. If selected, we can promise no further Coalition lives or resources will be spent." Another murmur as doubt, suprise, and joy was expressed by the races.
"Despite this, it still comes at a heavy cost. Using this weapon will destroy a part of your race's soul, I think. I'm sorry, I know some of you don't have a moral concept of a soul, but please try to understand and know that this weapon has a cost beyond the physical. It will be a blemish on all of our histories."
The room darkened and a video began to play on the main screen of a arid rocky planet. A fleet of small ships were in high orbit, and a small projectile, barely visible from the distance the camera was at, left a ship for the surface. On impact, a wave of fire rushed out in a perfect circle, hugging the surface. The whole chamber seemed to hold its breath, waiting for the circle to stop expanding, but it never did. As the camera zoomed out to show the planet in full, the ring of flame continued to expand untill it wrapped around the curvature of the planet, and the edge of the circle could no longer be seen. The glow of the burning sphere on the screen lit the room up in muted orange, long shadows exaggerating the horrified expressions on the faces of every single creature in the room. In the video, the camera switched wavelengths, and a wave of energy could be seen expanding outwards from the planet. As the wave passed over the fleet, the ships instantly superheated and folded into clumps of raw material. The message was clear, there would be no survivors.
After 3 months of hiatus of discussing this new unparralleled destruction, the Coalition council was reconvened for a vote. Some expressed opposition to the vote conceptually. Some expressed opposition to the idea that the humans hadn't been expelled from the Coalition yet.
The tally came in. Option Four won. How?
___________________________________
Edit: Thanks for the positive comments, I really appreciate them. I explained why I asked how at the very end in a reply below, but I think it's just mysterious enough that coming up with your own meaning as some people have seemed to do is cool too. | Humans loved to write stories about how they were the strongest race. It seemed natural, really, for humans to be this way. For so much of their lives, all they had known was their tiny blue planet in the middle of the “Dead Sector.” It surprised most of the Intergalactic Federation, really, when g’therlak - a head scientist at the IF headquarters - rushed into the meeting hall during a very important diplomatic assembly to announce the telltale signs of a sentient species out in the intergalactic boonies. That section of the universe was generally considered too young to harbor life, especially after the cataclysm of epsilon 12 doused the entire arm of the galaxy in gamma rays so powerful that *any* life that would have been budding up should have been destroyed.
So, g’therlak and several other scientists sent out probes to monitor earthly communications. Considering the IF had perfected FTL technology eons ago, it was not too difficult to have several probes a lightyear or two outside of the little blue planet’s solar system, monitoring, watching. It wasn’t long before much of the IF had taken notice of how resource rich the solar system was, and decided to swoop in.
The IF quickly decided that the humans posed no threat. They didn’t have FTL technology, nor were they close. They still weren’t able to fully break free of such simple energy sources like combustion, they were barely able to get off their own planet, and even their so-called wars were pathetic to many of the IF members. Truly, the humans looked harmless from so many angles.
They seemed that way, at least, until the IF started colonizing the earth without permission. At first, it was trivial. Giant factories landed on ships, entire colonies set up in mere earth days. The humans didn’t even attack at first, just tried to *reason*. It wasn’t until the humans realized the IF had no intention of treating them as anything more than insects that they began to attack.
At first, surely, it was hilarious to the IF. Rudimentary kinematic firearms, basic explosives - the humans didn’t have any high level energy weapons that were considered the bare *minimum* in IF weaponry. So, it caught the IF completely by surprise when their first colony was completely obliterated off the map.
As it turned out, humans were impressive in one regard - they were *insane*. The humans managed to harness a technology that the entirety of the IF considered taboo and would never even attempt. Messing with atoms, the base building blocks of matter, wasn’t just considered sacrilege to many of the IF members, but widely regarded as a field so dangerous as to be farcical. The smallest miscalculation could destroy millions of lives in an instant, and somehow these *humans* had managed to harness this power for *weaponry* no less. Weaponry they used on *their own people*, as the IF has come to find out. These humans are to be avoided at all costs. Who knows what horrible chain of events we have started by telling them there’s more out there, by showing them that FTL is possible.
Humans may not be strong, they may not be the smartest, nor the hardiest. But, humans have an innate insanity, some deep connection to chaos itself, and we believe the best step from here is to eliminate them - before they do so to us.
___
Xezzxectyl finished its message back to the IF HQ. Surely, they would not take too kindly to a lowly colonial scientist speaking of them this way. Xez’s message was informal, and almost condescending towards the actions of the IF; but, they had to know what they had started. They had to know what this puny race was capable of, the fact that their weaponry was so dangerous it could threaten the balance of the IF itself. More warfaring species would hear of this technology and want it to themselves. It pained Xez to realize its life was going to be forfeit when the ships come, when the cleanse begins. Xez knew, however, it’s time would come quickly enough anyhow, being trapped on this beautiful blue planet in a twist of irony.
The humans always liked to pretend that they would be the strongest spacefaring nation. Maybe the humans were on to something. Maybe there was merit to their level of insanity, their complete disregard of the *natural order*.
Xez looked at the communicator, a response coming in from the IF. They’d predictably not taken Xez seriously, and decided that if the colonies were unable to finish such a simple mission, they were of no use to the IF.
Xez looked at the night sky. *I guess we’ll see,* it thought, *how much damage one puny race can do.*
Its thoughts were interrupted by a bright flash. There was no pain, no suffering. There was only enough time for a quick chuckle before nothingness.
*good luck, humans* | 2019-12-19T03:08:41 | 2019-12-19T00:24:30 | 2,434 | 1,197 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | For /u/ttough, who requested a more passive, surgical approach. My first prompt!
"You have an artist's hands."
Mira didn't jump in surprise, not anymore. Instead she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, accidentally smudging a little blood from her glove.
"Perhaps that's what I should have been," she replied quietly, and looked at the lifeless body on the gurney in front of her. The cuts were neat, precise, but it still hadn't saved him. It was a car that had killed him, but it felt like it had been her.
Pale fingers reached past her shoulder, a curved blade tracing the incisions she had made. They closed as if by magic, the pools of scarlet disappearing into nothing. It was still on her hands, though, tacky and tasteless.
"Mira, you are still an artist."
Mira turned slightly, and looked at Death. He looked back at her, at life, at a desperate attempt of it, and smiled. It was a sympathetic smile, one topped by eyes of pure black, eyes that had seen every mistake she had ever made, and still he smiled.
"You hurt when you see me," he murmured, his head tilting to the side when she twined her fingers with his. "You hurt even as you hunger."
Seeing him was like a kick to her system, a handsome spectre with a skeletal smile, the balm to the ache of losing another life. Amidst the sterile rooms and the gleaming tools, he stood like a swathe of darkness, and she was drawn to him, just as she was discouraged.
"I know I've failed when I see you," she replied softly, turning back to the bed to see the dead man's body - whole again, for now. "At least you bring them peace."
"So do you," he offered gently, one cold finger brushing her cheek. "You try to give them a second chance."
Mira turned to catch his palm against her jaw, savouring the chill burn, but her blood pumped slower with every second, and her skin grew colder with every touch.
"That's the problem," she whispered, and pressed a kiss to icy lips, even though it stung, even though it might kill her. "My work is in life."
"And mine in death," he replied.
The kiss stole the very breath from her lungs.
He drew back, keeping their fingers intertwined until the last possible moment, until her skin started to hurt, started to die, and then her hand fell against her surgical scrubs. He smiled again, soft and sad, and pressed two bloodied fingers to his lips. "Until the next time, angel."
The lights flickered, and he was gone, the body raw and red once more, and her heart screaming for oxygen.
"Until the next time," she sighed, but she pushed chilled fingers to her lips with a smile.
Mira's pager went off; a pile up on the motorway, the same accident that had introduced them the first time. So many people, so many lives, so many chances.
They said that absence made the heart grow fonder, so she took a deep breath, and returned to her work. | "Oh, it's you again." His cold words managed to chill the freezing winter room.
I jumped. He always managed to sneak in at moments I least expected. I loved him for it.
He wasn't much of a talker, so I usually started the conversations. "So, how are things at work?" I asked.
He sighed. "Why must you always ask the same questions? I always give the same answers."
"I love how it makes you," I teased.
"How do you manage to be so insufferable," he replied. I could tell he was serious.
"Same answer," I said. I let the silence sit for a moment. "So, what do you think of this one?"
He gazed across the mangled bits I left for him, hardly identifiable. I stared too, but he read things I couldn't even comprehend.
"Well," he said, "I have to admit, it looks quite... Complicated." He turned to me, black mist spewing from his gleaming boney face. Lifeless, expressionless, emotionless eye sockets belittled me. I was under his power, and all it took was a look. How incredible. "But must I remind you, again, that I find no joy in taking the beautiful lives of these people. Why must you?"
Slowly, I responded. "Because my life only has beauty with you in it." I hated to be so honest, but he had the power to make me.
And with a few simple words, his power doubled.
"That, my dear, is my curse." He waved his sythe with a gleam, and in an instant, he was gone.
Cleanup was always the worst part, but this time, it was different. As I placed the mangled pieces into bags, a pattern of cuts on an arm that weren't there before caught my eye. I held up the arm, and fell to the floor, a flurry of mixed emotions filling me. The pattern rang in my ear, as if death himself we're screaming it.
"In a month, maybe more, I will be at your door. I promise." | 2017-06-07T22:37:36 | 2017-06-07T22:19:49 | 110 | 10 |
[WP] The city gets new street lamps, but these lamps are "smart". If a crime (like a robbery) or car crash happens under, or in the vicinity of one, the light will turn red as an indicator to the police. One night, every street lamp in the city turns red. | Everything was silent in the presidents control room. The board of national security held it's breath, watching the live updates on the monitors lining the room.
"Johnson, status report!" the general stormed into the room, still half in his night garments.
"Everything's returning positive! Every lamp in every city! Boston, LA, St. Lewis! If it's got our detection lamps, we're receiving a high alert signal from it!"
"Well what the hell could possibly be causing this? Gang wars? Hackers? Or just a widespread malfunction?"
"See sir, that's the problem. We don't know what's the problem. All our security feeds have cut out, and the phone line is dead. No one's responding, we're essentially blind."
"Does the president know yet?"
"No sir."
"Good, let's keep it that way." The general sighed, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.
"Alright, let's start from the top. What do we have?"
"When the video feeds started cutting out, we received a video message on every channel. Here it is." Johnson pushed a few buttons from his laptop, which prompted a retinal scan. After the scan was complete, an image appeared on the screens.
It was of a dark silhouetted figured, abnormally long and slender. It spoke, a deep garbled, slightly nasally voice.
"067259431111" it uttered, and the video feed ended.
"We have no idea what the numbers could be. We have our top cryptologists working on breaking it right now, but we're not su.."
"I know that." the general whispered, interrupting Johnson.
"Sorry sir?"
"I recognise that code. But it can't be. He's gone. He can't be back." the general muttered, a look of fear creeping onto his face.
"Sir? Whose back?"
The general stood up from his chair, drawing up to his full height. He picked up a red phone on the wall.
"Wake the president, tell him we're going to defcon 1."
The council gasped, everyone starting to talk at once. The general silenced them with a raise of his hand.
"Johnson, pull up a satellite feed, focused on the US. Quickly!"
Johnson did as directed, and nearly fell out of his chair. Multiple drinks were spilled as the live feed came up on the screens.
"I knew it... That number was the only remaining trace we had after his last appearance. If he's back, I can only hope for our future. Whatever his motives are, we're in big trouble..."
And there on the screen, arranged in a huge collection of red lamps were 4 hearts, all arranged in a circle.
"It can't be..." someone muttered.
"It is." the general firmly said. "It's him."
"4chan has returned."
| Captain George Thompson was running frantically between the several different monitors.
"Officer Valdez, status report!"
"Sir, all lamps on First St have turned positive!"
George wiped a drop of sweat from his eyebrow. All the lamps in San Juan were turning red, and the police station was being overloaded with automatic calls from the smart lamps.
"All right, everyone listen up!" He clapped his hands twice and every police officer in San Juan inside the headquarters was listening.
"Here's the situation. As of now, all the lamps in San Juan have turned red!" Here, George heard a few gasps, as all the officers had only been monitoring the street assigned and did not know the situation on the other streets.
"I want all the officers to go out and investigate their street. Move, move, move!"
All the officers cleared within a few seconds and suddenly, it was just him in the office. He sprinted towards his desk and started viewing the video feeds that were coming in from the police cars. Suddenly, a voice rang out from his computer saying "Captain Thompson, we need you to look at this." He switched screens and saw the President on a live video feed.
"Mr. President! How can I help you!" George, sprang to his feet and saluted his webcam.
"Captain Thompson, we need you to look at this picture our satellite in space sent us. It seems that lamps all over the US have been functioning irregularly and this was the result. "
A loud chime emanated from the desktop. George opened the high-security email which required him to enter his military password, and he gasped.
It had to have been a group of hackers that had done this, because using the lamps, the hackers had centered San Juan in a bullseye with a message underneath reading, "We're coming for you first."
EDIT: Formatting, Content | 2015-02-01T17:49:48 | 2015-02-01T14:33:38 | 60 | 27 |
[WP] “You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.”
[deleted] | “You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.”
Clark had the cellphone held out at arm's length as though he thought it might explode at any moment. Gathered in a circle around him we all began to breathe again, and after a moment the circle broke into several smaller groups of whispering, cursing, frightened survivors. Henry took the phone out back and smashed it into pieces with a cinder block. Clark had been sure to switch the device to speakerphone mode before making the call, but we watched him with suspicion for hours afterwards anyway, and did not let him take a shift that night.
\#
In the morning we moved on. The billboard by the gas station had read something like *Atmos Tires: the last word in grip!* when we had staggered into the town two days prior, still numb from losing Maggie, but now *Why leave? Stay home and seek shelter!* was emblazoned across it in that font Ethan had described as too-friendly, sickly-sweet. Poor Ethan. Without him we would never have realized how to keep ourselves safe from the Message. He was the first of us to see clearly how it worked, but that understanding had not saved him. In the end he had still screamed and clawed at his former friends until they gunned him down like an animal.
We passed a smoldering book bonfire on our way back towards the highway. I chuckled a little in spite of myself, thinking how appalled I would have been only a couple of months ago at the idea of burning a book. Sarah was my info partner for the day – we moved as one to check the charred remnants. A copy of *The Hobbit* was lying a little away from the bonfire, its cover burned away to reveal what should have been one of the most recognizable openings in the English canon. It read: *In a hole in the ground there lived a Hobbit. He was happy in his hole, seeking shelter from harm.* | "Oh *shit*"
In stillness, I am. The memories of those I cared about matter no more. In the shadows, I am safe. Outside the street lights, I'll live.
The fires glow with a calling; its colors yearn for a soul to ignite. Its a malevolent beckoning many answer. Burn bright; burn a light on this night.. alight our homes, our lives, because it will all be gone tonight.
An equal blight affects us all. The shackles of man will weigh none down. An equal might affects us all tonight.
A shiver finds its way down my spine. The ember snow continues to grow.
Is this my right? *This* is right?! To witness the ember glow flow to my shadows and break my disguise?!! This crevice will no longer due... I must go; I must keep going.
I cannot cry; I must survive. I must find.. hope. | 2020-09-12T10:34:09 | 2020-09-12T10:13:16 | 197 | 18 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class. | It wasn’t quite as scandalous as it seemed, which isn’t to say it wasn’t scandalous at all, just not anything jail worthy. As a college professor you might get fired if you were dating a student but a little less likely if they weren’t in your class.
Of course she was though, that bubbly charismatic sorority girl that always had her support team following her around it seemed. She’d waited until just before finals, her hand resting every so lightly on my arm as she bite her lip with practiced expertise asking if I’d meet her for drinks later.
The place was secluded, next town over, small little hole in the wall with decent food. Drinks were strong but not enough to knock you on your ass, until she spiked it while I wasn’t looking. I could feel it in my bloodstream and let myself enjoy the soft warmth that spread through me.
On the way to my car I’m sure I looked like the average slightly drunk older man with his college aged sugar baby. Her helping steady me as we walked. She was smart about it, I had to give her that.
She drove my car into the woods, nice spot for a secret tryst if you were into that kind of thing. Well as long as you ignored the couple of shallow graves and the freshly dug one waiting empty. What followed was rather admirable if you weren’t the victim. Paralytic given through the IV she inserted calmly. Then the collecting of my blood into a series of sterile pouches like this was all some horror story version of a Blood Drive gone bad. I lost count around bag four as my eyes drifted shut and I allowed the blackness of being unconscious take me into it’s dark embrace.
I was standing at the front of classroom talking with two students when she walked in. Somehow even more exotic and glorious and sexy. Her face going as pale as I must have looked when she’d rolled me into my grave and left me last night. The bell rang and I could feel her eyes on me the entire class as I reviewed the material.
Those eyes that usually were filled with flirtatious energy now worried and puzzled. I didn’t have to even ask her to come talk to me. She waited until the others cleared out, dismissing her own gaggle of sycophants so we could talk alone.
“How?” Her voice quavering a bit “what are you going to do?” I shook my head as I looked at her. “It isn’t what I’m going to do, it’s what you are. You’re going to tell me exactly what bloodline you’re working for and be my double agent. I don’t take kindly to others spoiling my hunting preserve.” | "Two," the voice echoes through my head as awareness finds me, consciousness gurgling slowly up out of sleep with the reluctance of the dead. Takes me a moment to process. A familiar voice. "Two." Shit.
Damp and sticky with sweat I fumble in the dark for my phone beside the pillow, fishing it several disoriented moments later from my pocket instead. 6am, through a smear of red. So not just sweat after all. And I can't even remember a damn thing. One life down and nothing to show for it - yeah Terry, great start. Maybe next time you'll write yourself a fucking note before you kick the bucket.
Whatever. Get up. Wash up. Back to school. No wait - famished. Cereal. Then school. I can afford to be late
First period starts with a chair crashing to the floor, soon as I enter the room, two eyes like adorable little saucers. Questioning. Accusing. Narrowing to knives.
Of course. We went out last night. My first kiss...
I'm glad she's okay.
Wait, no. She looks better than okay. She looks angry. Oh that bitch. She *killed me*.
Erica's the first to notice how dumb we look gawking at each other across the class, eyes glancing from one inquisitive face to the next, offering embarrassed smiles in answer to obvious questions. I have no such answers for the gossiping crowd forming around me. I shake it off and take my seat.
Glad I remembered to scrub clean the phone, I pull it out and text Erica: we need to talk.
(phone dead, it's late, will finish soon) | 2022-12-30T04:01:06 | 2022-12-30T02:28:39 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] "Why do you think we have a chance against the human race? They purge every galactic nation in their path!" The alien took a deep breath. "We are cute to them." "What?" | "This world is full of Xenos, Inquisitor, the only option can be a complete extermination of this filth.
"Well...hold on now," Inquisitor McConnell said nervously, a bead of sweat trailing down his nose. "They...look sort of human. They must be abhumans."
The adjutant shook his head. "No sir, the data I've received from our scouts confirms it. This is nothing but an example of convergent evolution, a pale imitation of the perfect human form."
"Much has been lost..." the Inquisitor offered weakly. "I mean, look at them."
He made a gesture and a still hologram of a beautiful young woman appeared in the air between the two men. Full lips, long flowing hair, half-lidded eyes and a body that would set a thousand ships upon the stars - only two problems. The fluffy ears upon her head, and a long feline tail.
"Yes," the adjutant growled. "This must be a trick to test our faith. But the data confirms; they are not abhuman. They are not, in fact, human at all."
Inquisitor Carlos McConnell sighed as he set heavily in his chair. "Commandant Richter's scouts? They're certain?"
"Completely, sir," the adjutant nodded. "We have a full fossil record. I came to you the second I was sure."
"The second...?" the Inquisitor mumbled, as if mulling something over. "I see. Well. No help for it. Order the exterminatus."
"Yes sir!" the adjutant said grinning, saluting and turning an about face. He made it three steps before the las-pistol tore his skull out.
"Terrible thing about all that heresy in the scout corps," the Inquisitor mumbled, pressing a switch under his desk to reveal a hidden compartment. With fumbling fingers he pulled a worn tome, an ancient family relic. The images on the front were faded by time, but it only left more to the imagination.
He stroked his fingers along the ancient surface, carrying the book with him as he walked to the viewscreen to loom over the verdant world below. "I'll give you my name," he mumbled. "As good a name as any. Carlos McConnell."
He held up the title and read the words to himself slowly and solemnly, in the ancient tongue of his ancestors. "Super Kawaii Sexy Catgirl Funtime."
The Emperor would understand, he thought.
The Emperor would understand. | "Why do you think we have a chance against the human race? They purge every galactic nation in their path!"
The alien took a deep breath.
"We are cute to them."
"What?"
"Yeah, I'm also pretty sure we have a standing army ready to welcome Kizuna AI as their new overlord. My youtube channel is growing, commander."
"Okay so what's your plan?"
"Well my plan was to start in the east, where our lookalikes are created and distributed via digital auditory and visual media. As it turns out, infiltrating the *anime* scene automatically gave me access to a large portion of western audiences. I believe they are called weeorboo's. It's a derogatory term used by others who think Anime is weird."
The commander turns around and begins to walk away.
"That's a risky move Kizuna. If there's already distrust towards your area of infiltration it is likely that the high council will not approve of this."
Kizuna pulls out an alien anime gun. Her head pulls back and her eyes wide with malice.
"They don't have to"
*BAM*
*BAM*
*BAM*
Kizuna turns around and presses a button on a console. A large screen in front of her lights up revealing a video conference call. On the call are Japan's most prominent anime producers as well as studio heads from other countries.
"We're set to go" Kizuna says as she turns around and starts walking towards the control room exit.
| 2017-12-19T07:42:03 | 2017-12-19T07:32:24 | 176 | 28 |
[WP] 100 years in the future dank memes are precious artifacts. While scanning your grandpa's PC, you stumble upon the rarest of all... | Memes.
Back in the old days, before the blackout, everyone had 'em. In every PC, in every browser, you'd find Pepes, Advice animals, Rage comics, Montage Parody's and all the inbetween, all the shades of the double-rainbow.
And then, you know, they became a bit harder to find.
It became obvious our society could simply not survive without the Dankest of influences that had shaped our culture. Memes weren't just memes anymore.
They were life.
I'm a spelunker. I dive into old PC's, laptops, desktops, you know...I search for the past.
But I also search for the memes.
The Meme-useum pays a lump sum to anyone who can bring 'em some good quality memes, so it's always worth looking out for 'em.
Sometimes it's hard. Entire days of searching hard drives, desktops and external storage software, only to come up empty.
But sometimes, you hit it big. You hit it real big.
I hit up my old grandpa's PC once. You wouldn't think he had anything, but oh boy I was wrong.
Turns out Grandpa was a 'channer. Lived for the meme, died by the meme.
When I opened that Rare Pepe folder... I knew I could retire happy. Loaded it onto to a flash drive, deleted the original (Standard practice, don't want nobody finding your old memes) and took off.
I didn't know I was being followed. The Memes I was carrying right then were the Dankest in the world...
And everybody wanted their hands on that. | My grand parents didn't really have a great understand of technology in their old age, like most people's. So when he asked me to have a look at his computer because it was a big sluggish I told him it wasn't a problem.
I did notice when I was checking or any bloat ware I noticed that he had a folder dedicated to memes, which wasn't a surprise because he had mentioned being a bit of a computer geek when he was younger.
Nothing could have prepared me though... Not for JOHN CENA! | 2015-12-12T10:08:18 | 2015-12-12T10:01:54 | 1,958 | 21 |
[WP] "Death is a gentle thing if you welcome it, like a soft breeze or a bashful kiss." - "Then what's the scythe for?" - "The people who resist." | “Mom, Dad, will I see them again?” David asks as he watches the iconic Blue Winged F-22 rain death upon the Airborne Fortress “Genesis”. Behind him is none other the Grimm Reaper, with his scythe in his hands.
“Possibly,” Reaper responds with no emotion. His empty red eyes looks around to the other Grimm Reapers, taking more souls with them around the battlefield. Many are using their scythes but for some reason, the Reaper assigned to David isn’t readying to use it.
“You don’t seem to be resisting, why?” Reaper asks. David looks back at him and then into the sky, watching the graceful Blue Wings.
“Because I’m a soldier, Pilot specifically, but a soldier nonetheless. We are expected to die for our country,” David responds earnestly.
The Reaper only shakes his head. “Yet what about all the souls I’ve had to collect for the past year? Most are soldiers who resisted either way, why not you?” Reaper asks.
“Because I pass down the touch of my purpose in life to him,” David says while pointing to the same Blue Winged F-22,”To allow Erusea to learn from their pass mistakes and aim to become better people. We did horrible things during the Continental war in ‘04. I’m certain you had some experience yourself.”
“Any regrets?” Reaper asks once again. David just looks into the sky. David scoffs before approaching him.
“Just one. Not seeing how the relationship between ‘The Princess of the Kingdom Of Erusea’ and the ‘Blue Wings of Freedom’ would flourish. And maybe not becoming the best man for the wedding of said couple,” David responds with slight sarcasm and regret.
“Now I’ve got a question for you,” now its David’s turn to ask the Reaper, “Death is supposedly to be a great thing if one welcomes it, like a soft breeze or bashful kiss. But what’s the scythe for?”
But a scream was heard. They both look to the left to see a Perfanesian soldier on the ground crawling away from another Reaper. “I WONT GO DOWN! I WONT!” He then looks up to the sky, his eyes on the same Blue Winged F-22. “Damn you! DAMN YOU BLUE WINGS OF FREEDO- GACK!” the Reaper near him stabs him with his scythe and lifts it up with the body still on the scythe.
“As you can see, it’s for the people who resist,” the Reaper says while motioning to the event that just transpired.
“I see,” David responds solemnly. He then looks back to the wreckage of a Yellow Winged F-22 that belonged to him. “I guess my time has come.” He then follows Reaper and walks alongside him into the sunset. | I often find myself thinking about death. What is death, where do we go after death? Who is death? Death is a gentle thing if you welcome it. Like a soft breeze, or a bashful kiss. Why wait for death to start living?
"Momma how do you know Death"
"Deaths waiting for me, my child, I've come to face Death. To fight death, in the battle for life. I'm going to...kill death"
I hear her words in my head again "death is a gentle thing...." it's been about 6 years since my mother's battle with Death. She brought herself to his door, banged it down with all her might, that women sounded like the devil himself. I would of been scared, no I was scared. "Come out Death!" she screamed, "come out and fight, or admit your defeat." His big door opened, "woman, you dare fight me? In the condition you're in, you think you'd win?"
Stomping her feet to seem more powerful she screams "I'll win, I'll always win." he looked at her and said "death is a gentle thing if you welcome it like a soft breeze or a bashful kiss" grabbing his scythe, I screamed "wait, Death, what's the scythe for?! Turning slowly to me then looking at her, my beautiful mother, he responded with "it's for the people who resist." And they fought. My mothers cancer ridden body, laying lifeless in front of us in the hospital bed, the doctor has informed us that she has lost her battle with cancer, she lost the battle... She lost...
I'm hunting Death. I will kill death. | 2018-10-25T09:36:17 | 2018-10-25T08:59:20 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] After being possessed, you jokingly tell the demon that if it really wants to stay it’ll have to pay rent. The next morning you wake up to find a pile of cash on your nightstand. | Waking up in a bathtub full of cash usually means one of two things: 1. That drunk-you is an amazing gambler or 2. that you should check that all your organs are still intact.
Some people would argue that the devil had his hand in both of these scenarios, but until last night, I would have thought that they were full of it.
Maybe a little explanation would go a long way:
I had been to a party at my friend Benny’s house. It was a classic “Let’s drink until you forget your problems” type of night. Or at least it should have been. What I arrived to, was something much, much different.
Benny’s house usually looks like the type of house you’d expect a single guy who hasn’t fully come into his own to live in; sparse furniture, beer posters on the wall, a random lamp in the corner. He always joked that we were “misery buddies in this thing together.” But last night it was…velvet and plush and had something my ex-girlfriend, Rebecca, had told me was a *chaise lounge* in the corner. She’s a pretty successful interior designer now. I should check her Instagram to see how she’s doing—but that’s off track.
Benny’s place was like stepping back in time to the Gilded Age, his “living room” had become a “parlor.” And where his gamer chair had been was now —a séance table? I was starting to think that Benny had forgotten to tell me— or maybe I just didn't remember— that he was throwing a theme party.
I made quick use of the new bar cart, mostly just to look busy. Benny’s guests were not our usual friends. Instead they looked like a police line up of rich, eccentric billionaires. One lady was wearing a fur stole and tiara, a man had a monocle. Maybe the theme was “rich asshole.”
One guest in particular stood out. Amongst the rich and beautiful, he was— well, he reminded me of Danny DeVito. He ate cocktail shrimp with his mouth open and double dipped. But he also exclusively drank White Claw, which was the most difficult thing about him to wrap my brain around.
While all of the other guests made small talk—“Fine weather we’re having” “What’s your yacht’s name?” “And how do you know Benny?” He seemed to know everybody. They were polite to him at best, but it's hard to genuinely smile at a man who's just sprayed the dead fox draped around your shoulders in shrimp bits.
Maybe it was because I was wearing a shirt with otters dressed up as Star Wars characters on it, but none of the rich assholes seemed that interested in mingling with me once they realized I was not an internet billionaire.
Eventually, shrimp Danny Devito and I found ourselves standing in the corner. Benny had been weaving in and out of the crowd all night, flanked by a gorgeous woman.
I was just about drunk enough to start a conversation:
“And how do you know Benny?”
He sucked the cocktail sauce off of his finger: “He and I go way back. Did him a favor.”
Funny that Benny had never mentioned him before. Benny was arguably my best friend, at least my oldest, and I had never heard of this man. And Benny tells me *everything,* even when I don't ask. I know when the old burrito in his fridge doesn’t hit right, so it seems unlikely that he wouldn’t tell me that he knows Danny DeVito’s dopplegänger. But then again, Benny has been pretty MIA recently. Last thing he told me before inviting me to this party was that he was going to Spain with his supermodel girlfriend, but I thought that was just code for staying inside and marathoning *Love Island,* Benny’s favorite show.
I thought about the woman I had seen with Benny from earlier, maybe it wasn't right to say we were "misery buddies" any longer.
“Are you guys all part of a club or something?”
He snorted, “Something like that.”
He considered for a moment, then with a cheesy grin, “We’re all fans of the dark arts.”
I couldn’t tell if he was joking: “So that’s what this is, you guys are doing a séance or something."
His eyes light up: “Yea! I promised all my friends that I would conjure the ghost of whoever they wanted to speak to. I can do that. It’s pretty cool I guess.’
Something about the way he said friends made me feel sad for him. Some friends he’s got, ignoring him all night.
We talked for a while, he seemed genuinely interested in my life. Drunk Me was more than happy to divulge the fact that I worked a dead-end job, lived in a shitty apartment with a terrible roommate who never paid rent on time, and was just left by the love of my life. We talked for what seemed like hours about the unfairness of life.
He smiled, “Seems you’re disenchanted by the current state of your life.”
I knocked back another shot, “I guess.”
“Life’s unfair, isn’t it? The rich get richer, the poor get poorer, and most people never reach their true potential.”
It seemed like an odd stance from someone whose friends were like the rich people from *The Purge* movies. And Benny, apparently. Where was he anyway?
‘You know, I’ve helped all of my friends get what they want in life: success, money, fame.”
I was just drunk enough to start dropping truth bombs; “Buddy, I’m going to tell you this because I think we might be best friends; some friends you got.”
“What?’
“They’ve been ignoring you all night! It seems a little one-sided if you ask me. You’ve listened to me complain all night, and I don’t want to be the one to tell you this, but they're using you.”
“What? No, they're good, well ok, they’re not good people, but we help each other out.”
I looked him straight in the eyes, “You can do better.”
But Danny Devito didn’t want to hear this, “Do better? What are you talking about! I’m doing great! I’ve got my kingdom of darkness that’s thriving, I mean, I manage and oversee millions of souls a day, do you know how good your time management skills have to be? There’s a reason they say, ‘the devils in the details.’ I invented the details!”
I was too drunk to think too heavily as to why he seemed to think he was the devil, I thought it was just some metaphor I didn’t understand.
I was starting to feel sentimental, “You know what I want? I want you to find a good friend.”
Shrimp Danny DeVito got a little misty-eyed. “Aw, geez, I wouldn't even know where to start. I live alone you know, and kind of far away. I never get to meet new people unless they call me. And then, they just want something from me. I just want them to think I’m cool, that’s why I do these stupid parties. And you know what,” he lowered his voice, “I can’t really conjure ghosts! Parlor tricks.”
“I get it, man. With Rebecca— you remember Rebecca— it was you should get a better job, you should strive for more, but for what? I was happy with her, I was okay with everything else in my life being shitty because she made me happy, but I wasn’t enough for her I guess.”
“That’s rough, man.’
‘Hey, you should move to the city. That’s a great place to meet new people!”
“No, I wouldn’t even know where to go.”
My fatal flaw is that I talk too much when drunk, “You can live with me’
His eyes lit up, “Really?"
“Sure—if you pay rent on time.”
We laughed and toasted and drank some more. | 'Lily, you don't have to pay me, it was just a joke. I was joking,' I told her, looking straight into her eyes. Her 12 flaming red eyes residing atop her head, and behind her head, and to the sides of her head, and also under her abdomen. I think some of them were looking at me. And some of them were looking at the floor. And some of them were looking at the desk drawer, where she had put down the immensely large pile of cash. It looked like ~~several wads~~ a wad of 100 dollar bills, that could easily have come to 10 000 dollars. I didn't count it, but I was tempted to.
'You don't have to pay me, to love you. Let's work on building our relationship,' I affirmed her.
Lily frowned. Which was quite something to behold, because it involved the simultaneous cascading of multiple sets of mandibles by the sides of what I think was her oral orifice, which extended from the top of her head, down to somewhere under her neck.
'I don't have to pay you to stay here?' she replied. Psychically, of course. Because there no sensible sound can come out of those feral vocal organs apart from bestial crackling and choking noises.
I answered her psychically. 'Yes,' I said, staring at her intently, without moving my mouth. 'Lets make this a relationship of mutual trust.'
The next day, there she was in the kitchen, making me bacon and eggs for breakfast. That was more like it! The ~~pile~~ wad of cash had somehow spontaneously combusted, leaving a charred crater on one side of my drawer. I decided to let it slide. One step at a time.
And the next day, and the day after, and the day after that. All my favourite foods! Bacon and eggs, and sausages, and omelette, and she even started making chilli eggs, and my favourite porridge, that my Mum used to make for me as a kid. I wonder how she figured out how to do that, since it was a secret family recipe?
Lily was everything I had ever dreamed she would be, apart from the 8 appendages, and diabolical demeanour, which left us alone on the street, every time we took a walk outside together. She was always there waiting for me when I got home, and she had even put up a Facebook page just for me, praising me everyday, and boasting about our special relationship to the world, which to be honest, did make me a little bit uneasy, but it was really very endearing.
'Jonathan fixed the oven today! He is SUCH a man of the house,' she would post, along with a picture of me with half of my torso in the oven, trying to reach the filament at the back.
'Jonathan sent me a bouquet of roses while he was at work today! He is SO romantic,' she had posted. That one had gotten more than 100 likes, mostly from her friends in the 7th circle of hell, who posted mainly encouraging replies, although there were one or two replies that made me do a double-take, because it involved questioning my love for her.
'Oh, but does he REALLY love you? Can humans really love at all? All they care about is themselves. He just wants to use you as his 'source' of validation and to stroke his own ego. After he gets bored with you, he's going to discard you without warning. Don't say I didn't warn you.'
I blinked when I read that message. It seemed to have come from a 'LORD-OF-THE-UNDERWORLD-3625', and her Facebook page was full of kittens, cat-memes and 'Hello-kitty', but she had also posted several ugly messages and photos of her own ex-boyfriend whom she had apparently broken up with, but not quite, because they were still 'friends with benefits'.
I blocked her straight away. I guess it's hard having a healthy relationship, being a denizen of the underworld, and knowing only torment and the destruction of all that is good and holy. Perhaps she was jealous of me and Lily. I didn't blame her. No hard feelings.
The next day, I found another large pile of cash on my dressing table. I had just come out of the shower, and had a towel around my head, and I was dripping wet, and trying to find my slippers. I halted before the dressing table. Then I looked around. Lily came out of the shadows, from behind me.
'I wanted to show you how much I appreciate you,' she said. She had SAID it, this time, through some creative gymnastics of her vocal chords, which resembled the sound of someone running a thumbnail along a comb, but with VOWELS.
'Not bad, I thought. Maybe with just a little bit of practice, she can start to sound like the echoes of human voices you sometimes imagine that you hear in the white crackling noises of an old record player. We're making progress here.'
I stared at the wad of cash. I stood there for a long time, feeling her ominous presence behind me. But I trusted her. I knew she wouldn't impale me without warning on one of those numerous mandibles she had extruding from her numerous mandibles.
She waited suspensefully, breath held.
'You know what?' I said.
She rattled.
'I accept. But just ...'
I didn't have time to finish my sentence. I was going to say 'But just this time,' but suddenly the world went black, and there seemed to be what looked like an oversized crab claw protruding from my abdomen. Had I been impaled? Or was it coming out of me? I wasn't sure. I looked down at it in awe, and wondered why I was still alive. And then I think -pain? But I passed out. And darkness. Darkness for the longest time, and what seemed like half-formed animal thoughts. Were they my own? Survival. All I could think of was survival. And FOOD. Oh how much I needed FOOD. But ... not just any food. I needed ESSENCE I needed ... A SOURCE.
So onto Facebook, I went, until I found an attractive-looking girl, who looked like she may be kind-hearted, and might turn out to love me.
As for Lily, I'm not sure where she went. I can't remember, it's all so vague now. Something about ... about me being not the person she thought I was? That she needed to have some space from me, for a while, to recover from the trauma of the cycle of abuse? Whatever that meant. It's all in half-formed echoes and images. But Rose. Rose looked like she could love me. I sent her a private message, then I pressed 'send.'
--
Edit: wad of cash | 2020-04-25T20:33:41 | 2020-04-25T19:40:09 | 56 | 21 |
[WP] You're the most powerful villian in the world. Formerly. Now you run a bar, that works as a neutral zone for heros and Villians alike. One day, a hotshot hero tries to arrest you. | *tick*
I wonder if Tom’s gonna swing by tonight? I heard him and Isaac got into a bit of nasty brawl today. Took out a whole building in the scuffle.
*tick*
God Mark’s such a fucking pig, look at him; stuffing his face full of fries like it’s his last meal. Aaaand yep, there goes the burger.
Christ it never ceases to amaze me how he could probably eat an entire cow and still look like a beanpole.
*tick*
I could sense somebody coming. I could feel it through the ground, through the soles of my shoes. Felt different than usual but I didn’t care, so long as they payed up and played nice that is.
*tick* *tick* *tic-* **BOOM**
I raised my arms and hardened my body on reflex, and I see everyone looking towards the front door.
I unhardened and look up, to see the entire front of the bar blown to rubble; and someone looming in the middle of it.
He looked like a knockoff Superman, except less Clark Kent and more entitled college student.
He sported a dark red cape/hood and black latex suit, with brown pompadour hair and dark green eyes. He also had the biggest shit eating grin on his face, like he’d just won the lottery.
He looked forward and addressed the crowd of superhero’s and villains, “My name is Pluto and I’m terribly sorry to interrupt your evening citizens! But I was told an extremely dangerous villain was in area and I came as quick as I could!”
He looked around the bar, surveying the area for whoever he was looking for- which considering where he was, he couldn’t do shit even if he wanted to.
“Well unfortunately for you, this is a neutral zone. Hero’s and villains don’t matter in here. In here, your just an average joe.”
He laughed, “Very funny! There’s no such thing as neutrality against evildoers, for justice never sleeps!”
I could hear an audible groan come from some of my patrons, others just cringed. Some villains laughed.
I looked around to make sure all my patrons were okay, and saw that many of them looked *pissed.*
Understandable I suppose, after all this is where they’re supposed to be able to relax after a long day and not have to worry about this shit. And hell, it’s my livelihood so I was a bit irked as well.
However, there’s a good reason I don’t allow fighting in my bar; mostly due to the fact that there probably wouldn’t be much bar left. So I try to keep em happy.
I pulled out a couple of bottles of good scotch and raised my voice, ”ATTENTION due to today’s rude intrusion, drinks are on the house tonight!”
A chorus of loud yelling in appreciation overwhelmed the bar.
Will was the first to slide up, “You’re the best Hank!”
Pluto turned his head around and walked towards me.
“Excuse me sir, what’s your name?”
“Names Hank, but uh I suppose you’d know me better as Earthshaker”
He tensed and looked around perplexed, as though he expected a bomb to go off.
Then he looked at me and scowled, “Is this some kind of joke? I was told the Earthshaker was gigantic and make out of titanium! But you? You’re just an old man!”
I laughed, “Back in my hay day maybe, but nowadays? I’ve gone clean, hell I even offer up my bar as a safe haven for the local hero’s and villains!”
I almost felt bad for the kid when he stood up and looked around, now probably recognizing some familiar faces. He turned white as a sheet.
“Wait you were serious about that?”
I smiled, “Of course everyone needs a break every now and again! And I’m willing to offer just that! So long so as everybody plays nice and doesn’t beat the shit outta each other that is.”
He stood around awkwardly for a minute, most likely processing everything; before taking a seat at the bar.
“Could I have a scotch, neat? Make it a double.”
I got out a small glass and poured him his drink.
“You better leave a hell of a tip after all that. And your paying for the damages too!” I sighed and looked out front.
*It’s gonna be a long fuckin’ night*
EDIT: Holy karma batman. This is literally the first time I’ve written something like this, thank you for the kind reception! | "I am under arrest?", the little twit had the nerve to say it out loud and in front of everyone. This was a bummer of a day already and now this. "Under what authority? This is a neutral location. Technically you are breaking the local ordinance by impersonation of an authorized agent of the law here. I am within my rights to have you evicted from my establishment and brought up on disturbing the peace."
"I thought you might say that, this establishment was not grandfathered out of being an evil lair, no one could come in without your approval then and now you accept me in as a customer." He faltered several times.
"Ok, you made no sense in any of that, are you ok kid? Did you get a kiss from Miss Confusion over there?" I pointed to a very provacative looking young woman in the corner.
"If I kissed him, we would still be kissing. He looks delicious!" She taunted at him. "How about you and me slim? Old man Jones here is not near as a good of time as I am."
"I won't take no for an answer, you are coming with me to pay for your crimes!" He was bright red after taking a look at MC, ah she was cute but oh so dangerous. Not as dangerous as I am but a different kind of dangerous.
"Here are your choices young man, obliteration, translocation, or walk out. And you are not invited back." I leaned towards him on the bar.
"You will have to obliterate me! I will arrest you!" His voice cracked on the second will.
"Fine obliteration it is. What level hero are you? I don't want a big mess to clean up." I looked at my watch and started tapping in some commands.
"Level! I have no level! I couldn't be measured!" He shouted this time.
"Oh no, wait, are you a registered hero? Please tell me you aren't some plebian that waltzed in here thinking he could get famous for arresting me. I know spiders with a bigger bite than you." There were hero's and then there were wannabes, fighting a real hero was an absolute treat, this guy was about to be a carpet stain.
"I will be after my first heroic act, and you will come with me!" He started towards me, all eyes on him. Hero and villain alike just shook their head.
"Son, do you have any family? A girlfriend maybe? I need to know who to send the box of ashes to and make sure I don't get some revengeful sibling or kid coming back at me. My motto is 'Kill one, kill them all' so no loose ends ok?" I finished the watch tinkering as got within a step of me. He stopped and looked around him as if he realized I wasn't budging.
"You kill all?" He asked quietly.
"Usually, definitely when the idiot has made a public spectacle of the situation. It will be just a little pain, my seeker boys are pretty good at clean up." I pointed to the wall the was coming alive with automation and noise. They had been my body guards for years. Now just wall decor.
"Ok, use your move on me." And he was a inch from my face with a fist.
"Kill them all," he said as tears ran down his face, "Don't let any of them survive."
I blinked, he was here for something different, I translocated him into a cell with a final tap on my wrist. This one was going to need some help. | 2020-10-09T18:30:36 | 2020-10-09T16:55:02 | 4,330 | 1,443 |
[WP] You are Low-Key, the Norse God of really subtle mischief. | Why *did* Thor keep all this useless junk. Low-Key observed the collection with curiosity, occasionally picking something up to inspect. Trophies of all his wonderful endeavours, no doubt. Thor had always been one for showing off, for displays of power, wealth, and overcomplicated execution in the name of grandeur. Ridiculous. Low-Key was far more subtle. Subtlety, in fact, was his talent. He selected a tiny skull, blackened with scorch marks and covered in webs of cracks, tossed it in the air as if it were an apple from a tree, and placed it back where he had found it, just half an inch out of place. He suppressed a smirk. How *infuriating* this must be, to have command over the skies and yet be driven to insanity by something so subtly mischievous. That would do for today. Low-Key nodded with satisfaction. As he turned to leave, he glanced wistfully to the table in the middle of the room, as he always did. His white whale, his obsession, Mjolnir sat there, glowing and humming, almost taunting him. He had to try. Approaching the hammer, he grasped the handle and twisted hard. Just an inch, he thought, *please*. Nothing. He let go, unsuccessful yet again. One day, he thought as he left the room, Thor won't know what's hit him. | "Fuck! Again?!" I screamed as I dropped yet another object. This has been happening for weeks now, every drink spilled, every small crack tripped on, every item I pick up magically slipping from my grasp. I don't get it! One day I'm fine, the next I just can't even. I think I'm going crazy, maybe I'm cursed... Maybe I'm sick... I don't know how long I can keep going like this | 2018-01-27T23:20:19 | 2018-01-27T22:18:18 | 30 | 10 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a superpower. You can either let your ability develop naturally, or you can "force" it to develop whenever you want. If you force it, there's a chance that your power will be mundane and useless. You're on your deathbed and are the only person who never developed a power. | "Sir, are you sure about this? You still have two months to live; if we perform the procedure now, there is no way to tell what may happen."
My doctor was a good man. Despite my condition, he had cared for me, through thick and thin. Even when the government had tried to get me whisked away to some research facility in God-knows-where, he'd fought for my right to stay with my family.
"Doc, you and I both know this could be the only way. You predicted so yourself, and I know what that means."
My doctor grimaced. "Yes, but even I can't see the outcome of this. It's risky. You may not even leave the operating table."
I chuckled; there wasn't much else for me now, anyway.
A light, yet commanding, voice from the corner chimed in. "Dr. Mallory, my father has made up his mind. I will support him in this, and I suggest you do the same."
At the words, Dr. Mallory seemed to have been almost physically pushed back. Dazed, he replied, "Very well. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"That's Sarah for you, Doc," I added, smiling. "I never was able to say no to her."
Sarah rose from the single chair in the office, and came over to take my hand. "You'll get through this, Dad," she whispered warmly. "You're stong, and now you'll be all the stronger."
Just like everybody else, I thought. No longer the freak, no longer the stranger with no special abilities.
Or I'll be dead. That works, too.
I could feel the chill of the electrodes as they adhered to every major muscle and nerve group on my body. The idea was so overload my system so suddenly that I was forced to awaken my power as a defense mechanism. Problem was, the procedure was unstable. One wrong move, and my abilities would be useless. One more, and I'd be dead.
"Are you ready, Mr. Penn?" Dr. Mallory's hand rested on the knob that would soon fry me to a crisp.
"As ready as I'll ever be," I responded.
The warmth of Sarah's hand comforted me as I watched the doctor turn that knob. Electricity flooded my system, so much that it overrode every other sense, even pain. My world went white, save for the warmth in my hand.
But even that faded. I knew immediately that something was wrong. My hand wasn't going numb, like the rest of my body. Instead, heat exploded into my body at the same time as my hand went ice-cold.
I tried to scream for it to stop, to drop my daughter's hand. I couldn't. My entire body was paralyzed, even as I felt my life returning. I could see my daughter locked in place as well, her expression one of shock. I watched, frozen, as the life drained from Sarah's body.
As that same life became mine.
(First post in r/WritingPrompts! Hope you like it :D)
EDIT: Spacing | As I lay here, I can't help but think about what my powers could have been if I'd just forced at 20... For some reason, the first thing I imagine is having the ability to see infra-red... Getting annoyed by the TV remote whenever someone presses a button... Kind of an odd though for your deathbed...
Maybe things would have been different as I matured... What if I'd forced at 30? I imagine the power of teleportation... How much of my life would not have been wasted on the bus... I only retired 5 years ago, when I turned 80... That's 50 years with 5 hours a week wasted on commuting...
What if I'd forced at 50? I imagine the ability to heal... My daughter, Kim... She could have had a mum in her late teens... She could of been taken care of... Oh how I miss Jane... the last 35 years have been lonely...
Kim is holding my hand. She already knows I am dying but I can tell by her face, she knows something else is wrong... I need to tell her...
"Kim...", I hesitate.
"What?" she asks.
"They... want to test on my corpse...",
"No!",
"They've promised to take care of you...", I hand her the envelope, "This is a contract guaranteeing you an income for the next 15 years... please... it's all I can do... and I won't argue about this. My dying wish is that I can take care of you the only way I can..."
She knows this speech. She's heard it several times since my 65th birthday. She nods, as a tear rolls down each cheek.
"Ok."
With my last breath, I consider what the tests will show... I imagine them discovering that I can see the past, the present, the future, and alternative possible timelines... And I realise... I waited 85 years, to die with a mundane and useless power anyway...
| 2016-10-14T16:31:00 | 2016-10-14T16:28:33 | 43 | 13 |
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