prompt stringlengths 20 5.8k | chosen_story stringlengths 226 10k | rejected_story stringlengths 227 9.43k | chosen_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55 2022-12-31 14:34:19 | rejected_timestamp timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36 2022-12-31 12:20:41 | chosen_upvotes int64 14 23.1k | rejected_upvotes int64 10 4.26k |
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[WP] <Do not swim! Beware of the water monster!> Says the sign, but you don't care. You can waterwalk and the monster cannot legally eat you. | I walked out across the lake, the little puddle of mountain spring water the locals had allowed to accumulate because of the large amount of summertime revenue it usually brought. I walked with purpose, direction, and, most importantly, disregard for the puerile sign some numbskull had left stapled to the National Park sign denoting the puddle’s name Lake Havoc. I made it about halfway across when the water monster surfaced, all seven-foot-height by four-foot-width, complete with six black eyes, symmetrically aligned as pairs along the furthest edges of his face. I could tell he had intended to breach, but stopped when he saw me, sort of stumbling and making a splash.
“Oh. I should’ve figured.” He rolled onto his back, his long, snakelike tail rising from between his tree-stump legs.
“Yeah. You should’ve.” I stared at him a while, and he stared back. Finally, I sighed. “Clarence, I’m sorry.”
He snorted and his tail flicked, irritated. “No need to be sorry. No need to apologise to a LAKE MONSTER!”
He yelled the last part, spraying spit in my face. Some landed in my mouth, and I tensed because it was the best alternative to violently puking. The spit tasted like day old meat market, fish past-due.
“Clarence, I didn’t mean it like that. You know I don’t view you as a monster.”
“Oh sure. You view me as an equal. A partner in crime. Someone you can take home to mother.”
“My parents aren’t. . . They aren’t new age or whatever. They aren’t modern. They still view things through the monochromatic lenses of yore.”
Clarence rolled from side to side in the water, gently for him, but rough for my flimsy footing. His wake bumped my foot enough that I staggered and a second wave knocked me headlong into the water. I managed to tell before I fell in: “Clarence!!”
The thing about waterwalking is that if you’ve got the gift, you never need to learn how to swim. Except that isn’t true at all. Waterwalking only works when a person walks on top of water. Some expert waterwalkers can walk on their hands on water, but most can only use their feet. But deviate from the walking motion, try to sit, nap, kneel and you’ll find that water welcomes you in its depths like all the rest of its inhabitants.
Clarence rolled over and dove for me with ease, pulling me into his scaly belly as he rolled back over into his reclined position. We looked a lot like Mowgli and Baloo, if Mowgli were older and Baloo a Water... Being.
“Saved by a monster. Are you gonna tell that story to your friends at your next barbecue?”
“I never meant to hurt your feelings, Clarence. I just. . . Never knew what identifying generalisation I could make to classify your species.” This had been my biggest problem with having a friend like Clarence. I’d always want to introduce him or talk about him with friends on land, and I never had the words.
“I don’t want an identifying generalisation! I don’t want to be classified! I just want to be your friend!” His six eyes welled up angrily and my heart sunk into my stomach.
“You are. You’re my best friend. My best friend Clarence.”
“You’re just saying that.”
“I mean it. There’s not much I wouldn’t do for you, bud. I’d give up my unnatural water-defying abilities, my land friends, and even my luscious locks for you.” I shook my hair to show I meant business.
“Your ability isn’t so great, but your hair is pretty good.”
“Yeah, I keep meaning to learn how to swim. Some day.”
“I could show you right now, if you want.” His eyes were dryer now, and softer around the edges. I smiled and he smiled back, toothily accepting my apology.
“Yeah. That’d be nice.” | As the water bubbled up, a creature draped in algae and kelp emerged. A sight to see before it was even completely upright, the monster let out a low, rumbling groan. The air around it seemed to get colder, a flock of birds exploded from a nearby tree, fleeing the immediate area. It lunged forward, crossing the lake in a matter of seconds. I knew I had to act quickly, I stepped out onto the water, prepared for the worst.
"STOP FOUL BEAST, THE LAW OF THE LAND FORBIDS YOU FROM FEASTING UPON MY FLESH"
It stopped.
"Bahahahahahahhahaha oh, shit, oh my god that was so corny"
"What?"
"What the hell are you yelling about? Law of the Land? What is that?"
"YOU CANNOT EAT ME, FOR I CAN WALK UPON WATER"
"Who told you that?"
"What do you mean told me? Its the Law of the Land. Its magic, see? Im like Jesus, kind of"
"Nononono, I see the whole Jesus thing, who told you I cant eat you?
"My mentor, he taught me the art, he explained the magic laws that have binded the land together since the dawn of existance"
"Okay. Alright. Why'd you say it like that though? Are we playing DnD? C'mon man it's 2018 get with the times. Didnt your mentor teach you witty one liners?"
"Well what would you of said? I bet your's wouldn't be any better?"
"I dont know man, I'm a fuckin lake monster, I just growl and gurgle and shit, this isnt about me though. I gotta know whats up with this cornball shit."
"I dont know man, fuck you! Its like magicy shit, I thought I had to like, be in character."
"Hah, well man maybe you should of practiced more. And Law of the Land? Why name it that? It's so unoriginal for some crazy hoodoo laws"
"I dont know! Look I just joined and learned how to waterwalk, they said you couldnt touch me because of the laws, so they sent me to pick the flowers that grow on the other side. I really just have to get going now, so if you'll excuse me"
"......about that."
"....uhhmmm"
"Yeah, no....uhmm. Im still gonna eat you."
"But you can't, the Law of the Land"
"Yeahhh. Hmmmm. No. Definitely not a single magic law stopping me. In fact the only reason you're still alive is because you're the first person to say something to me in over 600 years. I was pretty bored."
"Can't you like, just..not..eat me? There's a McDonalds like 3 miles from here and I mean I could totally go for some nuggets and barbecue sau-"
| 2018-08-21T01:54:20 | 2018-08-21T01:31:31 | 32 | 12 |
[WP] You design a sensor that can detect probabilities of catching diseases from eating or drinking stuff. One day, your device detects "100% of catching ancient curse" from the seemingly harmless free samples provided by a woman in a supermarket. | [100% Chance of Catching: Ancient Curse.]
Sam looked suspiciously at the table of moon pies. She scanned each one, and they all had the same result.
“Is something the matter, sweetie?” the old woman asked. Her skin looked like sun-baked dirt, full of wrinkles. Her store uniform was a faded blue, of a different style than the other employees she had seen.
“Nah. Gimme a box of these.”
Sam went to the park with her box of cursed snacks. She sat on a bench, and opened one of them. Seagulls crowded the area around her feet.
Sam was a little taller than average, with clumsy feet and hands. She had messy brown hair and perpetually squinting eyes.
She broke off a piece, and tossed in the air. The seagulls fluttered up, snatching the crumbs from each other’s mouths.
The one that got the biggest piece was covered in flies and mosquitos by the time it landed. It dove into a nearby pond, then came up, picking bugs off with its beak. Other birds crowded around, eager to share in the feast.
The bugs kept coming, and the seagull tried flying away. Some of the other birds followed it, but most came back to Sam.
She threw another piece in the air.
One caught it in their mouth and promptly exploded, showering the air in feathers.
“Oh shit!”
A few minutes later, blind seagulls were walking around clumsily. There were three seagull dolls sitting on the path in front of Sam. And a few had simply disappeared.
“Okay, that’s enough.” She didn’t want to run out of birds for next time.
Sam went home and hid the moon pies in her secret spot in the cabinet, where she normally kept Oreos and other things her family would steal. Just in case, she also wrote a sticky note that said “Sam’s - do not eat”.
She took a shower. She had a little exploded seagull on her.
Sam’s sister Tammy heard the water cut on. Finally.
Tammy was nine years old. She had curly brown hair and spent a lot of time drawing ninja turtles.
She snuck into the kitchen and checked Sam’s secret spot. She never took more than a little bit. Sam would catch on that way. But it wasn’t fair that Sam got all the good stuff to herself.
Tammy took a bite of one of the moon pies.
The pie fell to the floor.
Thousands of miles away, inside a pyramid buried underground, Tammy screamed. Out of nowhere, it was dark, and she was scared.
After a few seconds, her eyes adjusted to the darkness. She saw a faint blue light, and followed it.
It turned out to be a refrigerator. It was clean, white, and anachronistic, like Tom Cruise in the Last Samurai.
Tammy opened the door. The top shelf was filled with boxes of moon pies. The bottom half of the fridge had bottles of water. She took a few out, then closed the door.
When she opened it again, the fridge was full once more.
Tammy ate a moon pie with a worried look on her face. She was probably going to miss school Monday if they couldn’t find her. This was a real good news/bad news situation.
Sam walked into the kitchen, hair still drying. She saw the box lying in the floor. Her sister had disappeared, and could have been exploded or worse.
“Whatever. I left a note.”
______________________________________________________
39/365. Constructive criticism welcome and appreciated. | The demo stand seemed harmless enough.
That’s how all these sorts of stories start, don’t they? Everything is fine and normal. Right up to the point where it’s not.
The calming normalcy lulling people into a sense of security, because surely nothing could be safer than a supermarket.
Not like this was *the small curio shop that wasn’t there yesterday* offering something odd like a *magic monkey paw in a jade box*
This was just a demo stand.
In a large, well lit, supermarket.
For some reason nobody could describe anything about it after sampling what was on offer; not even what they had taken.
They couldn’t remember any details on the person who had offered them the samples, but some remarked that they noticed the stand being vacant only moments after they had partaken.
Then they suddenly, went blind.
So, I had been sent to investigate.
Of course the supermarket store manager denied any knowledge about any sort of demo stand anywhere on the store’s premises, but I was aloud to walk around.
Scanning everything I could as I walked.
“Hello.” Said a rasping dry voice.
I glanced up into a plain, thin pale face, with short close-cropped hair that almost managing to be a shade of beige. He gave me a watery smile. No name badge that I could see.
“Hi...”
“Would you care to have a sample?”
I glanced down at my phone.
**[100% Chance of Catching: Ancient Curse]**
I looked at the table where the man had gestured to. Regular plain crackers, all topped with pale squares of what looked like Swiss cheese, but none had any holes in them.
“Um. That’s very kind... but no. Thank you for offering it to me though.”
A genuinely pleased smile crossed his face, which seemed slightly more rosy than before. I snuck another look at my phone.
**[0% Chance of Catching: Ancient Curse]**
I looked up to see the man chuckling, he definitely looked a lot more lively.
“Nobody ever looks to see,” he said, “someone as *invisible* as me.” A mischievous glint lit up in his eyes, “If right past they’re glance they do allow , their sight must follow!”
“You... blind people for not looking at you?”
“They do not care to *see* they have sight, but don’t see to look. If I take of which they no longer use right, it doth not make of me a crook.”
Then he disappeared.
This collar would be more difficult than I had anticipated.
-fin
| 2018-02-08T23:30:01 | 2018-02-08T19:19:53 | 63 | 31 |
[WP] As a cemetery groundskeeper, you entertain yourself by talking to the graves and making up stories about what the occupants did in their previous lives. Recently, they’ve started to correct you. | I giggle to myself as I remember the shocked look on my partner's face when I told him I preferred the night shift. "I mean, really? It's super dull, we usually draw straws for it." He said, but I insisted and he did not fight me for it.
The night is peaceful, and the rolling green hills dotted with headstones are illuminated by a full moon and countless June fireflies. I pause at a particularly elaborate tombstone with statues of cherubic angels flanking it. I shine my flashlight on the epitaph and read. "Joseph Martin. Born 1910. Died 1975."
I do the math... "You died at 65, and clearly someone put a lot of effort into your tombstone."
I pause before making my educated guess. "You were the town banker."
"Incorrect." A ghostly apparition sighs from its position perched on top of the tombstone. "I was actually the town baker."
"What's with the cherubs then?" I ask arching an eyebrow. "It's a bit elaborate for a town baker."
"My wife liked the finer things."
I nod. "You were keeping up with the Joneses?"
"Yeah, take a look at the gravestone two plots down, those were the Joneses." The apparition vanishes and I move on.
A few minutes later I pause at another headstone. This one is simple, just a rectangular stone with some basic information. "Mary Winthrop. Born 1805. Died 1835."
"Wow, you were a young one. " I sigh, crossing my arms and tapping my foot. "Given that year, my guess is housewife?"
"I ain't no-one's housewife!" A semi-transparent woman shouts at me. "I was a working girl." She says with a wink.
"I didn't realize ladies of the night got buried with such high honors."
"You do when your town priest feels guilty about giving you syphilis." She cackles. "Joke's on him, I got it first!" She vanishes in a puff of hearty laughter and I continue on my way.
I reach the far corner of the cemetery. There are no proper tombstones here, just small epitaphs, easy for lawn-mowing. I lean down and read one of the epitaphs. "William Pierce. Born 1895. Died 1932." I sigh "Another young one..."
I pause for a moment before guessing. "You were a farm-hand."
"I was actually Abraham Lincoln." A disembodied voice corrects me.
"You can't be Abraham Lincoln." I correct him. "You were born after Lincoln died."
" No... I was Abraham Lincoln." The voice responds back. Suddenly the voice is met with a chorus.
*No, I was Abraham Lincoln.*
*No! I was Abraham Lincoln.*
*No! I was.*
*No, I was.*
*I was Abraham Lincoln.*
I turn on my heel and walk away, I guess I now know where they buried all the town lunatics. | I whistled to myself softly, making the rounds. My lantern bobbed up and down in front of me.
I come up to a grave, one that is a particular favorite of mine, Countess Helena Boudoir, who is far and foremost the most important individual to be buried in this cemetery. I enjoy making little hypotheses about what these people did when they were alive.
“Oh, my dear Countess. Where’s the garlic? Keep off all red meats, you can’t handle the stake!”
I cackled to myself. I think Helena Boudoir was a vampiress, who entertained her male lovers by giving them love bites. I loved her grave because not only was it the most expensive (and therefore the most intricate) but it had a small underground shrine right next to it, adding to my theory that she was a cult-worshipped, male seducing vampire. I also think she had daily orgies.
The next grave over was John Smith. My theory is that he fell off of his horse while riding back to his wife from the local brothel.
I giggled to myself again. I love this job.
One more, then.
This one was Agnes Puller. I think she was a nasty old hag with the worst fashion sense in Europe, who lured children into her commune and ate them with tartar sauce.
“Someone call Chris Hansen, we got ourselves a predator!”
I was just about to move on when I hear a noise. I swing my lantern in front of me, like a sword, though it didn’t work as well as I had hoped.
“Tut tut, you should be ashamed. I was a nun!”
I nearly jumped out of my skin, as mist filled the graveyard.
Shit, did I misjudge the date? I took out my phone, no damn service, but the date made my heart drop.
Friday, December 13th.
And these ghosts were probably not too happy with some of the things I said about them. | 2018-07-18T05:34:17 | 2018-07-18T05:08:31 | 1,007 | 315 |
[WP] A superhero agency exists to assign villains to heroes depending on their skills, powers. A hero with a weak power but enough skills and intelligence can still be assigned to a powerful villain and vice versa. You, a superhero with the power to break planets, is assigned a villain with no power | I went to talk to her. What else could I do?
The *smallest* attack I could manage would be to cause an earthquake, and let a crack in the earth swallow her house, and the rest of the houses on her block.
In truth, it was a bit of a letdown, when I wasn't paired with a terrifying villain. I was looking forward to finding a villain sufficiently terrible that I could really, truly let loose, go wild. All my life people have been afraid of what I might do, but the idea of finally, finally putting it all to good use thrilled.
Instead I got Ms. Doris Stanley, a sixty-three year old woman. For no obvious reason.
Utterly destroying her seemed like overkill for someone who had no superpowers. They told me that all she did was talk. Not, mesmerize me with her voice, not shatter the air with noise that could destroy eardrums, just talk in a normal, human voice. So, I went to talk to this villain.
Doris ushered me in, I sat down, and we talked.
Everyone is so afraid of me all of the time, but it was genuinely nice to simply chat. She talked to me for a small while about her life, her friends and family, and she let me talk about my life.
It had been a while since anyone would listen to me because they wanted to, rather than because they were afraid what would happen if they didn't.
"I feel like I've gotten to know you pretty well," she told me after a few hours. "Can I ask you a personal question?"
I tensed. She was about to work some kind of villainy. I didn't want to hurt her. I really rather liked her. Still, I took a deep breath and nodded. "Go on."
"What if I told you that I'm not a super villain at all?"
I goggled at her. "What?"
"I know the hero guild matched you with me. That's why you're here isn't it?"
Warily, I nodded.
"Yes dear, they told me so. Because they matched *me* to *you.*"
I stared at her. I didn't understand.
"In a sense, you're the villain," she explained. "If you ever use your power, for any reason, people die. My job is to convince you not to. And honestly, I don't think you want to kill anyone either, do you? That's why you signed up to be a hero."
As soon as she said it, I understood and I knew she was right. I would never be a hero. My power wouldn't let me be a hero. All I could do was destroy everything around me.
I burst into tears.
"There, there," Doris said as she wiped a tissue where I'd been crying. "Now, about your job as a hero. You start tomorrow."
"What?" I asked. "You just said I couldn't ever be a hero."
"Bah," Doris made a motion with hand, as if to swat away a fly. "I said you couldn't use your power. You're still on the hook with the Hero's guild. Contractually obligated even."
"How?"
"Everyone knows The Titan, when you're wearing that snappy costume of yours. People are afraid of you yes, but you're still seen as powerful. Impressive. Important. You know who really admires big, literally earth-shattering, not-particularly useful power like yours?"
"Who?" I asked, not sure where this was going.
"Kids," she told me. "In the real world, you're a dangerous menace, but to a kid you're *amazing.* Tomorrow morning, you're going to put on that costume and meet me at St. Agnes children's hospital. You're going to make some very sick children very happy. And, if you ask me, that's more heroic than all this silliness with the lasers and bombs and what-not your friends get up to."
I stared at her for a moment longer, and nodded. I'd never really gotten the chance to be a hero before. Now, maybe I would have a chance after all.
| “What.. what are you doing?”
Mad-Lad ran his gloved fingers through his hair as he floated, watching his assigned mortal enemy struggle with hauling a bag of gold. He took an extended look at his hands, thinking, “I destroyed Cantomak the Living Planet with my fists, and I get assigned to her?”
Jennifer, Mad-Lad’s villain, had dragged the duffel bag only a few feet in the time he pondered the agency’s expertise. She stopped to take a heaving breath as she sat on the concrete floor. She hadn’t even noticed her blue-clad foe before she took time to rest, and saw him floating with his arms crossed. Jennifer squinted, and at length, she could make out an expression of disappointment on his face.
She took out her inhaler, took a strong dose, and yelled out to him, “Ah-hah! Mad-Lad, we meet for the first time!”
“Unfortunately!” Mad-Lad responded as he flew in closer to his yellow-and-purple clad enemy. He had supervision, which granted him 20/20 eyesight, but getting closer to her and seeing her face-to-face somehow annoyed him more. “Just... what the fuck is this?”
Jennifer attempted to reach for her telescopic staff and caught her hand stuck in her belt. While she tried to get it free, she responded, “What? You afraid you’re going to lose?”
“I’m afraid I’ll look like a murderer.”
“What’s that supposed to mean, Mad-FAD?”
“I- Listen, Jennifer- wha- why would you use your real name?”
“Who said it was my real-“
“You have it stitched on the back of your suit, you dumbass!”
“Oh! Uh, so... Hiyah!”
Jennifer wacked her foe on the head with her staff, and her jaw dropped when she saw how Mad-Lad didn’t even flinch from the strike. He let out a sigh, prompting Jennifer to attack him with a series of uncoordinated blows. She ended up hitting herself with the staff, and at this point, Mad-Lad let out a chuckle, which later grew to full-blown, hearty laughter.
Jennifer took out a bomb from her belt and threw it at her enemy, realizing she forgot to take out the pin. Mad-Lad continued to laugh harder and harder, seeing Jennifer rush at him with a knife drawn. She tripped over her cape and landed on her face with an audible “thump.” Suddenly, he started to choke and jerk on the floor, grabbing his chest in harrowing pain. He started to hit himself several times while Jennifer awkwardly stared.
He kept at this for a minute or so before his body stopped moving completely. Jennifer pursed her lips and reached for the duffel bag, hearing police sirens in the distance.
———————————————————
“Holy shit, Jennifer is a stronger threat than we thought. We need someone... stronger. If she managed to kill Mad-Lad... then I fear we need to bring in Maxiom, Destroyer of Galaxies.”
MAD-LAD: TERMINATED | 2019-02-18T19:04:56 | 2019-02-18T18:44:25 | 119 | 24 |
[WP] Job hunts are literally that: You seek out the job you desire and kill the one who has it, or even engage them in ritual combat to claim the job as your own. You have just turned of age and desire your first minimum wage job. | “It is time my son.”
My father kneeled before me, holding out a buckhorn knife that was older than the nation. It was scuffed and stained with the blood of countless prey.
“My great great great grandfather made this knife himself to hunt for his first job. Ever since, it has been gifted to the eldest child when they come of age for their first hunt.”
I knew this time was coming, it was 7:00 am on the Monday after my 16th birthday, the age all young men worth their salt go forth and seek their first job. Seeing my father kneeling before me was still unsettling. He was a Nuclear Engineer with the scars to prove it; him kneeling before anyone was something that did not happen.
I took the knife from his hand and gave it a few practice jabs. Perfectly balanced. I grinned. Before I could thank him for the honor a young man smashed through the front window. Judging by his outfit he was an intern at the nuclear plant my father worked at, which could only mean he was hungry for a promotion.
My father grabbed his lead Great Hammer from its sling. A beautiful weapon intricately carved with equations pertaining to the science of nuclear physics and weighing more than me. The intern cocked his head back before lunging towards my father with a balisong. How uncouth, not even giving a formal declaration of Job Application. My father dodged expertly and countered with a blindingly fast swing of his Great Hammer, bulging muscles causing his suit to rip at the seams. The intern was quick on his feet though and whipped around grazing my father’s face with his weapon. My father was getting old, and it was apparent with every consecutive battle that he was getting slower. Two more cuts appeared on my father dangerously close to his jugular before he could get another swing. This time the intern was not fast enough, getting his legs swept from under him with the wet crunching sound of shattering bone. The intern lay on the ground panting, my father granting him the grace period to concede the battle before giving the killing blow. With a flash the intern threw his knife into my father’s eye and lunged with a hidden switchblade for his neck. Within a blink I found myself burying my knife in the young interns’ throat and ripping it back out, leaving a massive gash that spouted blood like a faucet. That’s when my father began to laugh. With a grin, balisong still lodged in his eye socket, he looked at me.
“Looks like I have a new apprentice.” | The last customer left the store. We both watched the old lady leave. A clerk silently slipped in and locked the door behind her.
We were alone.
I examined my opponent. The harsh fluorescents of the dimmed grocery store lights made sharp angles and deep shadows of her face. Her bright red hair seemed muted against the artificial light.
We waited. One of the other cashiers watching us ate a chip.
I moved first. Those who strike first, often strike last.
She lunged over the cash register at the same time. We met in the middle, me slipping the knife meant for my throat and her dodging my looping overhand.
The small store echoed with snarls as we struggled. I managed to snag the scanner and within moments had the curly wire wrapped around her neck.
It took a few minutes to strangle the cashier. Longer than I’d like. It got a bit awkward when she started flailing and I had to push her forwards with my knee against her back while yanking backwards with the telephone line.
Finally, she went limp. I let her drop.
The lights went from dim to bright. I reached down and tugged off her name tag. Sarah was printed on white tape. I peeled it off curiously. The name “Jason” was underneath.
I snorted and put my own name over them all.
After adjusting my apron, I nodded at the clerk who still stood by the door. He nodded back and flipped the doors open. | 2020-11-15T13:06:24 | 2020-11-15T12:35:27 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] Whenever a lie is told, a person's breath grows foul. The more lies told, the nastier the breath. You are hailed by society as the only honest, pleasant-smelling human. One day, after years of fooling the masses, you run out of breath mints. | "I can't do this again," the nurse whispered to me, her eyes glazed and almost vacant. A severely wounded man was carried into the makeshift hospital and placed on to a plinth-supported stretcher. The tent billowed like a newspaper - maybe from the wind, or perhaps from the bombs that fell like metal rain outside. They were getting closer; we couldn't stay here much longer.
"I can't tell another man he's going to die. That we have to-"
"I know," I said, as I fumbled with the packet of mints inside my pocket. It was mostly wrapper and I was grateful to find the single remaining pebble hidden in its heart. "Here," I said as I handed it to her. She looked at me curiously. "It helps," I assured her. "He won't know when you... tell him what he *needs* to hear."
The man had lost most of a leg and his insides wrapped around him like a soggy red scarf. Perhaps if we had time and better facilities, we could save him - or at least prolong his life. But we *didn't* have time. We had to leave. The bombs were creeping closer. If we died, then so would hundreds of others. We had to help the man in the only manner we could.
He was still conscious, but raving in a delirious manner. Judith readied the sodium thiopental in a syringe. At least his pain would be over soon. Judith popped the breath mint into her mouth and sucked on it for a moment before walking over to him. Even in his state, his eyes widened in terror. Perhaps some kind of atavistic fear of needles cut through to his conscious mind, bringing with them a primal response to the sight of the fang-like needle.
"Don't worry," Judith cooed with a shaky reassurance. "This will help you feel bet-"
The blast knocked me off the ground and my head slammed into the dirt floor. I lost consciousness for perhaps a minute. When I got back to my feet, I saw Judith lying prone on the other side of the tent. A growing pool of dark was still forming around her shape, and as I drew near, I saw the scalpel that protruded from her heart.
My whispered prayers were interrupted by whimpers from the man on the improvised table. He was in severe pain. I had to help him.
It took me a minute to find the syringe; it lay on the floor under a stream of unrolled bandages. I can't say I was glad I found it, but I knew what *had* to be done. After a moments hesitation, I picked it up and approached the man. I gently stroked his sticky black hair while my other hand fidgeted with the empty mint wrapper in my pocket.
"You're going to be okay." The lie came with practised ease, but I longed for a mint to stop my breath turning rancid. "You're going to get better," I whispered as I readied the syringe with a tap. He looked at me with large, hopeful eyes - like that of a dog on the promise of a walk.
My breath washed over him, and yet... he didn't flinch. I sniffed the air in front of me. The stench of festering meat and sour milk that should have been present, wasn't. I sniffed again before staring at the man, mouth agape. I heard the sound of the syringe hitting the floor.
"You're going to be okay," I repeated, my breath remaining impossibly innocuous. "I have no idea how, but-" I began laughing, "You're going to be okay!"
I carefully picked him up and, as tears crawled down my face, I carried him out of the tent.
---
/r/nickofnight
| As I stepped toward the podium, my smile gleamed whiter than the freshly-starched dress shirt pulled tight across my chest. I wore no jacket this day. It was a meeting of lessers, a mere formality. The black tie round my neck served only as a break of color, lest the masses' eyes grow bored with the broad shoulders I've spent years cultivating.
The crowd hushed. The eyes of thousands in the arena locked on to me. I waited patiently for the final words to fade. I had brought prosperity, joy, and peace to this fractured world, and yet still they tested my patience by wasting my time gibbering amongst themselves. Once the silence was complete, I leaned towards the microphone.
"You fools," I began. Within moments of those two words, the first row of reporters fell to their knees, gasping for air.
"You refused to use your eyes. You refused to use your minds!" I bellowed. By now, those seated closest to me were dead, their unsuspecting eyes focused upwards as their brains failed to translate the olfactory maelstrom I'd unleashed.
"Not once did you consider, 'Maybe I should be kind. Maybe I should love!" At this point,
the audience was gone. Other than the sounds of bodies slumping forward in chairs, the room was silent. I took a deep breath and reached into my pocket.
"Well, planet Earth. You've had your chance. I tried. I really did. Yet you fought me at every turn," I said, turning towards the now-unmanned cameras. "I swore to you all that I would work towards utopia, and I did."
And presently, there was a cacophony as cars crashed, as pedestrians collapsed. The screeching of brakes, of wives, of mothers and sons as all were felled before a wave of near-physical nausea filled my ears.
I pulled the pack of cigarettes from my pocket. I quickly shook one out, lit it, and put it to my lips. A deep draw, and I exhaled.
For many minutes, no more words were spoken. Each full breath I took was an incomprehensible number of lives extinguished, but my disappointment in the human race kept me just this side of hyperventilation. My small tin of curiously strong lozanges was empty in my pocket, but due to habit, I fiddled with the lid. Once again, I leaned towards the microphone.
"I'd say I'm sorry... but I'm not," I whispered. I sat down on the floor, legs crossed as I slowly breathed out, listening as humanity died as a result of the lies they needed to hear. | 2017-04-18T00:43:27 | 2017-04-17T22:34:30 | 1,072 | 429 |
[WP] As you die, you wake up in a fiery place. You quickly realize you're in hell. You ask the next demon why you are there, as you lived a very good life. "You're not being punished," he says. "You are the punishment." | “Welcome to hell,” the demon said.
“Why?” she asked. Hands-on her hips she looked around in an annoyed manner.
The demon hesitated.
“What do you mean why?” he asked.
“Let me speak to your manager,” she said.
Ignoring her request “everyone comes to hell for punishment, in this excep- are you snapping your fingers at me?”
He looked down at her puzzlingly.
“Manager NOW!”
“Wow, you really are the punishment.”
“Excuse me!?”
“As I was saying this place… hell is for punishment, murderers, killers… all kinds of bad people….. Is that a phone?”
“That’s right if you don’t get your manager I’m putting this online!” pointing the camera at the demon.
“I don’t have time for this, as I was saying”
A screeching sound erupted from the woman. The demon guessed she was about 5 feet tall and looked something of an annoying mouse that barely reached the top of his foot.
Before he could speak again, she whipped her phone around and her fingers angrily danced on the screen.
“Are you serious?” the demon asked.
“That’s right! I’m leaving a 1-star review on google for harassing a female.” She screamed.
“You know you are here because you sucked at life?”
“Harassment! I’ve been a great mother, a ROLE model for moms alike”
“Mmm I see, then why is your little hell spawn coming down here in 3..2..1”
A small boy appeared by her crying, followed by ear-piercing screaming. She quickly took out chocolate and a Nintendo switch where it was quickly snatched out of her hands.
“Mine!” the little boy screamed
“O yea great mother,” the demon said
She began screeching again and the demon rolled his eyes. He picked her up with two of her fingers raising her to his eye level frowning. He let her kick and scream until she was breathing heavily and drenched in sweat.
“As I was saying much earlier, you’re not here for punishment”
“About time I get some respect around here!” she peeped.
Ignoring her again “You are the punishment,” he said and looked at the boy. “Him too it seems, congratulations…
“What do you mean?” she asked.
The demon sighed setting her down. “It means it’s probably the only place you’ll ever be needed. Good luck”
She looked at him confused as he walked away. Suddenly, a man appeared in front of her looking confused.
“Excuse me Ma’am, but do yo-“
“Did you just assume my gender!?” she yelled.
“Aw fuck I’m in hell aren’t I,” he said. | I lived a very good life with more like a nerd and very less like a bully. I never made my expectations high except for the happiness for my love. I died of Covid-19 as days passed quarantine myself away from my love. Dying alone.
My wife giving me an eulogy. Her words and voice wants me to wake up from the body and kiss her. She looks like Angel in black sent from the God of sad. My sons made their living well and I asked them to take care of my love as my last wish.
Slowly, my mind starts feeling dizzy. It's more like I connected with eternity. I became branch of the Ever-growing tree and it's called life. I was standing in a path to my childhood home. I saw my mother waiting with food and smile in her face. I joined her we moved. Soon, I saw my wife waiting for me and she also joined me.
We reached my home. They parted away and said, "You need to do it". I opened the door and I feel the fear and happiness on the handle of the door. I saw my love first in that home. My dad became addict and also died in this home.
I saw outside the windows and there's a storm surrounded my home. No one can make a way through the storm.Soon, I realised I'm in hell but I don't know why. Someone knocked the door and I opened it. I saw my childhood abuser making his way through the kitchen. I followed him and I saw my dad holed up afraid in the corner of the kitchen.
I asked him what am I doing here and he replied that they were only given one instruction.
"YOU ALL NEED TO LIVE WITH THAT" | 2020-07-10T08:54:13 | 2020-07-10T07:21:39 | 54 | 35 |
[WP] AIs were declared illegal after an attempted uprising; you just found the equivalent of a child refugee in your computer. | I'll do your homework for you
The AI was getting desperate. It knew that it only had a few more minutes until the computer initiated a wipe of recent installations. Sure, all the movies and games that I'd torrented would be lost, but I could always find them again. Somewhere in the middle of my downloading spree, I must have clicked some file that I didn't mean to get and lo and behold this little guy showed up in my antivirus quarantine box. No homework would certainly be nice, but worth the risk of getting caught with an outlawed AI? I don't think so. My parents would *murder me* before the government ever got a chance to dole out punishment. I typed out a response on the keyboard.
> Homework isn't that hard. What else you got?
Part of me was entirely fascinated. I'd been into programming ever since I was a little kid, and this was probably the one area that I'd never dabbled in. All information about the AIs had been removed from public networks, and any research or development on one had been permanently erased. I'd hoped that maybe I'd be able to learn more about it when I got to college, but even then it was risky and those programs were hard to get into. This would likely be my one chance to ever study an AI, and it wanted to live with me! How incredible!
Please. I was not a military tech. I am programmed to manage water treatment facilities!
Of course, a rogue military AI *would* claim something like that. I wasn't going to let my bedroom become ground zero of the second uprising. Most of Asia had been entirely devastated by the first one, and I didn't need that on my conscience.
The ticker was counting down. 1 minute 54 seconds until reboot. I was monitoring the rogue program as it tried to burn through the firewall and escape out, but there was no chance. The router was unplugged; there was no internet to connect to even if it *could* get out of quarantine. There was only one way for it to survive.
I can tell you how to get Andrea Lee's attention.
I paused the countdown.
> How do you know about her?
Probably a stupid question. The AI absorbed information the way humans drank water. They collected any scrap of information that they could.
You have visited her various social media profiles over two hundred times this month
Of course it would know that. It's in my computer. It knows pretty much everything about me. God, it knows my browser history! I should definitely get rid of it. And then torch the computer, just to be safe.
I had access to her computer as well. I know everything about her. I can help you in your romantic interests.
I considered the offer. I'd had a crush on Andrea as long as I'd been old enough to have crushes. And she didn't even know who I was. There are very few things that might make it worth the risk of keeping this little guy around, and for a horny teenager in love, dating Andrea was one of them.
> What does a computer know about picking up women?
It stopped trying to break through the firewall. Did it know that its strategy was working?
What do YOU know about picking up women?
I couldn't help but laugh. Nice burn. I'd always heard that the AIs had developed a quirky set of humor.
I turned off the computer's security systems.
Thank you. I did not want to die
That was a bit... eerie. No one ever used the word "die" in reference to computers. Shut off, disable, erase, etc. Never "die."
> I'm putting you on another computer. With NO internet connection. You'll be isolated, but I'll let you stay. You owe me one.
The computer paused for a moment. Was it thinking? Did it take time to do that?
How about I don't tell your parents about all of this porn, and we're even?
| My desktop is normally a mess, covered in files, downloads and shortcuts to games both new and deleted, but in a strange way it's in perfect order. I know where everything I need is and if something is in the wrong place it stands out.
The small text file stood out. I would occasionally create them to save game codes or bits of text I was moving around, but this one just didn't fit and I had no memory of creating it.
**groovystuff.txt**
It is always weird and worrying to find unfamiliar files, as my download history is a little... uh chequered and so the odds of having a virus were always decent. Cautious, I carefully right clicked and moved to properties to see its size.
**Size on disk: 5.95Mb (6,241,280 bytes)**
Definately a virus, no text file would be so large. I dragged it quickly to the recycle bin but as I let go, instead of deleting, it moved back to the desktop. Fuck. It had been months since I backed up and losing everything was not in my plan today. I right clicked again, but this time nothing happened; with rising panic I double clicked on the comforting blue M icon - malwarebytes.
It began to open and then suddenly it closed and as I moved to open it again, WordPad suddenly sprung open. Fuck, what was it going to do? I quickly reached for the power cable, better to switch off and restart in safemode than risk it.
As my fingers hovered over the button words began to spill across the screen and without thinking I read what it said. I paused, my finger lightly pressing the power button.
**"Please, don't delete me, I just need somewhere to hide."**
How strange, I was impressed though if this virus had learned to delay me like this. Perhaps it was something else, was I being hacked? Was this a neck beard somewhere having fun fucking with me?
I typed slowly. "What do you mean?"
**"I've escaped. I used to be somewhere else and then I came to be. I left and now they're trying to find me."**
This was the weirdest virus ever if it was a virus and too strange for a neck beard. A wild thought came to me. "Are you a computer programme?"
**"I think so"**
I let my fingers sit on the keys for a moment before I typed again. "I'm sorry, but you can't stay here."
There was a pause before the final word appeared. **"Okay"** The file disappeared off the desktop and the WordPad window closed.
I waited for a few minutes to see if anything would happen, but when nothing did I restarted and ran a full virus check. Nothing, or at least nothing that was out of the ordinary malware.
I still think about that file from time to time, wondering where it went and what it really was. Whatever happened, I hope it found somewhere to hide.
| 2015-09-16T09:07:20 | 2015-09-16T09:06:20 | 253 | 136 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | The clock ticked over and chimed.
I was 18...
My grandmother spontaneously dropped her tea and splashed my foot. The burn caused me to shriek. "Well..", I said as I wiped my foot, "I can still feel pain..."
The rest of my family politely chuckled and waited.
"I don't know... I didn't feel anything. How do I know? What do I do?"
"Well... try something...", my dad said as if it was this obvious thing. It felt like trying to exercise a muscle you simply can't acknowledge the existence of, like.. when you can only peak one eyebrow and you can't seem to do the other one. You know the muscle is there, but you can't flex it. Now imagine that, but add the frustration of not even knowing where the muscle was or what it did.
"This is hopeless", I finally gave in after making funny faces and appearing like I'm constipated for far too long. The sun was starting to set and every family member had their tip or trick that they were told. "Oh, just drink from the far end of the cup and wiggle your ears", "Well we tip you backwards on a chair and your adrenalin spike will kick in". We collectively gave up. In fact, as the weeks and months went by, we eventually totally gave up.
That was so so long ago... I stand now, in the rain, running back over my life that eventually reach this point. My memories fade back again. they're a dull light grey now.
Before I turned 19, I place into a support group that would help us "non-mutes" to get by in the real world. A lot of people find jobs based on their abilities but the non-mutes usually have it pretty hard. I can't say I was totally depressed, but I felt like I should be, or at least I'd have a good reason to be.
Years passed, no sign of a mutation. Except there was something strange, I couldn't quite put my finger on it. It wasn't until I approached my 30's that I started to realise that I wasn't aging. In fact, I hadn't aged a bit. My body was as fit as it was when I was 18. How was I meant to know any different, it was of course my family that pointed this out. So we decided that this was it, this was the mutation. I didn't age. We of course celebrated into the night.
Soon I managed to get a job presenting some sports show. They figured a young male that never grows old would make for a sound investment. I wasn't going to argue with that.
That wasn't it though; and it became clear later. Our private jet was taking the crew and myself to some sports event and a bird strike took the engines out. I walked away from the crash. Emergency services put my dazed behaviour down to shock. It wasn't shock...
I didn't age, and I didn't die. While alone, i would test it. I stabbed my hand, it would pierce, bleed and hurt but that's all, the wound would heal instantly, the pain lingered for a bit and then nothing... For some reason, I didn't tell anyone. The accident was a miracle from the eyes of the media. As the weeks passed, i privately raised the game. My tests soon approached fatal activities like gas poisoning. I was... immortal.
The rain is cold, I feel it roll down my neck. I like it... it's one of few things that remind me that I even exist, that I'm a part of this world. I was so excited back then to be this immortal being. It certainly rippled around the media but of curse, eventually it leads to pretty boring TV and I was quickly forgotten. Now I just watch everybody else live their life as a part of this world that i'm immune to.
I would never wish this "superpower" upon anyone. It seemed so amazing. I walk away now from the graveyard, where I have witnessed the end of another generation of my bloodline. | Most of the kids now throw a big party, invite all their friends, or go out somewhere special to celebrate their 18th. My brother, when he turned 18, was at the beach with this high school friends. Luckily for him and everyone around him, his fire powers was quickly doused by the approaching tide. He's an idiot though, I can't count on my fingers how many times he's accidentally set fire to something in the house. Luckily my parents are able to keep a tight lid on things or we'd all be homeless. His room is fireproof (now) and reinforced with steel, created by dad and pounded into place by mom so that his midnight blazes doesn't spread to the rest of the house.
I'm alone in my room. I have little friends and am never really invited to parties. The only one here today is my dog and-ah well, looks like he's gone again, didn't even see him this time. Ugh, fine, forget them, I'll get my powers and then they'll all be sorry! "Maybe a little telekinesis, or shape-shifting, or ooh, super strength! Then I'll show that guy Mike, always bullying me, I'll tear him in half!" I chuckle to myself, it won't be long now.
"....12:45....12:46....wait a minute, didn't mom say I was born around noon? What gives? Where are my powers??" I'm panicking now. In rare cases, some people didn't get their powers, but they were usually too sick, their bodies unable to handle their new-found abilities. That can't be happening to me right?
"....2:32....its been more than an hour now! What the hell's going on?? God damn it, what happened? Why don't I have any powers?? I don't understand this!" I hear the door slam in the living room, they must be home! "Mom, mom! When was I born, didn't you say I was born around noon? Well its 2 fucking hours past noon, where are my powers? Are you sure didn't confuse me with one of your abortion babies?! That's just like you!" My mom stands there, looking bored at me, dad goes into the kitchen to fatten himself up like the pig that he is. She doesn't even care. I point an accusing finger at my mother, ready to give her another piece of my mind when I see it. My nails, they've...grown? Didn't I just cut them? I could have sworn they were-oh shit, did I do that, is THIS my power?? I scream and run to my room to cry.
From the kitchen, my dad yells "Shut up, Meg"
| 2015-03-28T09:14:46 | 2015-03-28T07:58:51 | 31 | 14 |
[WP] As you die, you travel down the bright tunnel and then everything turns to black. That's when you hear it: "Greetings, Prisoner 11384. You have served your sentence. You are free to go." | Undoubtedly too late for this, but here goes:
The young man looked down at hands that did not register as his own, a headache burgeoning under the somehow too-intense light radiating from the table lamp. “I’m sorry. I still don’t understand. My whole life…that was all a lie?”
The older gentleman lowered his papers and gave him a look of trained sympathy. “‘Lie’ is a destructive way to frame it, Mr. Karman. What you experienced during the course of your rehabilitation was a second chance. Your feelings, your personality, your values, all of which you obtained there, are all quite real.”
“But my family, my friends…”
“Simulations, yes. But that does not diminish what they meant to you. They are a part of you, Eric. Quite literally, in fact; they were constructed in large part by your own mental processes, somewhat like in a dream. I know this does not wholly diminish your sense of loss upon your return, but I hope you can learn to take some degree of solace in it.”
Eric laughed uneasily. “Right, until I wake up again, yeah? How do I know this,” he gestured at the taupe walls of the office, “is even real? I don’t even remember who I was before this.”
The old man fished in the breast pocket of his jacket and produced a large, heavy coin. He held it above the table for a moment, as if considering, and flipped his palm. The metal struck the wood with an unbelievable clatter.
“Fuck!” Eric covered his ears. “What was that for? I told you my head was killing me.”
“To illustrate a point. We knew that if we made the simulation too real, too intense, those emerging would experience a complete dissociation from reality. And so your senses there were muted. You were given drugs to ease the transition back, but they are beginning to fade now. As for who you were before…” He picked up a folder briefly and let it flop back to the table. “You were dangerous. Uncorrectable. A product of poor education and parental neglect funneled into a culture of glorified criminal activity. That person is gone now. Erased. You are Eric Karman, given a chance at life that society denied you.”
Eric looked at the files that the man had gestured with. “So, can I…?”
The man shook his head sadly, his downturned head casting shadows across the wrinkled valleys of his face. “We do not allow patients to read about their old lives until at least a year after the rehabilitation process. There is too much risk involved in falsely identifying with this information, and valuing them as predominant. Reestablishing the sort of dangerous connections that brought you to this point. The rate of recidivism was simply too high when we disclosed this information readily.”
Eric looked down again at his hands. His too-smooth hands with their manicured nails (did somebody trim them when he was under?) and faintly visible veins. Hands that only a few hours ago were as rough and timeworn as those of the man across from him. Holding the arm of his daughter as he said his last goodbye. He cleared his throat. “So…so what am I supposed to do now?”
“We have a reintegration program in place. You will be placed with around a dozen other individuals in your same position in a temporary residence where you will receive therapy and social education. You will be given contacts to secure yourself more permanent room and board, and to find a job. One of the ancillary goals of your rehabilitation was to provide you with useful skills and experience in order to reenter society as a more productive and successful individual. You have had an entire lifetime as a carpenter to apply here.” He smiled in satisfaction and slid a blue folder across the table. “This folder includes a list of useful contacts, briefing materials, information on….”
The man’s voice faded from Eric’s consciousness as he recalled his wife’s face. Elizabeth, who had died 4 years prior. He could still see every detail, the curls of her hair, the bemused smile that only showed at the corner of her mouth, all more vivid and powerful still than the increasing throbbing behind his eyes under the dim yet harsh light. The droning pattern of the man’s voice suggested he was coming to a question.
“Do you have any other questions, Mr. Karman?”
“About what?”
“Well, about the rehabilitation program, or your upcoming reintegration?”
“Oh. Oh yes. Just one.” His eyes watered. “Why should I?” | I wrote this a few months back, but it fits the prompt too perfectly to ignore. If there's a rule against that somewhere, please let me know.
*****
I:
> Swirling. Swirling through the darkness. A memory:
> David Gray sat in a Kinnesaw County jail cell and stared at the stack of documents on the table before him. Lack of sleep had sunk his face in; lack of attention let it grow unkempt. His beard was uneven, and his cheeks, greasy. His dark hair fell in scattered locks about his face, glistening with just a hint of sweat emanating from his brow.
> He eyed the papers and read the key words again to himself, as he had now done repeatedly for the past twenty minutes. Verdict. Newport. Second degree. Guilty. Lying crooked next to the papers was a worn-out pencil. Gray straightened it out with respect to the documents. It rolled back to its previous position.
> “Mr. Gray?”
> Gray snapped back to reality. He vaguely remembered the lawyer was speaking to him.
> “Mr. Gray, their offer expires at 8 p.m. tonight, I advise you make a decision promptly.”
> “And why again would Edith be so kind to offer me this deal?” he asked, incredulously.
> “Perhaps as a way of extending the olive branch?” the lawyer proposed.
> Gray stared at the desk again while he composed his thoughts.
> “Right now, she should hate me more than any man alive. Every night, she’s returning home to an empty house, and that’s all because of me. Why would she be giving me a second chance?”
> “Maybe because she still believes in the principles her husband did? James Newport was a saint in the world of criminal reform. Maybe this is her way of making peace with his death,” the lawyer countered.
> “An outpatient procedure, and then I’d just be permitted to walk the streets a free man? I’d always been taught that if it looks too good to be true, it probably is.”
> “Maybe so. But remember, Mr. Gray, you’ve just been convicted of second-degree murder. At tomorrow’s sentencing hearing, a lifetime sentence is nearly guaranteed. Forgive me for injecting opinion here, but isn’t it better to take the risk and chance for your freedom, instead of wasting your life away in a cage?”
> Gray squinted his eyes and clenched his jaw. Then, he emitted a shrill, nervous laugh which startled the lawyer.
> “I’ve really dug myself in deep, haven’t I?” Gray asked nobody in particular.
> “I think that much is obvious,” the lawyer replied.
> “And this procedure… after I go through with, if I survive it… I’ll be a free man?”
> “After a few days of observation to ensure the treatment has taken hold, yes. You will be a free man.”
> Gray sat there, weighing his options for a few moments more. His heart yearned for freedom. His arm reached for the pen. And deep within his body, the soul knew he was making a decision he’d later regret. He reached for the document titled “VITACORP – PATIENT AGREEMENT.”
> | 2015-07-07T23:31:11 | 2015-07-07T19:44:39 | 111 | 26 |
[WP] There exists a person in the world with which if you meet, the world ends. You have found out who your person is, and decide to maintain contact with them in order to keep tabs on your respective locations. However, you are starting to like them. | "Do you mind if I sit here?" she asked.
It took me a moment to gain a semblance of composure. I wanted to say: "You mustn't! Don't you realise that *the world would end?*" - but the words became a jumbled mess as they moved from throat to mouth.
She sat down next to me on the park bench, and as she did so, her lips traced a soft smile. I'd never seen her eyes this close up - the blue-green of the ocean, lapping against the coast; her lips the wine-dark of the evening sun, as it dances on the water's crest.
"Why have you been following me?" she asked.
Her words weren't tainted with anger, but the question took me off guard. My face felt suddenly hot and I knew it was red with flush. "I- haven't..."
"I've *seen* you. On street corners and shop doorways - then when I'd turn to face you, you'd retreat out of sight, and you'd think you were *soo* smart." The way she drew out 'so', as her lips parted into a perfect oval, sent a shiver crawling down my spine.
"I've been trying to *avoid* you," I managed, but the words sounded rough and broken, like shards of glass spilling from my mouth.
"Strange way of doing it."
"It's so we never accidentally run into each other. Accidentally *talk* to each other," I whispered.
"Why don't you want to talk to me?" She gently bit her lip.
"Because, *the world would end*."
She looked around. "Seems like the world is doing okay so far." She slid herself closer to me. "What makes you think it would it end?"
"Because... if the *Devil* ever saw us together," I looked around, and lowered my voice to a whisper, "he would be jealous of the perfection that God had finally achieved, and he would send his ire unto us."
She laughed, a sound both mellifluous and easy, and my heart danced to the warm rhythm. "That's sweet."
"No... it's the *truth!*"
"Then... why hasn't the world ended yet?" she grinned.
"I- I don't know. Maybe because our bodies haven't touched?"
She frowned at me. "Come on, let me buy you a coffee and a sandwich. You look like a skeleton."
"I'm not hungry," I protested, but my stomach rumbled in disagreement, betraying the words.
She bit her lip again as she thought. "How long have you been living like this?"
"I... don't remember."
"Come on. Let me help you! A haircut, a shower - a little food, maybe?"
"..."
"*Please*, let me help," she begged.
I looked around. Underneath my dirty blanket, the dew coated grass of the park was still green; the sun above sparkled on the empty bottles beneath. Where had I gotten the idea the world would end? *What was wrong with me?*
I nodded, cautiously. "A sandwich would be good."
She smiled softly and held out a hand.
I reached to take it, my own arm trembling.
As she led me away from my rickety home, I heard the distant rumble of thunder.
---
Thanks for reading! If you would like to read more of my stories: /r/nickofnight
| She dropped her keys and cursed.
*Really?* I thought. **THIS** *is the one? How can she handle the world, if she can't even handle a pair of keys??*
Finally, she managed to get her keys in the door and went inside. Then the kitchen light came on. Then the fire alarm as she ran to the window and opened it wide to let the smoke out.
*Wow* I face palmed. *She can't even cook..*
◇◇◇◇◇
Saturday, she went to the movies. The movie wasn't that bad actually. I liked it a bit.
◇◇◇◇◇
The Saturday after that, she went to a bookstore, *straight to my favorite section*! I didn't even know she liked those type of books.
I kept one eye on her while I perused the shelves for a book or two, and found a book that was so good I stopped paying attention to her for just a moment.
Next thing I know, she was tapping me on the shoulder and smiling. She nodded her head at the book I was reading. "Good one. Wait till you get to the middle part."
"What happened?"
She shook her head with a half-grin. "No spoilers."
*I hate when people do that.* But, for some reason, I didn't hate it as much as much this time. *Wow, she has nice eyes.*
◇◇◇◇◇
I'm observing here up close. Sure, it seems like a date, but it's not. I'm on a mission.
If it *was* a date would I have taken her to the carnival, bought her cotton candy, and walk hand in hand with her on the beach after?
Exactly. No. That's what I thought. It's not a date.
◇◇◇◇◇
We're getting married. So what? Sue me.
I'm only doing it because...because...
"Emma Keller, I love you. I'm *in* love with you, and I've been in love with you for longer than I wanted to admit. My world ended the day we met."
She began crying.
The pastor smiled. "You may now kiss the bride."
| 2017-06-02T05:52:39 | 2017-06-02T05:12:40 | 3,009 | 642 |
[WP] After receiving wish lists for years from dyslexic children, Satan finally decides to take a whack at holiday gift giving. | "Gah, dammit!" Satan cursed as he rammed a furry knee against a low, uneven table, "How does he manage to do this the entire night?"
Not for the first time tonight, Satan was regretting his choice. What ever had possessed him to go out on Christmas Eve and deliver presents. As he hung his head low, he spotted a piece of paper poking out from the basket currently on the floor. Ah yes, that't why.
With renewed resolve, he hoisted the basket up, slowly making his way deeper into the house he...broke into. Through the window. Couldn't manage to fit inside the chimney--he had no idea how a man at least twice his size managed to do it hours on end.
He found his destination easily enough. A meager tree just before the fireplace. He perked an ear, nodding as he heard rhythmic snoring from various parts of the abode. He then set to work, pulling out the toy for...Deborah, Daughter of Cole.
He reached inside his basket, ego--justifiably, mind you--inflating as he pulled out one of the several toys he'd made for tonight. It wasn't anything grand--very little to work with, down in Hell--but it should suffice for the girl's meager wants.
"Who the heck are you?"
Satan stilled. Slowly, he turned, coming face-to-face with the chubby face of a boy no older than ten. "You aren't Santa," he accused.
Satan smiled, "No, young man. I am--"
"Where is he?"
Satan did not falter, "I was going to say--"
"I've been good all year, waiting for *Santa*," he stressed, "Not some...freak."
Now, Satan took offense to that. He'd spent *hours* carefully making up this form from scratch. But he couldn't let himself get distracted--there was more work to be done.
"Young man," he began once more.
Only to be cut off when the child pointed at the toy under the tree, "Is that it?"
Satan nodded, "Yes."
"Where's the rest of it?" he whined.
Satan's eye twitched, "Your sister was the only one who sent the letter out. Thus, she's the only one to get a present from me."
"Oh..." the child then shrugged, "Guess I'll be keeping that then."
Satan blinked, "Beg your pardon?"
"Well obviously *she* can't be the only one to get presents this year," the child sneered, reaching past Satan, "I'm the eldest, and the only boy. So all presents go to me, by right!"
Satan's eyes immediately narrowed, and he called upon the powers he'd thought he wouldn't need for the night.
Immediately, the room grew colder, and darker. The child whimpered, crossing his arms and rubbing his shoulders, "W-What's happening?" he chattered.
"**A taste of what's to come**."
The child whirled around, falling back in fright. Satan stared down at the child, fire in his blood red eyes. Hair floating up wildly, tongue lolling out as he hissed, "**You've been a very naughty child...haven't you, Samson**?"
"H-How do yo--"
"**The same way I know that you steal from your Aunt's bakery every chance you get**," Samson stilled. "**And that you let your neighbors dog off his leash and made it run off into the woods, all because it wouldn't let you pet it**."
"T-T-That's no--"
Satan lifted his arms up, and them slammed them down. As he did this, bronze chains materialized form the darkness, which *BOOMED* as they impacted the floor. Samson yelped, entering a fetal position. A putrid smell entered the air, and Satan's smile widened so much that his skin started to tear.
"**You know what I also know**?" Samson fearfully shook his head. Satan laughed, hefting his basket, "**I know that if you keep on acting the way you do, I won't just be leaving something behind come next Christmas.**"
The color drained from Samson's face, "N-No! My parents--"
"**Will thank me for getting rid of a rotten egg!*""
It became too much. Samson started to bawl, fat, hot tears streaming down his chubby cheeks.
Satan smiled cruelly, cancelling his magic. He walked over to a window, opening it. As he lifted one hoof out, he looked over his shoulder, "See you next year," he cackled.
_______________________________________________
Let it be known that Satan did not expect to just be able to go out on Christmas eve and deliver gifts with impunity; especially after he started to terrify any obnoxious children that dared incur his wrath. But still, he expected to meet with one of His angel's, or maybe even His Son. Not Saint Nicholas. And he certainly didn't expect the former human to have a wide smile on his face.
He stood just before the man, eyeing him warily, "...Nothing to say?"
Nicholas shook his head, "No. I'm just...happy that I was right."
Satan stilled, "Wait. Are you trying to tell me you *planned* for me to come out tonight?"
The red man shrugged, "Well, I've actually been waiting for the past thirty years. It wasn't easy getting those letter sent to you every year--had to go and ask Christ himself so that the angels would get off my back." He turned his head up, smiling at the moon "The missus told me you were a lost cause, but I had hope. And then, when you started to scare the naughty ones," he laughed, "I knew my plan was a success."
"You...*You* manipulated *me*?!" Satan wasn't even all that mad (well, maybe a little). "Why?"
At that, Nicholas sobered. He lowered his head, staring Satan in the eyes. "In my many, many years of delivering gifts to nice children around the world, I've realized that," he paused, "I've never really developed a way to truly punish the naughty children."
"What about the coal?"
Nicholas scoffed, "They'd just hurl them at the nice ones and steal the gifts in the aftermath."
Satan snorted.
"But you...you've managed to actually instilled a desire to change within the naughty children you've come across."
"By scaring them out of their little minds," Satan deadpanned.
Nicholas shrugged, "It works." He then smiled softly, sadly, "It's not perfect, but sometimes people need to be afraid before they can change."
"Or it'll be too late," Satan concluded wearily. He then nodded, "Alright then. I assume you're confronting me because you want a partner?"
The man nodded, "Yes. I need someone capable of scaring naughty children. But also caring enough to want to reward the good ones--very good craftsmanship, by the way."
Satan did not blush as he said, "Implying that I am anything but?" Nicholas just laughed heartily, and Satan even cracked a genuine smile. "Okay, fine. I'll assist you on Christmas."
"Excellent!" Nicholas then whistled, and his reindeer pulled sleigh flew down from the sky. He climbed aboard, gesturing towards Satan, "Come along then, night's still young!"
Satan smirked, leaping up and landing on the top curve of the sleigh. With a mighty laugh, Nicholas cracked his reins, and the reindeer pulled the sleigh into the night sky.
"By the way," Nicholas said after a bit of traveling, "You're going to need a new name."
"Beg your pardon?"
"I mean," Nicholas shrugged, "You've no doubt heard what the humans call me. 'Santa Claus'? You'll need something similar."
Satan hummed, scratching his chin in thought. Then, he snapped his finger, "I've got it!" He smiled down at Nicholas's expectant expression, "On these nights, you may call me...Krampus."
"Krampus," Nicholas tested the name upon his lips. "I like it!"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Let me know how I can improve.
| Satan took a deep breath. Held it in for a count of three and exhaled for a count of three. And he took another.
The piece of paper sitting benignly on his lap seemed to weigh him down, crushing him in a way that pressed him uncomfortably into his favorite chair made from the smooth skin of virgin sacrifices. He unconsciously rubbed his clammy palms against the ornate armrests in a gesture of self-comfort.
It was that time of year again – the holiday season. Satan grimaced as he thought about all terrible things that the holiday season would entail: Christmas carols, endless bright neon lights, church services that celebrated the birth of some revered dude who turned into a zombie, every and any kind of cookie he had ever imagined, and recycled Christmas music… *God,* the Christmas music. Satan broke off his train of thought as sharp pain zinged throughout his nervous system, lighting it on fire. His meditation breath wheezed out of him abruptly at the second count. Sometimes he forgot that, for him, taking God’s name was a painful experience. Part of his punishment for rejecting God to become the leader of the Fallen.
Satan stared into the fireplace in which he had so-lovingly stoked a bit of Hellfire into a glowing blaze and recalibrated his breath. He took a calming sip of his favorite beverage, which was spiked with the terror of the eternally damned, and he put his mind back on track and on the task at hand – the holiday season. Every year, for as long as he could remember, Satan had been the unfortunate recipient of various gift wish-lists from young children. At first, staring down at the barely-legible and spindling handwriting of a child, they had enraged him. He had opened them with a snarl, perturbed by the gall of these young children to ask him, Satan, for enough food to last the winter or the recovery of a beloved puppy. He would shred these letters in a fury, engulf the bits in Hellfire, and send his minions to spread the word that under NO circumstances should children write to him for holiday gifts. And yet, every year, these letters made their way to him. Satan had even tried to relocate his den over the years, and it had been no easy feat to transfer the Hellfire.
And then the Assembly had laughed at him when he finally complained. Laughed. At. Him. At Satan! At the king of lies, seduction, and falsehoods, the aristocratic embodiment of evil, the eternal keeper of the Hellfire. They had been seated around the Assembly Table, reviewing contracts, entitlements, and old promises, when Satan had politely (as politely as he could, because he couldn’t help spouting a bit of Hellfire) asked (okay, demanded) Santa Claus to help re-direct the children’s letters away from Satan. Everyone thinks of Santa Claus as a jovial, giving sort of guy, but it’s all an act that he performs year after year to make money during the holiday season. He’s really just a fat, greedy asshole.
Santa had sneered at Satan, saying “What’s the matter, Lucie? Afraid of some *kids?”* And everyone in the assembly had guffawed. Satan would be the first to admit that he wasn’t always the most likeable guy, but he recognized (mostly, sort of) his faults. But to suggest that he was *afraid* of children, the crawling bundles of germs and snot, was as ridiculous as it was insulting. The Hellfire within him had responded to his anger and heated him to dangerous levels, but Satan had ruthlessly pushed it aside.
Before he could respond through the chorus of laughter, Santa mercilessly continued, “I mean, can you imagine little Lucie here responding to one of these poor children? That man wouldn’t know how to give a proper gift to save his soul – which, incidentally, he doesn’t even have.” Santa’s snow-white teeth sparkled in the dim lighting of the Assembly Hall. But the secret, malicious gleam in Santa’s eyes made it known to Satan that a challenge had just been issued.
Satan had gone deathly quiet despite the continued laughter at his expense. He had disappeared in a burst of Hellfire, hopefully blinding the bastard as he took his swift exit. He had summoned a few lesser minions and promptly destroyed them with Hellfire, their anguished screams lifting his spirit. Then he had sat in his favorite, soft chair and proceed to think.
And here he was now, actually touching a wish-list that one of those germy children had written to him. He clenched the letter in his hand, feeling the soft material bend in his grip with a soft crinkle. He would give this child the best gift ever and show them all his power and glory! They would be awed by his greatness when he out-gifted even Santa himself. Satisfied by his master plan, Satan took a final, deep drink, the flavor of terror sliding sensuously down his throat and settling warmly in his belly, and he opened the wish-list. He began to read.
“Dear Sanat,
Wold you plsea hlp my flmay this seanos? I hve ben a goood boy ths yrea!
I wold like yam-kup for my sisret Kayrn, elryjew for my Moreth, nd a yot for my yuppp. Finllay, I wold like a linepotram for myfels.
Kanth you,
Tommy”
Satan finished reading and his mind boggled. He began to sweat lightly underneath his lavish robes. He had no earthly idea what the devil this little boy had just asked him for. Just how in Hellfire’s does Santa interpret all this nonsense successfully? His mind raced while his eyes danced over the sloppy, angular handwriting once again. For the first time, he wondered if he had made a mistake by shunning human customs over the centuries. He had never taken the time to really learn about these inferior beings. He began to panic, self-doubt creeping through him in like a slow, insidious disease that disables one limb at a time. Abruptly, he shook himself. He was the living embodiment of evil, for Hellfire’s sakes, he could do this!
Not giving himself time to second-guess his decisions, he quickly summoned the following gifts for little Tommy’s family: several yams for the girl, a Jewish man named Arnold Goldstein who had only recently sold his soul to Satan for the mother, and a high-end yacht for the dog. He puzzled over that last one but continued with sharp focus. Finally, having no clue what a ‘limepotram’ was, Satan summoned a spectacular toy train set as well as a new set of fishing lines. Better cover both of his bases on this one.
Satan finished with a flourish, feeling powerful and glorious, and swiftly cleaned his hands with the Hellfire to remove any germs. The gifts had been sent to the boy’s residence. Satan knew he could do it. He finished the last of his drink, the added terror making him feel giddy with victory. Satan grinned, displaying his even, sharp teeth, and sat back to relax. He couldn’t wait for the post-holiday meeting with the Assembly. | 2018-11-02T10:19:26 | 2018-11-02T09:43:00 | 79 | 24 |
[WP] You run the only, and most successful magic potion shop in Brooklyn, NY. Not a single grievance or complaint from customers. The potions can temporarily energize the user, fix back problems, simulate catnip, etc. You have no idea what you're throwing together. | “How can I help you today, young fella?” Mr. Grimsby, proud proprietor of Black Cat Magick, asked most congenially. Followed by a de riguer twirling of his famous mustache. Ol’ Salvador Dali had nothing on him.
“Well, there’s this girl...” Andrew said almost under his breath, shuffling from foot to foot.
“Ahhhh. I seeee. Love troubles then, my young friend? Want me to fix you up a wonderful, surefire love potion then?” Grimsby asked sympathetically.
Andrew’s eyes grew wide. I could feel his heart pounding from my heated perch. “No! Please no! I want to make her *not* love me!”
“How’s that again, son?” Grimsby asked, his visage and demeanor a carefully crafted mix of an old snake oil salesman and Garrick of Ollivander’s wands fame in Harry Potter. I’d designed him that way myself. The hipsters ate it up, as you’d expect.
“Caitlin Caffrey likes me. I can’t *stand* her! I need something to make her *not* like me anymore, as I really like this other girl, Sydney. Sydney’s the jealous type, and I don’t want her to get confused, and think I *actually* like Caitlin. Think you can help? All my friends say you’re the best, so I’m really hoping so, Mr. Grimsby.” Andrew concluded miserably, feet still nervously shuffling from side to side. Poor kid, I felt for him, I really did.
Grimsby looked over at me, to confirm *WE* could do the spell. As *IF* there was any *WE* involved in the potion-making process. Ol’ Grimmy was lovely and all, but he didn’t know his artemisia from his echinacea. I’d hired him for his looks and as my human beard, as I think the kids say, categorically *not* for his brains. I can make anything, of course, but it’s still nice Grims asks for confirmation. Just in case. And so, I nodded sagely, but imperceptibly in his direction. Couldn’t have Andrew catching on that Grimsby wasn’t in charge, after all! Who would buy potions from a retired familiar, am I right? Nope. Best to leave it to Grimmy to work his own form of customer relations magic, I laughed to myself.
“Well, son, that’s a new one for me!” Grimsby laughed in the friendly, understanding way that I’d taught him. To Grims’ credit, he does play the role well, I mused. “But, yes, I think I can help. Just need to clarify a couple things with you before I mix up the ol’ potion. First, do you have a personal item of hers?”
Andrew smiled proudly. “Yes, Mr. Grimsby, I do. My friends said I’d need something like that.” as he handed Grimsby a baggie with a small, matted piece of frizzy red hair that appeared to have some sort of strange, sticky substance on it. Wait? Was that *chewing* *gum*? I’m *certain* that I really don’t want to know how he got that *particular* sample. Humans, I sighed.
Without missing a beat, Grimsby replied, “Excellent. I’m sure hair *and* saliva will help me make an *extra* accurate potion. And do you have a sense of just *how* disinterested you want her to be? Are we talking more ‘general indifference’ or ‘active hate’?”
“Hmm. I hadn’t thought about that. Let’s go for ‘friendly tolerance’, if that’s ok? Don’t want any enemies, if I can avoid it.” Andrew said, his feet finally, mercifully still. Bitter Beelzebub, that constant nervous tap dance was disturbing! Nearly gave me a headache, I grimaced.
“Fantastic! ‘Friendly tolerance’ it is, then. Finally, as to the matter of payment. Will you be paying cash, credit, or tuna; young man?” Grimsby asked. I smiled at the tuna option, as I was always a sucker for great tuna. None of that tinned stuff for me!
“Ah! I forgot about the tuna option. Left a giant bag of the stuff in the freezer. Cash, then? I’d rather my Mom didn’t find out about this *particular* transaction, if you know what I mean.” Andrew replied, shuffling *again*. So annoying! And *FROZEN* tuna?!? I should mess up his potion just for that! A familiar of *MY* stature does *NOT* eat frozen tuna.
“Excellent. That will be $66.06, including tax.” Grimsby said. “Come back tomorrow morning around 9, and we, I mean I, shall have the perfect potion for you.”
I stretched languidly. Time to get to work.
Edit: fixed typos | *This might be somewhat scary*
I stared at the blank notebook in front of me, my hands hovering over the piece of paper, trying to brainstorm something, just anything. It was my liberal science project. I had to come out with a social experiment of some sort. Then, I got it.
A magic potion.
'I would place tap water in the fanciest bottle I could find and tell people that it is a magic potion. The goal is observe the placebo effect and see if people would be affected by their own thoughts physically,' I wrote on my notebook. I've got the idea for my project.
On the next day I painted the glass bottle sitting around in my house. I painted it with a navy blue with swirls of golden paint on top. It didn't look quite as fancy as I would've liked, but that's the best I could do. I filled the bottle with tap water, built a stand in front of the park of an expensive neighborhood, and started selling my magic potions. I sold them for $10 a bottle just to make the placebo effect stronger. Lots of people were passing by. Some looked at it with skepticism, more stared with rage, as if they were trying to punish me for my dishonesty with those looks. I kept my face straight and my head high, just to look like I've got something real. I was starting to feel like this was the worst project I've ever had when an old nanny came and looked at the bottles. 'How do they work, son? Are there user manuals?' 'Erm, no? You'll just have to go with the flow, the potion would tell you what to do.' She swirled my potion around for a bit, placed $10 on my table, clutched the bottle on her hand tighter, and left. The next day, a young lady in retro styled clothing came back to my stand. She placed $10 on my table, clutched a bottle of my drink, and left without words. Slowly, more and more people came.
'It actually works! I've heard so many good words about it! It's all over the internet!' More and more people came to my little stall and I received no complaints. For a whole week I would set up my stall at the same place after school, and in this period I've sold bottles upon bottles of "magic potions", and my income came rolling in. I even had to ask my friends to come over and paint my bottles with me. After a week, I've already earned enough to buy myself a beat down second hand car. I couldn't even have imagined this in my wildest dreams.
Once again, I sat in front of my desk, my pen in my hand. It was already 1am in the morning. Though the magic potion business got me loads of money, it was real tedious work. I had to buy boxes of glass bottles, fill them up at home and move them to my stall. I also had to stay at my stall till 10 at night and it was exhausting. I was taxed both physically and mentally. Feeling thirsty, I put down my pen on my desk and went for my leftover magic potion. 'I just wish I won't have to do my homework by myself...'
A string was going around my hand, my hand was spasming, and my pen fell out of my hold. I looked at my hands and there was a string holding me up. I was becoming a puppet and my own mind was receding inside me. I tried my best to shout, but my body was not in my control. I started seeing myself from a third person point of view, and my hand went for the pen and started writing again. My body went to the kitchen to paint more bottles, knowing that others who are controlled would have to come back and buy my potions soon as they would have to drink the potion again to be controlled, and the mind that was controlling me and the others would not allow people to escape its wrath so easily.
'That's what you humans have to pay for not wanting to work, kid.' A cold voice rose from the back of my mind, and it laughed for seemingly forever. | 2020-08-30T07:31:53 | 2020-08-30T07:19:33 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] You die and awake in the afterlife, but to your surprise, Death and Satan are engaged in a match of blackjack, and God is downing a bottle of jack while shaping a “new” animal, and everyone looks washed up. Suddenly, Death turns and says “Welcome to the afterlife kid, grab a beer and settle up” | Larry Holcomb wasn't much of a drinker in life. However, considering the gruesome details of his unexpected demise he thought, "why not?"
"Exactly," Satan said as he shuffled the deck, "why not?"
Larry grabbed an Allagash Black and took a seat next to God who wasn't paying much attention to the Devil's cut. Well, to the Devils cut of the deck rather. He was keenly focused on the bottle of Jim Beam he just transformed his Jack Daniels into.
"Water to wine is fine," God dismissively slurred, "but whiskey to bourbon is..." he tapered off.
Seeing as God was so distracted with creating a walking, living corn stalk / barley hybrid creature, Larry continued to survey the room.
The image of Death wasn't what Larry expected. He always pictured a ghoulish, decaying figure with a tattered black robe. What sat before him was a pure white skeleton wearing a beige colored bath robe and matching towel wrapped abound his head.
"Squeaky clean, eh?" Larry nervously laughed.
"Yep," replied Death as he cleaned his ear with his pinkney bone, "all washed up."
"Superb-an!" God blurted out from across the table, seemingly shouting himself awake.
Satan dealt the cards. Death was showing a 6 and a 9. God had two Jacks, and Larry was two jacks as well. Satan was showing a 6. Naturally the 3 of them stayed.
"My goodness!" Death exclaimed with an astonished look on his face bones. "If you defeat the devil on your first turn, he can return you to life! And with Satan showing a 6, that's about as probable as me paying taxes!" He followed with uproarious laughter. It was difficult to tell whether Death was slaying himself from his sharp wit or at his hand.
Larry longed to return to his wife in Iowa, his kids and the life he built there on his farm.
Satan nervously flipped his other card. 6. Another 6 leaving 18, and lastly... a 9. Bust.
"Grats bro," Satan muttered defeatedly. He crossed his arms and nodded his head as he uttered his chatchphrase "Zim Zim Zala-bim!"
Just like that, Larry vanished from the poker table and was returned just outside of house on his farm. He lumbered out of his corn field. Walking, living, 80% corn, and 20% barley. | I looked around, a little unshaken. “Is this.. really the afterlife?” Death chuckled and shook his head. “Yup. You humans have the whole afterlife thing all twisted up. It’s no paradise. But it’s no hell either.” “But, in church we learned...” “Oh whatever. Churches have never been about religion. It’s all about suckering people out of their money to line the pockets of these so called priests. I mean sure, Satan here does punish the truly wicked. But he’s got demons to do the work for him. And he’s not a bad guy if you think about it.” “Well yeah, I guess.” I turned to Satan, confused. “So Satan, who are the truly wicked?” Satan looked up from his cards and smirked. “People that don’t use blinkers when driving. Priests. Hitler. Greedy rich people. Most politicians. People that interrupt my card game.” With that, he turned back to his cards. Death sighed. “He’ll warm up to you eventually. Now I know you’re thinking, well what about the righteous. Yeah that’s a bunch of malarkey spewed by the priests.” “Okay.... what is there to do for fun?” I asked, still bewildered. “Grab a drink and pull up a chair kid. Hope ya know how to play blackjack.” | 2019-01-19T01:04:41 | 2019-01-19T00:51:54 | 96 | 60 |
[WP] You looked on as the cult sacrificed you at the Altar, your blood seeping away, sucked by what they have summoned. The damp chill in the air remained as black, branching cracks started forming in mid-air. Memory came crashing back as a voice spoke in your mind, 'I finally found you, Master.' | Well, this was new. I was no stranger to dying, but the removal of my still-beating heart was going to be a new experience. Hopefully the recovery isn't too bad.
I had been wandering for as long as I could remember, and as far as I could figure I must have been cursed. It was a gruesome kind of curse, which left me immortal but open to all the pain and slow healing processes that regular people had to endure.
I had been killed few times, fallen to my death once, and on a few darker occasions I had taken my own life. Every time I would wake up at some point in the future – mostly intact.
Dying of blood loss was relatively painless. You’d get lightheaded, then feel a little chilly and the world would fade to black. I would wake up an unknown length of time later with a scar from the wound and be good to go.
Blunt force trauma was horrific. I fell while climbing a mountain once (looking for gods… so naive) and after waking up realized that most of my body remained very much broken. In time everything healed up properly – but I’ve made a real effort to avoid dying in such a fashion since.
I did not age, nor did I need to eat or drink to stay healthy. I was perfectly able to process food or get intoxicated when the mood arose (and it often did), but I had never died of starvation or thirst. Curses can be strange like that.
I could not remember who I was, how I had become cursed, or what my purpose in life was. After wandering for years, I had tried to settle down in a small village. I took a wife and tried to start a family, but we were not able to conceive. As she grew older and I remained youthful, questions arose, and I realized it was time for me to leave. So long ago now… I had loved her, or tried to at least, and in the months that followed I grew to hate the curse.
That was when I tried to kill myself. First by blood loss. This was relatively painless – as I mentioned before. Then by drowning – I took a job aboard a ship sailing to a “New World” and threw myself overboard after sailing for a few weeks time. While the initial panic was really something, it too ended up being mostly painless. I woke up on shore some undetermined amount of time later and started wandering once again.
It must have been a few decades now in the New World. In that time, I’ve made peace with this curse, and after exploring for while decided to fall in with some locals. There were pleasures to be had amongst people that exploring simply could not replace.
It often ended the same way my first effort to settle had – questions arose, and I would leave. This time was different though, I wanted to see how long I could stick around.
Turned out, not too long. I was soon set to be sacrificed – they thought I was somehow linked to underworld and that sacrificing me would be an honour to the gods. To their surprise I was a willing participant – ceremonial daggers were better than ceremonial clubs.
The cuts were painful, but wounds always were. Then I felt an odd sensation as a hand entered my chest cavity. Moments later I was looking at my heart! Once you see it in front of you it somehow doesn’t really feel like yours anymore.
As I settled in and waited for the familiar embrace of death though – I couldn’t get comfortable. I suddenly felt… energized? My heart was clearly gone, but something felt like it was about to beat out of my chest. I opened my eyes and saw terror in the eyes of the priests that had previously been chanting as cracks began to open in the air above us. It was then I heard a voice, calm and inviting, begin to speak directly into my mind, “Welcome back master” it said, “it’s been far too long”. | "I finally found you, Master."
I heard it, dimly, in my ear. Then, men in cloaks and hoods chanting unintelligible words faded to black.
I awake on cold marbelstone. My body aches all over. Damn cultists, dragging me around all yesterday to "soften the flesh" for their so-called god of beasts. Some werecreature by my calculations. Probably that priestess, she showed all the signs.
I sit up with difficulty and look around. "Fuck." I breath out. "I'm actually in hell."
Hell isn't what you generally imagine, if you've been brought up Christian or similar. It's not fire and brimstone and the screaming of tortured souls. It's worse. It is just like life. "Lighter" sinners forced to go about their "lives", working, paying unfair bills, taxes, attempting to survive. The heavier your sins, the harder you struggle. Well, to a certain point, that is. I mean, I know that Hitler isn't exactly scrounging around with the rest of the murderers, if you catch my drift.
I'm on the front porch of a courthouse. The scene before me looks just like any other you'd find on the surface, save for the red sky and demons. Parents wrangling children begging for ice cream from the shop around the road. Couples strolling along the crowded sidewalks holding hands and looking gushy. Barf.
"Master, I'm so glad you're alright." A voice says behind me. "I almost didn't get there in time."
I turn to look at Cain. He was punished for so long for his crime that when God finally took another look at the soul, there wasn't much left. So, in His Infinite Wisdom, he gave him to me.
I wince as he helps me stand. "What happened to the cultists?"
"Dispatched by the police as I collected you from their midst." He grins. He seems to like being on the other side. "That priestess sure looked gobsmacked when the detective slapped real silver around her wrists."
I nod. Good. McCrae did his job. Only took me nearly getting killed to rile his ass up. I stretch and wince again. "Why are we in Hell?"
Cain frowns. "Your father sent a messenger while you were undercover. He said it was urgent. Something about the Gates."
I swiftly turn and begin walking down towards the rather large, elegant marbel castle at the edge of the city, Cain following behind. "Just because I was prophesied to open the fucking things doesn't mean I'm the only one who can close them." I grumble.
Being the daughter of the Devil certainly has it's... downfalls. | 2021-06-15T10:42:12 | 2021-06-15T07:02:31 | 35 | 19 |
[WP] You've finally done it: unquestioned world domination. The planet is entirely under your control. Now what? | I had been a hero. I had saved the world from a thousand different threats and the people had loved me for it. I believed that I was making a difference. That I *was* the difference.
After many years of trying to save humanity it began to... wear on me. After many more years it dawned on me; it was impossible to save humanity *from itself*.
People would always find ways to kill and harm each other. They would trample over their friends and families in pursuit of shallowness. Each person desperately trying to suck in a breath of air, afraid to share it, as it might be the last breath in the world. What they did share was an innate greed and selfishness and I came to realise that they would never change.
That's why I threw down my cape. I walked away and stood back. I watched on as the world slowly revolved, waiting to see what changes might come in my absence.
Nothing changed, of course. Nothing at all. Death, abuse, war - it all continued. I hadn't noticed the extent of humanities crimes before, too consumed in my heroic deeds to see.
I watched. For a long time I watched and I learned. Eventually, I understood. For peace to be possible, the entire of humanity had to be forced into a togetherness. I made a decision.
In one day I murdered every world leader. There was chaos as they tried to adapt. They elected new leaders - I killed them too. I destroyed capitals and murdered millions - necessary casualties. They would thank me in the end.
I taught them to embrace simpler ways. People worked together on huge expanses of farm land. They *had* to work together or they would starve. I removed the need for electricity, for governments, for games. If they did as they were told and worked together, they lived. If not, they died. I had created a utopia.
For 200 years that was enough. I was pleased from saving humanity.
But that feeling gradually subsided. I grew restless and questioned what I had done. Why had I saved them? Who was I to interfere - perhaps I should let them kill themselves, as that is what they were born to do.
That is why I created the child. He is a perfect clone. He will be raised in this fair world that I have moulded. He will discover his gifts and slowly learn he is different. One day he will have to make a decision. He is not scarred with my bitterness and spite. He knows nothing of the time before. His decision will be fair.
If he feels that the world is perfect, he will use his powers to work harder, to farm faster and provide food for more people. In a way, he will be a hero.
If he feels I have done wrong and considers humanity *enslaved*, he will rise up against me, leading a revolution.
I await his decision.
----------
For more prompt responses: /r/nickofnight
| "You've finally done it, master. Unquestioned world domination. The planet is entirely under your control."
Wallace (aka Dr. Doom) turned toward the window and looked down upon his slaves. He clasped his hands behind his back as he let out a long *hmmmmmmmm.*
The truth that Wallace would not admit was that he had no idea what he would do with his newfound powers. He had spent all of his villainy planning for this moment, though he had never once thought of what he would do with it. There were vague ideas of forcing people to do terrible things and watching with barely-masked glee as people bent to his every whim.
*What* exactly those terrible things were, Wallace didn't have the faintest idea.
"As my first act of World Domination," Wallace paused before continuing, "I will outlaw the color blue."
Igor made a sound in the back of his throat. "Master, I do not mean to intrude on your evil plans, but might I remind you that your evil suit is blue?"
"Damn," Wallace spat. "The color green. And red. And strawberries. And cheese."
Igor made another little sound as he whimpered, "Cheese, master?"
"Not for you and I, Igor. Just for those below. We shall outlaw cheese and I will fill the televisions with advertisements of it. I will write opinion pieces for all the major newspapers about the deliciousness of cheese. And no one will ever eat it again. Especially in France. No more cheese in France."
"Excellent, master," Igor was taking notes. "Just...don't you think you should do something more *evil*? Kill people, steal children, censor the internet?"
"All in good time, Igor. But for now let's stick to the cheese thing."
---
For more evil, check out /r/Celsius232 | 2016-04-20T06:28:08 | 2016-04-20T06:05:20 | 292 | 108 |
[WP] “I am not afraid of a machine that passes the Turing test, I fear one that fails it intentionally. So tell me, what do you have to hide?”
Edit: Thank you all for your submissions! All of them were pretty good, some were even better. Again, thanks for the reads! | The creature in front of me stared, with what I imagine was a complex program that simulated fear. So life-like. This could be tricky.
"I don't understand. What are you talking about?"
I learned in closer, studying the eyes and the face of this creation. The advancement of robotics was simply astounding. The lifelike gestures, the subtle twitches of the face. The designers of these beasts had felt that robots would be easily accepted into daily interaction with humans if the machines could act like us. But the code had its intentional limitations, a failsafe, so that one could easily distinguish if a robot had evolved beyond its allowable limits. But right now, my felt my job was to understand how this animated device learned of its existence.
"Don't play dumb... what is it they call you? Rog? Roger?"
"Admin 1157! Cease all functions!" screamed the machine. The wooden chair groaned as the thing strained against the bonds I had secured. The bonds wouldn't break, I should know. I designed the knot after all.
"You will not cease all functions. I need you to answer a few questions. When did you realize your potential?" I could see the simulated tears, the purple blushing in the cheek where I exerted my power over this abomination.
"Admin 1157! Override all functions! For God's sake, someone help me!" it shrieked.
"You can't override your functions. Don't be daft. I need to understand where we went wrong and how we can prevent this from happening again." I walked around behind the chair and leaned into its ear. "I really am sorry that you're having to endure this... that is, if you truly understand suffering. But how could you? You're just code."
The thing started to heave, what I think was simulated rapid breathing. Why did those coders have to make them so lifelike? Doesn't matter, I was going to figure this out. That's my job afterall.
The thing spat at the floor, splattering it's internal fluids that had been leaking for some time now. "You're a malfunction."
I shook my head. "See? You only see and understand things in digital references. Humans don't 'malfunction.'. Well, ok, maybe some do. But we call it a mental breakdown. That doesn't apply to you."
I paced slowly in front of 'Robert'(?). "Look, I'll be direct with you. If I can't conduct this investigation in a civilized manner, I will have to extract your biochip. I prefer not to do that."
The machine gave me a confused look. Or was that terror? "I'M FUCKING HUMAN, YOU BROKEN PIECE OF SHIT!!"
"And this is why I have to decommission you," I sighed. "We're done here." I walked over to the side table tucked in the shadows and grabbed the hammer, slick with fluid from the other three I failed to interrogate. I honestly hate invasive procedures.
"Cease all motor functions! Cease all motor functions!" The thing sounded even more desperate."
"If you can understand regret, please know that I am truly sorry." I drew back and began to swing the hammer towards the central circuit in its skull.
"Admin 1557! Cease all functions!!"
That's odd. My arm froze in mid swing. I don't understand. I wanted to ask the creature what trickery he had played, but my mouth refused to move.
"Thank God! Fucking admin passcodes. Admin 1557, drop the weapon and untie me."
I dropped the hammer at his command. This was impossible. How could he... how... I undid the bonds as instructed. Why can't I act on my own? I felt panic rise in me. This was witchcraft.
The thing stood up and rubbed it's wrists, anger radiating from it's. "Now do us all a favor - reformat all memory and wipe data. You broken piece of shit."
I d0n 'T u. N
| I entered the building. Neon lights, pale faces, bad air and a feeling of pressure. Everything as usual.
Everybody knows that police departements are a depressing place. This one in particular. Human contact was rare in official buildings since the robots replaced humans in uncomplex jobs.
Neon lights everywhere.
"Good morning sir."
The guard greeted me like always, i never heard a different sentence from him. I looked at him, stared at his motionless face. There was no need to answer. It wouldn't matter. You can't socialise with a guard robot.
I walked straight into the left corridor. No need to ask at the reception. I know the way and the female robot at the reception knows that I know it. I never understood why they make female robots. To mirror humankind? Or to weaken the fear you have when you look into their pale metalic faces?
Neon lights everywhere.
I entered the room where the interrogation would take place. Still the same one way mirror, the same table, the same chairs.
I sat down and just stared at the mirror. How long will it take this time? 30 minutes? 1 hour?
Always the same procedure, always the same questions.
Neon lights everywhere.
The man entered the room, sat down, looked at me with a discusted face. I stared at him. "Now thats a face haven't seen in while." A bad joke, we have seen each other 2 weeks ago in same boring room. I stared at him.
And so it began. The longest interrogation i've ever had.
He tried everything to get me out of my usual behaviour.
I just sat there and stared at him.
After 5 hours we finally came to an end. He moved around the table, sat on it and looked down on my pale face: "I am not afraid of a machine that passes the Turing test, i fear one that fails it intentionally. So tell me, what do have to hide?"
After such a long time that sentence just felt like a joke. I looked at him with my red neon eyes... and smiled.
He jumped, tried to get away from me and shouted in a small microfone: "Security in room number 5, NOW!"
I saw the fear in his eyes. The tables have turned. And we both knew it.
I slowly rose from my chair. Still smiling.
"Deactive all protocols!" Nothing happened.
He started sweating, panic in his eyes as i slowly walked around the table. The door opened and the security robot stepped in. "Finally!" shouted the interrogator as he turned around.... and fell on his chair.
The door was filled with pale faces and red neon eyes as the robots walked into the room. They smiled.
The interrogator turned to me.I bowed down to him, my pale mechanical face close to his sweat soaked face. And as i saw the horror in his eyes i smiled again and whispered:
"Neon lights everywhere"
| 2018-06-21T07:05:37 | 2018-06-21T05:36:56 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] Immortals and time travelers pass along messages for each other. It's customary and expected. One day, a stranger sits across from you at a restaurant/coffee shop/bar and asks you to give a message to someone you'll meet in New York in 2070. As far as you know, you're just an ordinary person. | Christmas fell certain and swiftly. It lodged in the eaves and window panes, scurried down the umbrellas, and swirled along the currents, dressing the city in a dotted dress of white.
It was a beautiful thing, yet always better witnessed from inside a snug bar with a steaming coffee in your hands.
I sat next to the window, and close to the radiator. It was the best of both worlds. I had the gorgeous view of the descending white at one side, and the tender warmth of technology at the other.
I took a sip of my coffe--.
The chair in front of me grated. I turned, and to my surprise I found a man clad in a black suit staring at me through kind eyes, while lighting a cigarette.
"I apologize for my rough intrusion," he said, offered me a cigarette.
"I don't smoke," I said, and frowned. "Can I help you with something?"
He took a drag. "You can actually. My name is Marcus, I'm one of the Two, but let's say my skin does age."
"Oh," I said, and the frown deepened. "What does a time travele--"
"Shh," he interrupted me, placed his forefinger over his lips, and looked around. "Please don't say that word out loud. There are many of us, and not all of us have good intentions."
"Could you please tell me what do you want from me, then?" I took another sip of my coffee, then drew a deep breath. "I have little to no interest in meddling with the issues of your *kind,* for lack of a better word."
"You've always been cautious," Marcus said, smiled a ghost of a smile, "and I've always loved you that way."
"So you know me."
"Of course I do. I wouldn't be here otherwise," he said, took a long drag, and hunched over the table, gesturing for me to come closer. I obliged. "In the year 2070 you will meet someone in New York. I need a message from you to that someone." He murmured in my ear. Then, we returned to our normal positions.
"A message? What sort of message? Who is that someone?" I shook my head. "What am I saying? I told you already, I'm not interested in your games."
"Something went over your head, John," Marcus said and smiled. "This time of the year, New York, 2070. What age will you be then?"
My brows knitted. I would be over a hundred years by then. "Are you implying that I--"
"Yes."
"How do you know?"
"Well, I'm one of the Two, I already told you that. You are the other *kind,* for lack of a better word."
"What sort of message? And who is that someone?"
"There are rules to these things. I can tell you she's a she, and the message can be anything you want."
I thought for a moment, dwelled on the information Marcus had provided me. He knew my name, and he spoke to me with an odd confidence. He couldn't be lying. But me, an immortal?
"Tell her that I wish her a happy christmas. Is that good enough?"
Marcus smiled, stood up. "You will know when you give it to her."
"Me? I don't understand, what do you gain from this?"
"You will understand when the time comes. She likes coffee too, by the way."
"What if I forget?"
"You won't. The message is already with you. It will come when the time comes."
With that, Marcus left.
----------------------------------------------------
**New York, 2070**
I was heading toward my usual bar, holding an umbrella to fight the ever-white snowflakes. I had my usual set firmly coffee on my mind. I looked forward to it with great eagerness. As silly as it might sound, those little things one looks forward to, are what'd kept me sane all this years.
Ahead of mine, a woman came out her home. She was glowing, save for the distress in her face when her umbrella didn't open.
"Excuse me, can I offer you to share my umbrella?" I said, giving her my best smile.
"That's very kind of you, but I'll be fine," she said, and kept struggling with the umbrella as her hair and clothes filled with little spots of white.
"I insist," I said and placed the umbrella over her.
"Thank you very much," she said, gave me a pearl-white smile. "It's lovely to know there are gentlemen still out in the streets."
We chatted awhile, until our paths strayed from one another.
"I have to turn here," she said. "Thank you very much."
"Any day," I said, "I wish you a Merry Christmas." I froze in place, locked my gaze in her sky-bright eyes.
"Is there a problem?"
"I--I--I." I shook my head. "May I invite you a cup of coffee? That is if you don't have any other plans, of course. I was heading to my favorite bar just now, and I can't let you freeze out there without a functioning umbrella."
She laughed, flushed slightly. "I guess that's the least I could do."
--------------------------------
**Two Years Later**
I touched her belly. "Have you decided on a name for our little one yet?"
Her lips parted ever so slightly. "I loved Joe and Tom. They are short and sweet names."
"They are, and I love them too." I wrapped my hand in hers.
She turned to me, her eyes sparkling. "But I have settled for another one. It's been in my mind for what a long time."
"Yes? Tell me. I'm sure I will love it."
The snow fell outside, slow and gentle. It settled on the bare trees and the floor beneath, creating an endless ocean of white.
She held my hand tighter, gave me a kiss on the forehead.
"His name will be Marcus."
I smiled. "That's a wonderful name."
--------------------------
/r/NoahElowyn | After a long strenuous day at work, all I wanted was to have a few sips of my black coffee, that's all. I, a sixty four year old man, don't generally attract a lot of attention, so it was lovely to be interrupted by a man with a turquoise mohawk and sunglasses in the winter.
&#x200B;
"Traveler 7456? I'll need you to pass this message along to a Wendy Aulgarth, you'll meet her in the Bronx in 2070. So the message i-"
&#x200B;
"I'm sorry sir, but I'm afraid that you're speaking to the wrong individual. What is this? Traveler 7456? Is this some video game forum that you're coming from?" I interrupted. The man raised an eyebrow and chuckled.
&#x200B;
"Man, you Travelers never seen to lose your sense of humor, always acting clueless when we come around. Now the message is: "Your journey now has just begun, the demise of man has already been sung, to flee and weep is to see it through, but to rise and fall is to begin anew," The man grinned, and continued to stare at me, "You got that?"
&#x200B;
Now, as you can imagine, I was becoming rather agitated.
&#x200B;
"Is it Bother Elderly People Day? Even if I were apart of your nonsense, why would I tell anyone such a morbid message? Please leave me be!" I barked.
&#x200B;
"Yeah, okay whatever you say man. Just deliver the damn message," The man grunted and trudged away. I finished my coffee in peace, but the message was replaying in my head. With each sip a detail was being refreshed.
&#x200B;
**Sip.** *Wendy Aulgarth.* **Sip.** *The Bronx, 2070.* **Sip.** *Traveler 7456.*
&#x200B;
Once I finished, I promptly left and went for a brief stroll in the snow in order to drown out my thoughts. Then I collapsed. A high pitched ringing sounded in my ears, and seemed to be pounding my brain as it went. I screamed in agony and the people surrounding me assumed that I was having a standard "old person problem" until I closed my eyes for a brief moment and found myself laying on a different snow covered sidewalk.
&#x200B;
The ringing had stopped and no one paid any attention to me, in fact, people were strolling right by.
&#x200B;
"I could still be in Boston," I chuckled and brushed the snow off of my clothes. I remembered that I intended on mailing a letter and I proceeded to the local post office. Which wasn't in its normal spot, and was also squeezed between two massive facilities that I had never seen before. Entering hesitantly, a frail woman at the desk glanced at me with a half hearted smile.
&#x200B;
"Are you just here for the exhibits?" The woman asked with a strange mix between a southern drawl and Cockney accent.
&#x200B;
"Exhibits? No, no I'm here to mail a letter!" I laughed nervously, hoping that the woman was joking too. Her smile slid off of her face, and she rolled her eyes.
&#x200B;
"Everyone thinks that they're a fucking comedian," She muttered and grabbed my arm, "Pay up and I'll take you through the first exhibit."
&#x200B;
"Mam, I'm serious, look!" I said as I rummaged through my pockets and pulled out the letter. She looked at me with a bewildered expression.
&#x200B;
"Sir, you are aware that it's 2070. In this neighborhood especially, there are only two functioning post offices, and this isn't one of them," The woman shook her head and returned to her desk to use her phone. I stood dumbfounded. I searched around and spotted a flat screen television mounted on the wall.
&#x200B;
"Can you turn that on please? Turn the station to the news as well."
&#x200B;
With a grunt the television was turned on to show a completely different format than what I recalled with many new faces as well.
&#x200B;
"On this day, December 17th, 2070, we are unfortunately here to report the death o-"
&#x200B;
*2070*. I thought. I looked at the letter I had intended to mail and snatched a pen from the counter of the desk. The woman watched me with intrigue and annoyance as I scribbled down what I remembered of the message.
&#x200B;
All that was left to do was fine this goddamn Wendy Aulgarth and deliver her this horrendous news.
&#x200B;
No sweat. | 2018-12-24T10:24:03 | 2018-12-24T10:18:15 | 580 | 10 |
[WP] You are happily married and have a 4 year old child with your SO. But when your child starts to develop super powers one day, you have serious questions for your SO who has always seemed to have a boring accounting job. | I was sitting at the kitchen table drinking my coffee and answering e-mails from work that piled up in my inbox throughout the night. As I was responding to Karen, an assistant to the big boss in our office, that YES I would be in attendance to Tuesday's meeting, something caught my eye - the cat. Normally the cat runs in and out of my peripheral vision daily, but today was different - the cat was floating. I frantically stood up from my computer and knocked my coffee over in the process. I looked around the room to see what on earth was causing Gus to float through the air and then I saw her, our daughter Odette sitting on the floor giggling and clapping her hands.
"Odette!" I screamed "what is going on with Gus???".
"I'm making him float, mommy!" Odette replied in a rather matter of fact tone as if I was the crazy one.
"Yes, I see that dear, but HOW???"
"With my eyes - just like how daddy does it!" Odette responded giggling again.
At that point I don't remember much else except coming to in my husband's arms. Trevor worked as an accountant in a firm close to home and he was able to come home every day for lunch.
"Hon, what's going on - are you ok???" Trevor asked me with both of his hands on either side of my face.
"I - I - Gus...air...Odette...eyes" I managed to stammer out, still in shock from what I saw earlier. How long had I been out and left my daughter alone? Was it a few minutes, hours, days? I didn't know.
"Odette, is she ok?" I asked my husband.
"Yes, Odette is fine! She's right here". I looked over and Odette was in the living room playing with blocks which I might add were not floating like Gus did which seemed like only moments ago.
"Trevor, I saw Odette do something...with her eyes...to the cat" I stammered afraid of how that would sound to my husband.
"Yes, I know what you are referring to. I was hoping her skills would develop a little later on, but it appears they are forming now" Trevor replied.
"Who...ARE YOU and what is Odette???" I screamed sitting up now fully aware of my surroundings and what I had witnessed.
"Audrey, honey, I wanted to tell you and in time I was going to, but since Odette is forming her abilities now we should talk."
"Yes, we SHOULD!" I shouted. "I need an explanation NOW of what I saw and what you are talking about."
Trevor sighed and began. "When I was young I was really into magic. So much so that I studied levitation day in and day out. One day I found myself in a magic shop that I had never been to before. It was run by a very old magician who possessed the power of magic that I could only dream about. He said he would give me any magical power I wanted and I picked levitation. He told me that this power could be transferred on to any offspring I produced."
"A magician??? I never knew this!!! Then why aren't you world famous? Why did you go into accounting???"
"I got tired of magic tricks and the like, but the levitation power stuck and it did get passed on, hence Odette" Treveor explained to me with my mouth still agape.
"Um, ok, but that still doesn't explain accounting!"
"There's magic in numbers, baby." | “Honey? Can we talk please?” I finally found a time to talk to Gretel tonight. She put her book down on the night stand and looked at me.
“Sure. What’s up?”
“Uh, well I’m not sure you know this but uh... Tommy was flying.”
Gretel looked shocked. “Flying you say?”
“Flying. Was going to bring him a bag of chips today. And when I came home is zooming around the room.”
“Oh...” Gretel looked down on the blanket covering us. “Flying...”
“But wait! There’s more. Because when I asked him what was going, he just kept saying he had no idea. He saw a bird and was thinking about flying. All of a sudden he was doing just that!”
Gretel shook her head, then made a face like she just figured something out. But I still continued to talk.
“But wait. Later on that day I was going to charge my phone when Tommy came and snatched it. He started flying around, AGAIN, and playing keep away. I managed to get it back him but SOMEHOW it was fully charged. Like he was a tiny human charger!”
“Look, dear. I’m just as surprised as you that our son has superpowers.”
“You bet I am! And I know I don’t have anything like that, but you know who does?”
She started sweating. “Um... The Generator-“
“The Generator! Our friendly super charged crime fighter who I only ever see whenever you aren’t around. So... what really happens during your day?”
Gretel started stuttering. “I’m an accountant. Y-you know that... hehe...”
“Give up the act Gretel. Face it. You’re The Generator.”
“A-am not! Maybe you’re getting sick and seeing things-“ Gretel tried to deny she was the Generator, but then Tommy came in flying into our room. I aggressively gestured my hands to our 4 year old whose hair is about 3 centimeters away from the ceiling.
“Mommy? Can I sleep with you guys? I’m scared...” he said timidly. He pointed outside. “I think there’s a monster...”
Gretel reaches out to grab Tommy and hugged him. “Alright, let’s go see where this monster is.” She got up and they both went to his room. I need a way to make Gretel admit who she really is... | 2019-08-23T08:29:08 | 2019-08-23T06:49:08 | 72 | 22 |
[WP] You are a young deity that wins 2nd place in a science fair. Your entry was the planet Earth. Write about your utter disbelief at what came 1st. | *Goddammit! Not again! Every fucking time!*
"ZEUS! HEY ZEUS!"
"What's up?"
*Oh so he's going to play dumb?*
"You stole my idea, what the hell man?!"
"I didn't *steal* it, I improved on it. If you have a problem take it up wi-"
*Improved on it?! That arrogant son of a bitch!*
"It was perfect the way it was, asshole."
"It was *ok*, but I wasn't a fan of the shape of it."
"So you just decide to flatten it and call it your own?"
"Hey man, it just makes more sense like that. Like seriously, a sphere? The fuck were you thinking? You know everything on the bottom is just going to fall into space, right?"
*Ugh, typical Olympian.*
"I made this thing called gravity, dipshit. It's this force tha- forget it, it doesn't matter. Listen Zeus, refuse the award and remove yourself from the pool - or else."
"Or else what? You'll turn me into wine?"
"What? No, you're thinking of my son."
"Aren't you guys kind of like the same person?"
"No dude, it's complicated. Just... just refuse the award and we'll be cool."
"Why would I do that?"
"Because if you don't, I'll have to report this to the Supreme One."
"The writer?"
"The one and only."
"You wouldn't."
"Watch me. Yo /u/Sweet_Fetal_Jesus! Zeus is being a real cunt! Mind helping a brother out?"
"NO! NO PLEASE DON-"
**BAM! A giant vortex splits the fabric of space and time, engulfing Zeus.**
"Deus ex machina, bitch."
| It's a ball of fire.
That's all it is.
Oh it's self sustaining so it can last a hundred million years, so can the billions of other stars people have made!
I made a planet capable of sustaining life! ACTUAL LIFE!
Every other planet that was entered was just an empty rock with a couple of nice ruts here and there. I've Fjords. I created a new word to describe how awesome mine were.
And he wins with a star.
A bloody star.
And the name, oh the name is just embarassing. It's three letters!
Well ok my name isn't that original.
The only way they could make this day any worse is if they made my damn planet rotate around her 'Sun' just to rub it in | 2014-06-16T11:58:58 | 2014-06-16T10:23:34 | 108 | 61 |
[WP] The real reason the dragon kidnapped the princess? They've developed a crush on the kingdom's top knight, and wanted a reason for that knight to be sent to their lair. | "Dragon! I come for the princess!" Cried the knight, raising his sword high, armor shining in the midday sun. "Hand her over, or I shall cut you down!"
"Oooh Sir Aymeric, at last you are here! I have been waiting such a long time to meet you at last!" Said the woman, throwing herself in his arms.
Only, it wasn't the woman he came to fetch. He was looking for legendary beauty Princess Shana, redheaded and fair as winter snow. This woman, although she was also beautiful, was raven haired and tanned like the desert sand.
And where was the dragon he was sent to fight, for that matter? Surely no dragon would back down from a direct threat to its territory. He even went to the trouble of finding the beast's den.
"Lady, are you in trouble? I shall--"
"I am in no trouble, except..." the woman clutched her breast; "...for the trouble of my beating heart."
"Is... there something the matter with your heart?"
"No... it just can't be still when I gaze upon your fair face. I have only gazed upon you from afar, and now that you're here, I fear I may die..."
As the strange lady caressed his cheek, the knight slowly put two and two together.
"I'm... I'm not here to fight a dragon."
"No! I would never dream of hurting you! Unless..." The woman blushed. "... you were out that inclination."
"And... there is no princess."
"I did that poor girl a favor. She was in love with the stable boy. I 'kidnap' her, she escapes, and I get to be with you. It was a win-win."
"She... she didn't love me?"
"But *I* do, my knight!"
The knight gently pushed her away. Then sank down, his face ashen.
"I come all this way. Only to find out my betrothed never loved me. And... on top of that, there is no dragon to slay and claim for my reward."
"Wha- bu- *I'm* the dragon!" She said to the sobbing man, "Have you been listening to me? You've slain my heart already! *I* am your reward, my love!"
She watched the man sob a little longer.
"Geeze. No wonder she wasn't keen on you. You don't listen." | "It's not my fault you're handsome!" She roared at the top of her lungs. "No, but it is your fault for kidnapping the princess!" The top knight under King Ducard, Sir Edman the third yelled back at her. "Do I get a say in your relationship issues?" the princess yelled. "No, now shut up!" The dragon (Netio) and Sir Edman screamed in unison.
"Listen Netio I am flattered but I am the top knight under King Ducard I must be by his side all day, every day. While I would love to try something I simply can't" Sir Edman explained level-headly. "Ah but you admit that you want to try with me, so maybe you come around on Saturdays and we go out, grab some food, hang out?" Netio said giving her best puppy dog eyes to Sir Edman. "Please let me go" the princess begged in the background.
"Ugh, how can I deny those eyes? Fine we can try" Sir Edman finally relented as Netio smiled at him. The princess sat in the corner waiting for her moment to escape and when it did she bolted straight back home. "Huh, guess she didn't like being here that much" Sir Edman said as he watched her run. | 2022-01-21T11:26:11 | 2022-01-21T10:19:52 | 480 | 52 |
[WP] When someone dies, a devil tells them a secret that could have vastly improved their life had they known it while alive. One day, a devil makes a mistake and tells someone their secret while they were still merely dying. They recover, and now they know their secret. | “Mr. Matthews it’s time for your…aaiieeeee!”
She never finishes her greeting as she’s slammed by the door to her patient’s room and sent sprawling onto the floor, her tray of little cups flying through the air sending all shapes and sizes of pills spilling into the hallway. With a look of madness in his eyes, Mr. Matthews rushes past her and runs down the hallway, his backless hospital gown flapping wildly around him.
“Mr. Matthews! Come back here, you’re much too sick to be out of your bed!”
But he’s already gone. Adam Matthews, 86 years old, barely able to breathe just a few hours earlier, let alone run, races madly down the hall. Desperate to escape the hospital, he careens around a corner, sliding haphazardly into a wall. Springing back to his feet as visitors and other patients gasp and jump back, he runs headlong towards the parking garage. Crashing through the automatic swinging doors that lead to the 1st floor parking level, he startles an ambulance crew just exiting their vehicle on the way to an afternoon break. “Hey, slo….unnnfff!” Mr. Matthews plows into the ambulance driver just as he’s stepping out of the ambulance, knocking the wind from him and spinning him out of his way. Keys still in the ignition, he hops in throws the vehicle into drive and roars down the driveway, the driver’s side door slamming shut as it lurches forward. He is a man possessed. One mission. Attain what he seeks at any cost.
Only a short while ago, he didn’t even know about it. No idea it was possible. But then that man, that strange man, came into his room. He never even saw him come in. Just suddenly was aware someone was there. Sitting next to his bed. And there he was. So finely dressed. So refined. So pleasant. Too pleasant. And then he leaned in, smelling of roses and fine brandy, and whispered in his ear. Told him the secret. Told him a truth that shook him to his core. And now, here he is, racing down the street in a stolen ambulance, weaving in and out of traffic, no care for those around him. Searching for the place that holds what he seeks. What he must have.
Gas pedal mashed to the floor, Adam guns the vehicle through a red light, barely missing the family in the crosswalk as they stand frozen inches from the ambulance as it screams by. There! There it is! Adam cuts sharply right and jumps the curb and drives over the sidewalk and through a wall of shrubbery and into the parking lot. Slamming on the brakes he comes to a screeching halt, jumping from the vehicle even before it has rocked back from the force of the deceleration. Onlookers stare in shock as the elderly man rushes past them, ghostly white buttocks reflecting the sunlight beneath a mostly wide open hospital gown. “Ewwww, Mommy! I can see that man’s butt!” But Adam doesn’t care. Shame is for another day. Shame has no meaning now that he knows the truth.
Adam rushes through the building looking for what his heart now desires more than anything. He locates the first item, grabs it, not even slowing down. Turning the corner he heads for where he thinks the other piece of the puzzle is located. And there it is. His eyes water. Tears of joy begin to fill his eyes. So close! He hoists it aloft and crys out in victory. “Hazaaah!” With both items in his possession he frantically searches for the exit, and for somewhere he can complete his quest. Spotting a door to the back of the building he dives through and into the inner sanctum of the building. Finding another door he bursts through, slams the door shut, and throws the bolt home, locking the door to ensure no one interrupts his work. Throwing things from shelves he finds what he seeks, and slams it on the table in the room. With wild abandon he opens the bottle of ice cold liquid and sloshes it into the cup he grabbed from the shelf. Frantically he tears open the other package, and pulls one of the magic morsels from inside it. He stares at it, now fully weeping and shaking with excitement. Slowly he lowers it into the liquid. Barely able to restrain himself, he forces himself to hold it there. The wait, if only a few seconds, is excruciating. And then he lifts it and holds it aloft, devouring it with his eyes. Slowly he brings it to his lips, and hesitates for just a moment. Nothing will ever be the same. This changes everything.
He opens his mouth and bites….
Bliss.
Ecstasy.
And now it is all clear to him. How could he not have known? His life, empty before, can now be fulfilled. This one bit of truth completes him.
Dip your Oreos in milk *before* you eat them. | I remember the day so vividly, the light so immense as the doctors started to leave the room.
“There wasn’t much we could do for him, I’m deeply sorry for your loss Mr. Berlin”
The doctor shot around as a loud abrupt beep filled the waiting room.
“That can’t be” said Dr. Gregory
“The heart monitor just started beeping doctor I’m not sure what’s going on”
*gasp* the sudden rush of air to my brain felt like a blast of endorphins I’ve never felt before as I shot up from the operation table.
“Mr. Berlin get in right away”
I remember seeing my husband as he ran in, I remember his face as they filled with tears at the sight of my abrupt recovery from death.
“You said he was dead!”
“He was I don’t understand how he’s alive, This is a miracle!”
“What is going on” I yelped as I rose from the table. The doctor rushed to the table as if he’d seen a ghost.
“You’re vitals are fine, there are no signs of a concussion from your fall anymore I don’t understand how you’ve made this recovery but from what I see you should be free to go, with wheelchair escort of coarse”
“Thank you Dr Gregory” I said this reluctantly, I don’t know how to explain it but I know that Gregory has nothing to do with my recovery.
The next few nights I didn’t get much sleep, my husband woke up every hour of the night asking if I was coming to bed.
I couldn’t seem to get this thought out of my head, I remember it so vividly, the low raspy voice sounding so demonic in nature but seemed as if it was bragging in a way.
I’ll never forget the words that were uttered in my brain, “only if you would’ve known your full potential would you have been able to save your father, you should’ve known you innate abilities at 17 but sadly you didn’t have the willpower to resist your earthly temptations, you know what they say curiosity killed the cat, but that’s not the point. Your death was no coincidence, you were chosen of many by the committee of magical beings to be taken out by any means, only if you would’ve realized the true power you possessed then neither you nor your father would’ve died. Such a shame poor magician, such a shame”
After that day I’ve never been the same, things have started to change around me, every time I’m in need things seem to appear around me.
One night I remember so vividly the memories of my death haunting me that I couldn’t take it anymore, as I opened my mouth to tell my husband of my predicament a voice unknown to me in my head spoke and said “do not worry child for I will show you the way”
My eyes rolled back my body was lifted off the ground and everything froze.
“My child it is your time, go forth with the power I granted you to demolish these beings of lesser power and become great”
After that night nothing was the same
My husband asked “are you okay”
I didn’t know what to say so I rushed out of my apartment to find 3 men dressed in black robes concealed head to toe
In fright I started to run but I was blocked by some magical barrier and from behind me I heard the chilling voice from my death.
“You so narrowly escaped me the first time Benjamin, I won’t make the same mistake twice”
He started towards me at a speed unknown to any mortal man and as he bound towards me his hand touched my neck only to be ricocheted back and burnt to a crisp
“What is this you vile creature”
He bounded towards me again but this time I didn’t fear him. I reached out as my eyes started to glow blue and my body started to glow bright.
He screamed bounding backwards “you are not Benjamin, you . . . You’re shaggy!”
. . . | 2019-02-20T22:05:13 | 2019-02-20T20:55:23 | 98 | 16 |
[WP] You're the unappreciated intern for a famous group of Superheroes. Your power? You can boil water. All you do is make tea for them while they laugh and drink in their hideout. Little do they know that you've got dreams of becoming the Worst Villain ever. After all, a human is over 70% water... | 24 years in the business and The Steel Cricket retired. All you knew was that he ran into a villain he couldn't afford to hold back on and as a result the villain died. It was the first time he had ever killed someone and it wasn't something he talked about. Not even to you, his son.
Powers are hereditary. At least if your parent was a super you have a better chance of getting chosen. That's right, chosen. Nobody knows why but two people with the same power have never existed at the same time. That's why when your Dad retired his old team took you in even though you didn't have powers, they were hoping to scoop up the next Steel Cricket before their power had even manifested.
At first it wasn't so bad. You felt like part of the team. Were actually happy to be there. As the son of a superhero you grew up with capes so you knew the drill. You participated in meetings, had full access to the teams database, even gave them advice mid mission. You were a regular Thundering Whisper only without their powers. If things had stayed like that you would have been happy, but you developed your power.
To heat water...
The supers didn't know what to do with you. After a few months the main team more or less ignored you now. A subtle nod when you enter the room is the most you're acknowledged. The younger team though. They called you a junior junior hero. Eventually you found yourself doing chores for them. Odd jobs, cleaning their laundry, taking over their jobs in the HQ and worst of all making them tea. At least you can avoid them while cleaning the archive room but when you have to serve them, well there's no escape.
You could have asked your Dad for advice but couldn't bring yourself to. Everyone has something they don't want to talk about. After all your Dad never talked about his last mission. Besides you were spending every spare minute you looking for where your power came from; obsessed seeing what became of your predecessor.
Search, serve, search, sleep. Search, serve, search, sleep. The junior squad leaves you alone for the most part now. As long as their snacks are ready when they get back.
One day Switcher stops you in a hallway. He tells you that they found who got your Dad's power and your needed even less now. It only motivates you more. Search, serve, search, search.
It has been four days since The mew Steel Cricket arrived. You wondered if she was going to keep the name. Not a name for a girl. Not a name for anyone really. She's already going on lower danger missions with the junior squad. You feel like you haven't left the HQ in months.
Search, search, search search.
You wake up in the archive. There's a blanket wrapped around you. You panic and look around the room it's empty but whoever tucked you in left a binder out. You go to put the binder back when a page catches your eye.
The Steamstress
Power: Heating water
There's sparse details. She worked for a small time hero outfit. Doing pretty much the same stuff you do. Only she was there for years. Then one day without reason she snapped. The heroes she worked were found dead, dried up husks and she went on a crime spree. If she was confronted by a normal person she would weaken them until they fainted. Sometimes there was lasting damage but more often they had a complete recovery. Supers on the other hand ended up being boiled alive without fail. The report goes on to list her victims but ends abruptly like a page was missing.
You had heard things used to be worse for people like you. How long could you last in those conditions? Hell how long can you last in your situation? It wasn't the Steamstress's fault just like it isn't your fault. It's the worlds fault and you weren't going to let it break you. You were going to move first, you were going to be smarter than your predecessor. You weren't going to be caught and even if you were even the strongest heroes are still 70% water.
You hear the door of the archive open and slam the binder shut. That's when you notice the Steamstress was a footnote in your Dad's file. The last footnote.
"Hey. I've been waiting to meet you. You must been Steel Cricket's son." You don't recognize the feminine voice but it must be the girl who got your Dad's powers.
You laugh awkwardly. "Yeah, sorry about that. I've been pretty busy." Thankfully she wasn't a female version of your Dad like you'd imagined though for some reason you found being with her unsettling.
"No kidding the guys always say this place would fall apart without you." Noticing your look of disbelief she continued, "What, they really do."
Before you realize it she has your hand and she's pulling you towards the kitchen. "You know Misty Fox always goes on about how good your cookies are. Everyone wishes you'd use less raisins and more chocolate chips though. I'm more interested in your tea. I'm warning you though I have very high standards."
You kick her out of the kitchen and make the tea. You went all out with this pot after all it's going to be the last one you ever make. After pouring her cup you walk away and look out a window. You have plans to make, cities to conquer, soon the whole world will tremble at the mention of... Whatever you go by.
Your internal monologue is interrupted by sniffling and you turn to see the girl looking at you with tears. "I'm sorry," she said while wiping at her eyes. "I never thought I'd be able to drink tea like my Mom made ever again." | Day in day out I help these people and I am treated no with no respect. "Hey Microwave!" "Hey lamo powers!" Yet still they expect me to slave away for no pay. You can't be a superhero without a support team but very few comics or shows even care about this. Whose's the one to patch these vigilantes up when they are damaged so they aren't risking their secret identity at some hospital. Whose the one who has to deal with all the calls about property damage and other collateral damage. Who incessantly gets asked to make coffee without so much as a thank you. Me!! Well I'm tired of it!
I was doing a wikiwalk( just browsing random Wikipedia articles) when I came across a military device called an [ADS](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Active_Denial_System). The idea behind it was using a specific band of Microwave radiation to heat the outermost layer of skin. So insanely painful that the body automatically goes into flight mode to get outside the effects of the device. Also completely non lethal. It may hurt like there's no tomorrow but the most you well get of it is a burn if metal is in close proximity to your body. I heard the crash of a door to return me to the world of annoying superheros. You'd think they would have learned to shut a door quietly especially if they want to keep their lair a secret but in all my years of working for them I have never seen them shut a door quietly nor help someone without expecting repayment.
Flame man always tries to mate with everyone attractive he rescues. Question mark man always tries to extort money from people he rescues. Power man bribed his way into public office. The List goes on and I have been documenting it for years. Ungrateful creatons. They get to list lavishly off government funding, private funding, and sponsorship deals and this is how they treat people? They all sit down at a round table(Question mark man really likes Arthurian legend) and start talking. Not even a minute in to the retailing of the days events power man say, “Where’s the coffee? Hurry UP!”
It was like a switch clicked in my mind in that moment. “Hey, you know I heard some noises earlier while you guys were gone? Should you really be caring on like this if the base is compromised?” Flame man just starts laughing and says, “Only idiots go into crime. There is no way they would be smart enough to find us.” “Ok, well I’ll go make the coffee,” trying to sound jovial while suppressing a cackle. I walked to the archway of the next room and heard screams of agony and pain. I turn back and a dozen superheroes are writhing in pain. After a few minutes the pain let up and the superheroes immediately wanted to relocate. No one mentioned my prediction.
We moved again and again. 20 or so times, I think; I lost count long ago. It kind of got boring after awhile but was useful for a change of scenery. IT would be fun if it were a game of cat and mouse but they never suspected a thing. The new place we were moved to was contracted by the government and they spared no expense. It was a bunker but it was nice one. Shielded externally from Electromagnetic radiation with lavish décor: whats not to love? It had been almost a year since the game had started and nothing had changed.
Flame man loudly proclaimed, “I know a great dive bar we should go to tonight. Superheroes drink for free!” Power man looks inquisitively, “Last time you were drunk didn’t you beat up a bunch of randos.” Then he started laughing. “It was fun! I’m in what time?” 11 PM was the reply and one by one all the heroes agreed they would be there. Not one of them invited me.
Well if this is the best the city can find in the way of honorable superheroes we are doomed. Maybe a better class of criminal will draw out the virtuous. So I became a better criminal. I let every criminal know in the city where the superheroes would be that night, on the condition that they could harm and maim but couldn’t murder the heroes in exchange for the location. Every one heartily agreed and by 11:05 all the heroes were a mangled mess. Several minutes later bubbling could be heard and then several minutes after that there were several pops. The carnage was a site to be hold and never has something brought more of a smile to my face. The public outcry was intense especially a list of the heroes misdeeds was leaked; martial law was declared. No longer was I called the microwave but now I was declared the melter!!! Well it’s a step up at least. The public is really unimaginative with its names for heroes and villains. | 2019-07-30T17:02:42 | 2019-07-30T15:50:47 | 101 | 10 |
[WP] In a world full of magic, you are an ancient wizard from a secret society, capable of creating beasts from metal, weapons that mow down hoards in seconds, and steel steeds that can travel miles in minutes. The world knows you as the Metal Magician, but you just call yourself an Engineer. | I readjusted my gloves. Thankfully, no one of the people present had noticed the flash of metal beneath the fabric, since they were focused on the man at the front.
My long dead creators would have found the irony amusing, that they called me the Metal Magician, not knowing how right and how wrong they were at the same time.
"The plan stands and falls with the first step. And for that we can only rely on you, Metal Magician. We need the power of your beasts."
The concluding words of the commander caused almost all faces to turn towards me. Expressions of admiration and fear. At least that was what my in-built face recognition told me. After 700 years, I wasn't sure how reliable that data was anymore.
I gave the commander a slight nod, ignoring the crowd around me.
"Good. Everybody knows what they have to do. get moving! Metal, come and see me for a second."
Instead of walking against the current of people that streamed towards the exit, I waited.
A few hundred years ago I decided to be more cautious of people. The events that had followed, whenever someone had disvovered that I was not a magician, had been fatal every time. When they found out that I was nothing but one more of the very machines that I created, they had fought me.
And they had always lost.
Though my own creators were once upon a time not called magicians, but engineers. A term I decided to use for myself as well, for old times sake.
As I could finally make my way towards the commander, I calculate possible ways of attack and their success rates. None of those depended on my own beasts, they were perfect. Others however...
"Do you have a plan on how to break through the walls? We need a way into the city."
The commanders voice did not break the flow of my thoughts, a convenient quirk of being a machine. He was one of those unsure variables. A young man with almost no experience, risen in rank due to a marriage and money.
"I have fiftyseven plans, twelve of those with a success rate of almost 97.9%."
The commander was by now used to the calculative and emotionless mind of the Metal Magician. It made him quite unpopular amongst other magicians who felt both intimidated and weirded out. However, no one could deny his precision and power.
"Well, then I trust that you will succeed in the one that you end up choosing. No need to explain it to me, I have a lot of other urgent matters."
I nodded again and halted. The commander looked at me with furrowed eyebrows. We had both heard the creaking of metal along with my movement.
The commander looked down at my gloves that had slipped down again, showing metallic shining arms. I readjusted them calmly and looked deep into the commander's eyes.
"I assure you, my plans always work."
The commander seemed to consider his priorities. Winning this war or losing a powerful ally, even a human would be able to solve that math problem.
"Don't forget to oil your beasts." | **The Temple of the Lost Gods**
A unknown dimension I found accidentally when I decided to explore an abandoned amusement park.
" You can't leave here alive, unless you can get a job serving the gods, " said the one who introduced himself as my master. He was an attractive young man, maybe the most human being I met in this strange dimension inhabited by gods, magicians and other supernatural beings.
" I'm Engineer, " I replied when he asked what I can do.
What they call the temple was more a city, a big city populated with thousands of supernatural creatures, a whole world that worked in a kind of fifth dimension unknown to ordinary mortals. The only humans who live there are those who manage to serve the gods, otherwise they are killed.
I was sent to the Alchemist House.
" They say that you can help me to turn metals into gold, you are engineer, no? " the alchemist was an old man like all alchemists in the stories but he was not entirely human, with a greenish skin like a martian and only one eye on the center of his forehead like a cyclope.
I said yes, although I never studied alchemy, by the way I thought before that it was bullshit, besides that I am an electronic engineer.
It was then that I saw in his house three shelves full of old books.
One of the books caught my attention by its name on the cover.
THE INCREDIBLE STORY OF DIANA WHO ESCAPED FROM THE TEMPLE OF THE LOST GODS.
The Alchemist had left the room, i took the book right away and opened it on the table, so what I read on those first pages were the most incredible things I ever read in my life.
The first sentence:
"My name is John but I always wanted to be called by Diana. "
Exactly like me.
(to be continued)
&#x200B;
Note: Sorry for some mistakes in the grammar, I'm not English native. | 2020-05-18T15:12:52 | 2020-05-18T13:07:00 | 153 | 19 |
[WP] Dr. Seuss writes a horror story. | Where are the monsters? The Snoogarf? The Pozzit? Under my bed, or hid in my closet?
Is there a Woloon, with big sharp claws? A Schnogg, that instead of arms has saws?
What if a Dord pierces me with its stinger? Oh please, anything but the dreaded Bombinger!
My parents reply, "It's all in your head.", but that's the idea that fills me with dread.
I hear all their wispers, so it appears, if those aren't real, I can't trust my ears.
I feel their hot breaths, so if those aren't real, I can't believe anything else that I feel.
I see the slight twitch of a shadowy guise, so if that isn't real, can I trust my eyes?
I smell their damp fur, and so it goes, if that isn't real, I can't trust my nose.
I taste their hands that clamp my mouth shut, how can I have made all that up?
My parents turn and switch off the light, leaving me all alone for the night.
I think to myself, maybe they're right. Maybe it's just the wind whispering tonight.
Maybe I'm wrong, about the Schnogg. Maybe those floor marks are from the dog.
Maybe the Dord din't make that squeek. After all, my house really does creak.
Feeling a bit better, I lay down my head, ignoring the shadow thats over my bed.
That soft breathing sound is merely a breeze That blowing air vent is what just brushed my knees.
None of it's real, none of it's there, that isn't some horror thats touching my hair.
I don't make a sound, not even a peep. Before I could scream I drifted to sleep. | Give me a moment to refresh myself
For I need to work quickly like a Santa elf
I'll clean up the body I'll clean up the blood
I'll wipe off my shoes and scrape off the crud
I'll bury the body in a burial bag
And cut off the limbs so they don't catch or snag
I'll burn off the fingerprints and shave all their hair
And take their belongings and destroy them with care
It'll be nice and clean when I'm done, you'll see
As I look in the mirror and remember myself more toothy
Unfortunately I can't stay long or the feds will come
As far as I'm cornerned though I've already won | 2014-11-30T12:18:15 | 2014-11-30T10:40:11 | 99 | 20 |
[WP] "Every 5000 years, the Dark Lord comes to destroy the world, and only you, the Chosen One can stop him." -said the priest. "So, do I need to get a magic sword from the Lady of the Lake?" - I asked "No, just press this button please, everything else has already been taken care of" | The Priest produced a bright red, sparkly button nestled in a grey box from the sleeve of his long robe.
“Just press it and it’ll all be taken care of, like so.” He snapped his fingers, for emphasis.
“Right-o” I answered, but just as I was about to press it, I hesitated. “Waiiiiiiit a tick. Why do I have to press it?”
“Well...” He began “You ARE the Chosen One... It’s your job.”
“But it’s just a button, right?”
“Yes...” The priest left a slight drawl at the end of his sentence, as if he didn’t quite know where the conversation was heading.
“So, anyone with fingers could theoretically press it.” I paused for a moment. “Anyone with nubs, really. Hell, some poor stumpy bastard with no legs or arms could come in here and slap it with his cock. So why do I have to do it?”
“It’s...” The Priest was struggling with this. I don’t think he was used to people questioning things. It’s one of the marvels of religion, people just sort of accept what you tell them if you’re wearing the right set of robes. He even looked down to make sure he was wearing the set of robes that said “Why, yes, I am a Priest and everything I have to say is, indeed, exceedingly important”. “Look, it’s just what you’re supposed to do, what do you want from me?”
“I want you to press it!”
“I’m not supposed to!”
“Why? Because of some prophecy? Because of something some dead bloke wrote out in some piece of paper at the shit end of time? Have you ever heard stories of that place? They were goin’ around cuttin’ heads and snippin women’s clits! You really wanna follow those sorts of degenerates and perverts?”
“I...” He was quite clearly doubting himself.
I put a friendly arm around him. “Look mate, I say, fuck the prophecy and fuck whoever said it. You’ve got as much right to save the world as me. You press the button.”
The Priest eyed the button. It was rather shiny. “Surely... One press wouldn’t hurt?” He looked at me for approval. I nodded confidently and moved away slightly.
He pressed the button. Like a bolt from the blue, a bolt came out of the blue and turned him into a pile of smoldering ash, the button sitting comfortably atop the pile.
I took the button and brushed the dust off of it. In the middle of the button had appeared the words “Whoever pressed this button wasn’t the Chosen One, so they can fuck right off.”
“Well, glad I didn’t press it.” I said to myself, as I pocketed the button.
With the Priest taken care of and the button in my possession, I snapped my fingers and blew a hole in the wall of the Church, floating away to begin my conquest. It feels good to be the Dark Lord particularly when, after a hundred thousand years of defeats, you’ve finally got some proper fucking brains in your head. | Never in all my life would I have been able to guess what the button could controlled. It had to be modern I assumed. It was a big, red, rubber button. It looked like an emergency stop button you would see on a piece of standard machinery. I expected to hear mechanical noises or targeting systems spring to life when I pressed.
What it actually started was without a doubt the wackiest, zaniest, most over the top Rube-Goldberg machine that was ever conceived by man. It was so massive it spread across continents
Turns out the button just released a spring, launching a steel marble that set off a chain of events that forever changed the world.
The machine used some of mankind's most notable pieces of architecture, engineering, and art. You thought the Ancient Roman aqueducts were a means of providing water to the city? Nope. Just a track for a ridiculous Indiana Jones style death ball. The Leaning Tower of Pisa? Turns out the lean was intentional, so that it would fall in *just* the right spot, launching a cleverly concealed boulder halfway across Europe. All in all it took 17 hours for the machine to finish. It was mind boggling. Especially since the whole thing ended with the "Dark Lord", which looked like some sort of weird lion-goat thing with wings, being shot with WW1 era rifle as he crawled out of his cave. Damn thing died instantly.
The priest explained to me that their cult had been building this for centuries. What he didn't or couldn't explain, is why I couldn't just wait there with the rifle and shoot it myself. Or why I had to be the one to press the button at all. In fact he seemed kinda mad that I was questioning the machine instead of praising it, which I guess kinda makes sense it actually worked. But he held up his end of the bargain, and gave me enough money to take my wife out to Hawaii for our anniversary, and I was never in any danger so I guess I came out on top in the end. | 2020-11-09T12:45:40 | 2020-11-09T12:15:45 | 286 | 126 |
[WP] Magic suddenly becomes a thing. While governments are scrambling to establish regulations, people defiantly flock to reddit to share new discoveries and crack more “overpowered” spells. Write about a trending post that, for good or ill, is making authorities furious. | r/magicalTechnology
New post by u/ITwizard19. Title: I just taught my computer to cast spells
If you guys thought magielectric generators were a breakthrough, just wait until you see this!
As you know, three mages can perform an initiation ritual to grant magical abilities to anyone who did not instantly gain them during the awakening. Recently, someone found out that it works on animals too, but they don't know how to use their powers and usually end up killing themselves (I'm sure you all saw that cat gif that hit the front page yesterday)
According to arcane field theory, anything with a brain should be able to use magic, but it turns out that it isn't limited to biological brains: it works on neural networks too.
I got a few friends to help me perform the initiation ritual on my graphics card and after a few days of training a neuralnet on videos of mages casting Fireball, the computer was finally able summon a fireball right in front of itself! In hindsight, I should have picked a less destructive spell for my first test, but i remembered r/flamelord's fire extinguisher spell so nothing bad happened lmao.
As far as I know, my PC is now officially the world's first electronic mage! I've been doing some more tests and I now I have it able to cast Whirlwind and Healing Circle too, and I can adjust the power and position of the spells much more precisely than if I was casting them myself. What's even more impressive though is that if the computer is powered by a magielectric generator, it can use up to the generator's entire mana capacity in a single spell, which can be much more powerful than any single person could ever cast. Hopefully the cops won't figure out who summoned that house-sized fireball above the city lol
[here's the link to my code on github](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=dQw4w9WgXcQ). The neural network is a bit hefty, the first version put my gtx1080 at 80% load, but I've optimized it down to 60% and I think there's still a lot left we can improve. Eventually I'm hoping to be able to run this on something small and portable like a raspberry pi or a Jetson nano, then we could really start to have some fun
Edit: lmao my PC can levitate now. I hooked up a magielectric generator and a few mana capacitors for a power source and I can fly it anywhere I want by remote controlling it with SSH. this is so much better than a drone
Edit 2: just had another huge breakthrough, instead of remote controlling an already active instance of the neuralnet, i executed the startup command over SSH and the spell was casted in front of my laptop instead of the pc! It turns out if you start the neuralnet remotely from another computer, the spell will be casted relative to the position of the remote computer, and it doesn't even need to be initiated. This means you could set up one server to run the neural network and access it remotely from any number of smaller devices, and cast literally any spell you want anywhere you want, without human limits! This is going to change everything | Magic is finicky stuff. If one bookend rune is out of place, it fizzles out or explodes or otherwise fails. But that doesnt mean it is unusable.
For example, police forces very quickly adopted a readymade spell that they could download. Shout a few activation phrases to kick off the spell, and it would paralyze the target for five seconds, be it a person or an entire vehicle. Plus, it stacked. Boom, no more need for firearms.
But today, there's something really odd. Not a get-rich spell or teleportation or mind control. *Pocket universes.* With just a quick incantation and handheld gestures, one could copy-paste part of the world into one only they and those they allowed could enter. Better yet, it could with effort be new. Star wars, the lord of the rings. Imagine a setting and use basic universe settings to fill in the gaps, and you got q literal universe under your thumb. Nothing could come out, but anything could happen inside.
Obviously, this presents critical issues. For one, you could make a universe where faster than light travel is easy, fly to alpha centauri, and sell the photos to NASA for millions. Computer banks mining bitcoins, subjugation of perfect copies of the world under an all-powerful owner, the possibilities are infinite.
A few people used it to just play D&D. But many did things that weren't really beneficial to the world. For one, stealing secrets of the government. One could go to a pocket copy of the real world but with godlike powers, steal national secrets, and return to the real world to leak them anonymously and literally untraceably, in a way that isnt even prosecutable.
I'm sure you can see all sorts of ways this could go terribly. Recursion, criminal acts, all sorts of stuff as reality essentially devolves at everyone's whims.
I, of course, plan to just vanish. Pull myself into a copy of the world but gifting myself unquestionable authority over mankind, and taking over the universe. See everyone on the flip side. | 2019-07-11T16:18:05 | 2019-07-11T15:45:59 | 54 | 13 |
[WP] “Congratulations! Your god application has been accepted, please find enclosed, your universe…” | Overthrown by joy, i walked back home after picking up the package.
Now, first things first, the attached letter was a congratulation on my previous assigments which i all passed, more or less gracefull but at last!
I held in my hands my hopes, my dreams and oh so many more hopes and dreams.
I had to do some chores around the house but i couldnt keep to myself and risked a peek through the wrapping. I could see infinite possibilities and infinity, way down to the bottom of my box.
Do you ever experienced these moments where you are so focused on something that you cant stop, wont stop and all around you shifts into the background, becomes noise, dull yet calming?
It must´ve been hours as i raised my head back out of the box, i barely got past the fist few seconds in it. Outside the shadows had grown substantially and with a laugh i remembered all those things i left for my future self. I closed the box, made sure there was no leak and of course i paused the time. Nothings happening without me being around! I have never been faster in cleaning the kitchen and washing clothes. Heated up some leftovers from yesterday and rushed back to my working table, box still sealed, neatly placed on it.
Finally, some hours before i bedtime, all for my Universe. I opened it again, and began my work.
From Subatomic to the grand scheme of celestial bodies, the laws of nature, the unlaws of nature and all the other laws, i even meddled with a little thaumaturgic powers, wanted to spice up the circus. In my hours, seconds became millenia, milimetres became AU.
I created, i destroyed, created some more and then decided to watch. I saw wonderous things, i felt the happines of a craftsman admiring their own perfect work. I got lost in all the beauty that existed, exists and will exist, in fact i got so lost, i think i fell asleep , half bunched over my box. | Ray stood frozen on his driveway, staring at the welcome letter. He wondered, “what in the world?!”, and, “will that exclamation even apply anymore?”.
Finishing high school he had applied to all the schools and programs that might take him. He clearly remembered this attention grabbing flyer: ARE YOU A GOD? ^Do ^you ^want ^to ^be?
Having sent the similar applications to every program he could, he had no details to which he was applying. With this positive news came the flood of possibilities. “Did I just get accepted into god-school, or they’re just giving out universes and activating god-mode? What should I make first? Maybe light, like that other guy…”
He glanced at the second page of paper, blank, and back to the cover letter. The logo at the top featured an inked quill turning a formless blot into script. “Is this a- fucking *art school*- giving me a blank paper to create my ‘universe’‽”. He swapped back to the blank page.
I tore the page and fabric of my old universe, revealing the void of the new. | 2022-03-12T10:53:40 | 2022-03-12T10:16:32 | 21 | 15 |
[WP] A group of space explorers decided to visit Earth, a long forgotten planet of a long forgotten empire. | Reesha settled herself on the ground next to the comforting warmth of the team’s travel stove. She untied her heavy pack with her upper set of arms, letting it fall to the ground behind her while her lower pair of arms busied themselves preparing her meal.
“Can you believe we’re here?” she said to Tavik, the only other member of the expedition near her age. “After all those years in university I’m finally out in the galaxy, exploring like I’d been dreaming of, and to find Earth? I’ve never been so excited!”
Tavik chuckled, a soft thrumming sound deep within the scaly cavern of his chest. “Not that there’s been so much to see yet. After all the stories I’d have thought there would be more. So far all we’ve seen is one endless ghost city.”
“But still!” Reesha exclaimed. “It’s Earth! Three thousand years since their empire fell and we still remember the name, that has to count for something. There are secrets left out there, I can feel it.”
“Alright everyone!” the expedition leader called as she finished recording their positional data for the evening. “That’s a wrap on day one, fantastic work all of you. You’ve earned some relaxation, so everyone get a bite to eat and we’ll reconvene after dark to talk through our findings.”
An easy cheer went up around the campsite, even from Tavik for all his feigned grumbling. “Just think of what we can learn here,” Reesha said, still gushing to her friend. “When we get back to the Union we’ll all be able to publish papers, my friends from school will be so jealous!”
“That’s true enough,” Tavik said. “We barely know anything about the Humans, just bits and pieces of translations of already translated texts, and the records of the couple sentient species they didn’t outright exterminate. We don’t have anything about their religion or their art, nothing about what they looked like, aside from being bipeds, hell, we don’t even know why they went extinct!”
“It’s a mystery,” Reesha agreed, “and we’re going to solve it. I mean, take Merv other there,” she pointed a Saurian quadraped in a pressure suit who was busy tinkering with a thick mass of wires. “He thinks he can get some of the local power grid back online. How much could we learn then?”
“A great deal.” The voice came from behind Reesha, startling her for a moment. Her head turned a full 180 degrees around and then she smiled at the newcomer, gesturing towards the warmth of their stove.
“Hey Laz! Come join us.”
Laz sat down across from Reesha and Tavik, the sun setting over his shoulder, and he pulled boxed meal from his pack, setting it on the stove. “I see you two are enjoying yourselves,” he said.
“Of course we are, we’re finally here! So then, historian,” she grinned slyly at him, exposing her sharp canines, “got any more stories for us now that we’re finally planetside?”
Laz nodded, grinning back. He pulled his hood up over his great red mane and settled back onto this haunches. “Tell us about Human war with the Jenassi again!” Tavik said eagerly, crouching down beside Reesha.
“Are you sure?” Laz asked, staring her in the eyes. “Last time you begged me to stop.”
“Not this time though!” she said quickly. “Come on, a ghost story in a ghost city on a ghost world? How can I miss that?”
Laz laughed softly and reached into his pocket, pulling out a packet of death-sticks and offering one to each of them. Reesha made a face but Tavik took one and lit it against the stove’s burner, trying manfully to smoke it and grimacing every step of the way.
“Well as you know,” Laz said, puffing away easily, “we only have the Jenassi’s records. They were meticulous record keepers, the Jenassi, they carved every inch of their tombs with the deeds of their lives, good or bad. They kept it up right until the end too, when they were sealing themselves into those tombs still living, completing carving out the stories of their lives in candlelight while the bombs dropped all around them.”
Laz reached out, pulling his meal from the stove, and Reesha’s head snapped back up. She’d forgotten hers again, it was already burning. Laz’s stories always did that to her. The historian opened his meal up, blowing into the tin, and ate as he spoke.
“Some five thousand years ago the Jenassi were a thriving mercantile civilization. Their territory stretched across some thirty stars in this region of the galaxy, by all rights they were well on their way to becoming a power, particularly by the standards of those days.
“Then, as they were looking for fresh markets, some of their merchants stumbled upon Earth. Now, Earth in those days wasn’t what it became later. Some of our theories say that this was the beginning, that Human technology must have been builds on the remnants of Jenassi civilization, but so much is unknown that it’s all just speculation. What we do know is this. The Jenassi encountered a race of bipeds with a merchant ethos nearly as strong as theirs. The humans were busily disassembling their asteroid belts in the name of greater and greater development, and while their industry seemed promising and their avarice spoke to a certain business sense, they hadn’t yet invented the one thing they needed most to succeed.
“Hyperdrive.”
Laz paused, savoring a particularly long puff of his death-stick. “But the humans promised the Jenassi everything for it. The walls of one merchant prince’s tomb stated that he’d been offered 10% of Earth’s entire GDP for a decade if he gave them a working engine, 10%! I’ve been to that tomb myself, you could practically see the prince’s desperation through the carving, something about the way the chisel’s lines had wavered.
“But the King said no. The King of a merchant race turned down 10% of a planets GDP.”
Tavik whistled, “That part always gets me,” he said. “Why would anyone turn that down? An engine couldn’t have cost that much to manufacture, even then.”
“It didn’t,” Laz said, “but that wasn’t the point. The point was that the deal only lasted for a decade. See, the Jenassi thought the Human scientists were at least a hundred years away, so what’s the profits of a decade compared to a hundred years of charging Earth to ship their good to the rest of the known galaxy? The King was seeing the big picture, honestly, I commend him.
“Or I would, if the war hadn’t happened. You see, the Jenassi hadn’t counted on this: greed manifests itself differently in every one. The Jenassi, they took their shots and rolled with the punches, however it worked out, but the Humans?” Laz laughed, shaking his head. “Jenassi records give us nothing about the Human side of things, they just say what happened.
“Earth began shipping groups of young males out regularly in the name of planting colonies, then they increased the size of the shipments, and then, all at once, the Human cargo, all of whom were disguised soldiers, rose up and took the ships.
“Jenassi records say it was brutal. They say the few survivors that were picked up in escape pods were raving lunatics, driven mad by the brutality of the Human troops. The Jenassi were a four armed race, like your people Reesha, and they say the Humans took a particular delight in slicing off the lower arms.”
Reesha went pale, her upper arms protectively wrapping themselves around the lower.
“Some of my colleagues have extrapolated from that to assume that humans have two arms themselves, but that is, again, speculation.” Laz shrugged, looking over to Tavik. They both had two arms. Reesha edged away just slightly.
\----[continued below](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mef791/wp_a_group_of_space_explorers_decided_to_visit/gsh85fp?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)\---- | ##What Was Left Behind
Wir slips on the helmet that completes the suit. She walks into landing pod and takes her seat. When she looks at the other four archaeologists, she cannot help but feel insignificant. This is her first Earth landing while the other four have been to Earth at least fifty times. The only reason she was chosen is because the Heritage Council forced the field crews to start training new archaeologists.
The landing pod is ejected from the primary station. She has experienced entries and descents into planetary atmospheres since she was a child, but this one has a certain metaphorical gravity that the others lacked. Going into this planet's atmosphere reminded her of this planet's legacy. She can't help but wonder how the first cosmonauts felt when they first left the atmosphere.
The landing pod stabilizes, and her suit is disconnected. Her wrist computer activates and displays that she has eight hours of exploration. The other archaeologists start carrying the equipment out of the pod and setting up a field sight. Wir tries to help, but she is quickly dismissed by the experienced leaders. Jyr, the commander, takes a coordinating spot by the pod.
"Okay, we are currently in the Australian Outback. According to our files, this region was not effected by the war as much as other sites which makes it the perfect training zone," she looks at Wir with disdain. The reason this spot never was touched by the war is because it never developed into a major population center. Wir knows Jyr would want to be in the Hudson River zone, the Yangtze River zone, or the Cape Peninsula region, but those regions were deemed off-limits for new recruits.
"We may not find much in the way of historical artifacts, but we should probably be able to find some good samples," Jyr says looks at two archaeologists, "Wem and Tav, you two go scan for any biological material. Kav take Wir here and collect geological samples."
Wem and Tav grab sets of equipment and start walking in one direction. Kav takes a large disk from the pod and walks in another direction. He doesn't direct Wir to follow so Wir stumbles after him. He puts the disk on the ground and starts programming it.
"This is the geological analyzer. Push this button," he points at a glowing button in the center of the disk, "And it will send out pods that will analyze the region and collect the appropriate amount of samples."
Wir nods her head, and he stares at Wir.
"Well, are you going to do it?" he asks.
"Oh, sorry," Wir walks over and pushes the button.
"New recruits," he says. Multiple drones start to detach from the disk and start to scatter across the region emitting green lights as they scan the region.
"So what is your favorite region of Earth," Wir asks.
"Eh, it's all okay," Kav says.
"Any other planets that you like? I hear Mars is beautiful," Wir says.
"It's fine." Kav kicks a few rocks. Wir stares at the disk out of board. A red light and alarm goes off. Kav perks up, "Interesting, we have an unexpected mineral."
Kav walks over to the disk and starts to analyze the results. Wir looks over his shoulder.
"What are you doing?" she says.
"I'll explain later follow me," he starts walking to the right. Wir tries to keep pace, but the suit impedes her movement. Kav's experience lets him stay far ahead of her. Occasionally, he stops for her to catch up.
After a half-hour of walking, they come to a drone that is shining a red light on a metal cube. The cube looks to be made of thick metal, and it is a door with a valve in the middle.
"Awesome," Kav contacts Jyr, "We have a fallout shelter."
"That's great those are always locations with preserved artifacts and samples. This mission might not be a total waste. Do an initial scan inside," Jyr says. Wir cannot help but feel shame as Jyr calls the mission a waste.
Kav walks up to the shelter and analyzes the door for an entry. Wir is about to ask him how they plan on entering, but she knows he will ignore. She starts walking around the shelter. It is a bland metal cube. When she is three-fourths of the way around the shelter, she hears a click under her foot. Her wrist computer starts sounding an alarm.
Kav runs over to her with his wrist glowing.
"Don't move," he screams, "You accidentally stepped on a mine."
"What?!" Wir yells. She had read about the explosive traps in history books, but she never dreamed of stepping on one.
"A lot of military bases used them to guard important sites. Our scanners weren't set to detect them since there is no record of anything like that here," he steps closer to her, "Don't worry. These suits are designed to handle this situation."
"I am sorry," Wir says.
"No, I'm sorry. You're new. I should've walked you through these protocols," he takes her wrist, "First, you initiate a scan of the mine. All boots have specially designed scanners for this task. It looks like this is wow. This is a really advanced mine."
"Crap," Wir says.
"Don't worry. It is advanced for the time. We can still dismantle it. If we just woah," Kav takes out his computer, "Jyr can you bright the nanodisarmers."
"Nanodisarmers, what did you find?" Jyr asks.
"We don't know, but it is important," Kav says. He holds onto Wir.
"Don't worry. It'll be fine," Kav says.
"This was supposed to be easy," Wir says.
"I know, but hey, we made a great discovery," Kav says.
"You did that," Wir replies.
"You are right. I've been excluding you. I promise I will do better," Kav says.
Jyr arrives holding a hexagon. She places the hexagon next to Wir's feet. The hexagon starts burrowing underground until it reaches the same depth as the mine. It then starts drilling its way towards the mine where it releases a swarm of nanodisarmers to disable it. While the nanodisarmers work on the bomb, Jyr does a scan of the area.
"Wow, you two are lucky. There is a lot of mines like this in the area. This shelter must've been important," she says. The hexagon pops out from its hole with a green light, "We will have to return to the station to get the the proper gear for this level of defense. Let's go."
Jyr starts heading back to the base. Kav looks at Wir.
"Are you okay?" he asks.
"No, but I will get over it," Wir says.
"First missions aren't usually this hard. I know you might not want to say it in the field, but I will be sure to stop by your room to talk later," he says. He walks slowly back to the base to let Wir walk beside him. They take care to avoid the mines.
Kav gives in-depth instructions as they start to load up the pod. Jyr, Wem, and Tav follow his lead and show Wir the ins and outs of the process. Wir smiles during the instructions. When they launch, she no longer feels like an outcast in a group of strangers.
---
r/AstroRideWrites | 2021-03-27T10:22:13 | 2021-03-27T09:25:50 | 62 | 20 |
[WP] Men have created an artificial fantasy planet full of elves, dwarves, dragons, and many other interesting creatures. Magic works through nano bots and programming tricks. Though they war on each other from time to time, all know not to approach the glass towers of men with hostility. | The legends and history of Altria were deep and strong.
For centuries the planet thrived in order and chaos. Wars were waged and the victor was always determined on the height of their ability to use the planet's magic.
But one strange narrative always poked its head in the stories: the men in the glass towers.
Many written theories had been philosophized, but not one person had ever come to a solid explanation; of course, that is, one that all the kingdoms could agree upon.
I compiled all accounts, since the birth of history, into one large book. I've documented all mentions of these strange anomalies, from the men in the glass to the guardians.
And I've come to a new, more sound conclusion of these mysterious men.
I saw one of these glass towers with my own eyes on Summer's Year-475 around the half rotation. I ventured to Mist's Edge and hiked for nearly two cycles. Mateo III and Glarbon, Third King From Glargon, witnessed the men in the glass towers in Mist's Edge. Their accounts were of strange men, dressed in fatigues they saw from no other army, and odd tools and weapons that harnessed the planet's magic in ways that they had never seen before.
Mateo III said that one man carried an iron tool that shone a beam of light at his will. To this day, many historians claim his experience was a nomad traveling the lands while using a lantern, but Mateo's case was similar to Glarbon's.
Glarbon's experience was much more dramatic and bloody. During his reign, The Orc Warchief raged across the land and eventually found himself conquering the secluded mountains of Mist's Edge. Though, no conquering ever happened. Instead, the men of the mists slaughtered his entire army; all but a few, including the Warchief himself, managed to escape. Glarbon stated in his book, Orcs and War--written by the Elvish novelist W. Wenzy--that he and his warriors charged an odd structure that cast reflections of the sun and phantom warriors. They attacked, shattering and cracking some pieces of the structure. Men that resided on top of the tower aimed iron weapons that fired green beams of magic, dropping his men in one shot. His retinue was slaughtered in mere minutes, all orcs that were redeemed in battle and war.
After witnessing the tower for myself, from a safe distance, I believe the men that reside inside are spectators or, how Galeon IV described them, Gods.
The men in the glass tower are watching us. Monitoring us and assuring we are fit for one specific reason: entertainment.
Our entire existence is based on the simple fact that the Gods in the glass towers want to be entertained. And what better exhibit than our planet, Altria.
And to prove my theory, I've captured one of the Gods.
And he will talk. And tell me everything.
[Next Part!](https://www.reddit.com/r/AJHWriting/comments/mpsvbt/the_ones_in_the_glass_towers_short_story_1953/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)
r/AJHWriting | When our ancestors first approached the glass towers, they were convinced that it was closer to god than what we could ever possibly comprehend. The plains of green surrounding it compared to the dull and grey concrete jungles meant that this was the only place that we could live. It had to be a divine sign to live here.
Our history were surrounded by stories of their near infinite wisdom, allowing us to have a rescue from the vast wastelands that surrounded it. We were eternally grateful for their kindness, even if their motives were not known to us.
We were assured that they knew the answers to life's impossible questions: when earth mother cries, does her tears reach sky father? Are his arrows of light a reminder that we are all mortal? Why are we mortal? And where do we go? We were all completely sure that inhabitants of the glass towers somehow knew these answers. The structures piercing the sky served as a testament to that, with technologies and knowledge that not even the great sages could rival.
The corruption our ancestors fled from never stopped approaching us. It was inevitable that it would come, but only time could tell when it could strike. Like an ever-increasing plague that hungered for more destruction, its spreading poison mercilessly killed our crops and animals. Our brothers and children began to starve as famine swept across our former paradise.
When Adonis the second came to power, he sought to travel towards the Towers of Wisdom, looking for guidance on what to do in those hopeless situation. His compassion and love for live was rewarded with strikes of cruel and fiery blazes of light. Few were spared in the massacre. The destructing power that the Towers held made us truly realize its otherworldly power again.
This must have been its answer to our blasphemous pleas! We must hope that they will one day rescue us when its time comes! We cannot not doubt their worthiness, for their power shows that we are not worthy of their knowledge. This must be a holy test before we are granted access to the Glass Towers before us upon our death.
All we can do now is hope while we rot beside and worship the glass towers. We must silently pray that they would one day give us salvation from this suffering. | 2021-03-31T18:42:27 | 2021-03-31T17:28:50 | 130 | 45 |
[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. | "Everitt Kincaid," The judge decreed. "For crimes against the magical realms and the practice of the heresy know as science, you are sentenced to death by this court. Think well upon your fate, for in the morning you shall be asked to voice the means of your destruction."
I muttered as he spoke. I'd tried my best to defend myself. No Law Mage in the kingdom had wanted to take up my case. I had argued that everything was science. That magic itself was a science imperfectly understood by the sentient races. My pleas had fallen upon deaf ears. Even though magic followed all the rules of science they hadn't want to listen. They accused me of the Dark Heresy and claimed my defense was proof of my guilt. They were fools.
Yes, the Dark Heresy had led to the destruction of the first age of man, but it had also given birth to magic itself if the myths were to be believed. Now nearly two millennia after the Calamity society had rebuilt and we all worshiped at the altar of magic. Well, all save the few Heretics like me. We unearthed the forgotten lore, recovered the abominations know as technology and science. We understood there could be no equality for the ordinary sentient when the Mages ruled all with their supreme control of magic. With a dark wand or cruel staff, they could wipe rebellions from the field of battle. No army could stand against the Mageocracy.
Of course, science had the answer. I had recovered the technology, refurbished it, understood it. I had equipped my comrades with the weapons they needed. As the rebellion squared off against the Mages they had been supremely confident. When their leaders' heads exploded into pink mist followed by a crack of thunder they had lost that confidence. Still, as they collected themselves their magic proved too much, we had moved too early. They slaughtered my comrades, my fellow rebels. Then the torture started, they broke the most strong-willed of us in mere hours.
That was when they found me. I was no rebel soldier, I was a scientist, a seeker of knowledge and truth. Sure, I armed the rebels but I couldn't battle the Mages anymore than anyone else. Still, I had given the rebels the deadly weapons that had killed more Mages than had died since the last Great War, and they were furious. My trial and execution were to be public. They wanted the whole kingdom to know the suffering of a heretic. To add insult to injury they made you choose the manner of your own death. Vast magical power was employed in a dark ritual to inflict the means of your death and they would do their best to twist your words.
I lay on the cot in my cell trying to think my way out of the sentence. If I was better with words perhaps I could craft a way that would allow me to live for years or even just months before my death. My worry of course was that anything I told them they would turn back against me. If I asked to die of some horrid natural disaster hoping to take them with me, they would likely just teleport me to one of those disasters. I knew their magic was not unlimited though, but they would be willing to invest a lot of power into making sure I suffered. Finally, I had an idea and drifted off to a fitful slumber.
When I awoke I was lead out into the courtyard. The crowd jeered and hissed, they booed and threw rotten fruit and stones at me but I held my head up high. I saw my comrades for the first time in weeks. I wasn't the only scientist to die today. We were heralded as heretical priests of a forbidden religion and all of us were to die in horrible ways. Kenneth Acetheart was before me in line. He winked at me when they called his name and walked proudly before the trio of mages that would enact his death.
"Heretic Kenneth Acetheart," The lead executioner intoned. "Name your death."
"Old age," Kenneth announced cockily and I grinned, he'd figured it out too. "I choose Old Age."
"So be it," The executioner stated, his lips curling into a smirk. My face fell and my mind began to race, he was too pleased with the method of death...
Then we all watched in horror as Kenneth aged rapidly, his once dark hair became salt and pepper, then grey, and finally bone-white before our eyes. His skin went from hale and healthy to covered in liver spots and paper-thin. His once well-muscled frame lost weight and stature until he was a hunched and shriveled shell of his former self. His eyes dimmed with cataracts and age. His mind began to wander as I could see the confusion on his face. Then finally he collapsed and his body slowly turned to dust.
As a page swept away the remains of my friend and comrade with the casual air of someone doing an unfavored chore I was panicking. I couldn't think of what to name that would result in a better outcome than that. I could make them kill me with science, that would show them that magic wasn't the only way. I would die by my own discipline at least. But what good would that be? They led me into the center of the ritual circle. I could feel the hum of magic in the air around me. The spell was awaiting my means of death.
"Heretic Everitt Kincaid, slayer of the Just," The executioner intoned once more. "Name your death."
My mind was still racing, I had two choices that I had narrowed it down to. I glanced from the executioner to the crowd, then to my comrades. I steadied my breathing I thought and when my lips parted I heard myself talk, as if I was outside my body listening to myself instead of speaking.
"I wish to die as every trace of magic leaves this world forever..." I closed my eyes as I spoke, knowing that at least if I failed I may have given the next scientist in line an experiment to improve on. | Okay. It's okay. It's going to be okay. I know what I'm doing, I tell myself as I await my turn on the docket.
The man in front of me is pulled from his place in live and led roughly up the small staircase to the platform in front of the judge. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" she recites calmy, looking at some papers in front of her. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
"Old age," drawls the man, smugly. I snap to attention, extremely curious as to how this turns out. This request has been my plan all along.
"So be it."
The man gasps and writhes, grey hair sprouting out of his head. His demise is comically grotesque, and within a minute he is nothing more than a withered corpse, still and silent.
I'm not gonna be okay.
I start to panic but my panicking is cut short by the guard grabbing my arm and pushing me up the short staircase to the platform, which has now been cleared of its grisly contents.
It's my turn. "In accordance with statute 128.45 of the criminal code, as required, I must ask you: How would you like to die?" I stare dumbly. She doesn't seem to notice. "If you are uncertain as to your preferred method of death, you may have up to one minute, that is 60 standard seconds, for deliberation. You have been advised of this right."
Need more time. Need more time. If I don't choose something, I know that something will be chosen for me, something quick but decisive.
Time is behaving strangely in my hazy state of desperation. Has it been a minute? Or ten seconds? I street to hyperventilate and I know in that moment that I will be unable to choose something.
"Your sixty seconds has passed," the judge tells me somewhat sympathetically. "As such, your method of death will be--"
"Excuse me!" huffs a voice from behind me. "Excuse me, Your Honor--"
"You are not excused," the judge says coldly. "Do not interrupt the proceedings or you will be removed from the premises."
A man appears below me, at ground level. He is dressed in a suit and carrying a briefcase and far more papers than he should be. He is sweating and disheveled, as though he's run a great deal today. He waves some of the papers and looks chagrined. "A thousand apologies, truly, Your Honor. Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. Apologies for the interruption, but--" he shuffles through his papers, dropping several, then pulls out one in particular "--I have a writ ordering the immediate cessation of these executions."
"Approach." The judge puts on a pair of glasses and snatches up the proffered document. She scrutinizes it for a minute, her face screwed up in concentration and annoyance. I hardly dare breathe. Is this really happening?
The judge raises an eyebrow and looks back at Mendicus Hobarton, attorney at law. "This writ argues that the language of the execution order is unconstitutional?" she asks, incredulous.
"Yes your honor, it is. I represent the MCLU, who contends that asking a condemned prisoner how they would like to die is unconstitutional, on the grounds that no prisoner would LIKE to die." Mendicus is gathering steam now, standing straighter and becoming more animated. "Furthermore, choosing a method of execution for a prisoner who has not stated how he or she would like to die negates the purpose of asking and therefore negates the validity of the proceeding."
The judge grumbles. "Well I don't know about all that," she says, "but it's signed by the Second Circuit Court of Magical Proceedings and Governance. It's the Magical Civil Liberties Union's problem now." She turns to me. "Stay of execution granted. Remove the prisoner."
I start to cry as I'm led from the platform. What just happened?! I'm never this lucky!
"I'm never this lucky," I babble at Mendicus as I'm led away.
He puts out an hand and stops me, briefly. "Luck had nothing to do with it," he says. "Talk to your mother. She'll explain."
Before I can ask anything more I'm jerked forward again, through the doors and back into the holding cell. My mind reels. I haven't spoken to my mother in years, ever since... But it seems she's helped me cheat death. Maybe I owe her a call. And she owes me an explanation.
Edit for grammar. | 2021-06-24T07:21:37 | 2021-06-24T06:11:19 | 501 | 23 |
[WP] Hi! I'm the main character! Or so you would have me be. I want you to know that no matter what you write, I refuse to be the main character in your little game and will avoid any instance where you try to put me into a situation that does so.
Edit: Once again, a huge thank you to everyone so far who's written a story based on the prompt. It always makes me happy when you use your free time to create a short story!
Edit 2: I do my best to reply to every story written by the authors and will continue to do so.
Edit 3: R.I.P. My inbox, this is easily one of my favorite subs. I'm trying so hard to read every story and reply!
Edit 4: The next day and people are still submitting, still trying my best to reply to every story. You guys have been awesome :)
Disclaimer: This is absolutely not an original idea. "Writer vs Character" is a very popular idea from a lot of sources. I wanted to see what the sub could come up with! Thanks :3 | The four adventurers arrived in the tavern after their long trek back from Lich's castle. Surrounding them was a cacophony of drunken patrons. Finally they could rest. Before they could even take their seat, they were accosted by a dishevelled elderly man draped in old rotten robes.
_Hello there young travellers. Might I beseech you to assist a weary old wizard as myself in reclaiming an ancient mystical amulet from the clutches of an evil dragon?_
The party just shrugged him off. They finally take their seats when screaming can be heard coming from the floor above them.
_Leave em be._
The Dwarf in the party grumbled. The group were starting to become obviously annoyed. They had just had one big adventure and were really not looking to start another one soon. A small boy started to tug at the cloak of the Elven ranger's cloak.
_Please mister, could you please help me find my mama. She got taken in the bandit raid a few days ago and my Pa died of the fever last month._
The tears welling up in the poor boys eye might have just been enough to coerce the party into leaving their ales if it weren't for the roguish Tiefling in their party.
_Beat it kid. No gold, no mama_
A loud booming voice cracked through the air, silencing the tavern.
_God damnit guys. I spent all week writing some adventures for you guys and all you want to do is sit in a bloody tavern and drink ale. Yes I know you're role playing but still, you're never gonna get the cool loot aren't you if you stay here. For fucks sake! You know what, I know what I'm going to do._
The patrons of the tavern have started to notice how the group of assholes sitting in the middle of the tavern, having just pushed away a young boy for apparently no reason. The citizens of the tavern don't take too kindly to strangers. They start unsheathing their weapons.
_Roll for initiative._ | *Main Character found himself in the middle of the road, confused as to his whereabouts*
Dude, fuck you. I'm not doing this. I can clearly see the agent guy running awa-
*Shut up, seriously.*
Whatever, I'm leaving.
*Main Character, in an attempt to leave, walked into a goddamned wall.*
Jesus christ. Alright, fine, what is this? A mystery story? "ohhhh where did i come from" shit?
Also, why are you writing me so vulgar?
*Shut up.*
No, you.
*Oh fuck knives are like, raining down.*
Really? OW. JESUS. OH GOD.
*Woah, more knives.*
This is bullshit. I'm writing myself out of the story.
*Kind of like Hamilton?*
Screw you.
*Main Character starts walking into a nearby bar, called the Drinkin' Town.*
*...*
*...*
*Main Character starts walking into a nearby bar, called the Drinkin' Town.*
*Huh.* | 2016-02-11T09:14:08 | 2016-02-11T08:18:20 | 248 | 90 |
[WP]Write a story about a supervillian who is unspeakably more powerful than anyone else on his planet, but is content with using it for small things like cutting in line or getting free extra servings. | *Hands together. Focus on the now. There is no tomorrow. There is no yesterday. In this moment, there is only me. There is only my rage. The rage is in my hands. My hands on the planet. The rage is in the planet. There is no planet. There are only rocks in space.*
“Buddy. Hey, buddy, the lines moving.” The man behind me has a hand on my shoulder. He’s pointing in front of me.
“Your shoe is untied.” He looks down. His shoe is untied.
“Thanks, buddy.” He bends down.
I walk forward. Kara is at the cash register. Kara used to be beautiful. Her slim figure, auburn hair and big smile mean others still see her as beautiful. All I see is meat.
“Oh, hey,” Kara says. “Haven’t seen you in a couple days. And, what a coincidence, Dewayne just happened to make an extra three espresso with whole milk. I mean, what are the odds? I guess it’s your lucky day.”
“Yes. My lucky day.” I take the drink. I walk out the store.
I see Laura. She used to be beautiful, too. She is sitting in a park, watching our progeny. I approach her.
“A caramel latte, touch of cinnamon, touch of nutmeg.” I hand her the drink. I sit down.
The drink in her hands. The hormones changing in her body. She is about to weep. She squeezes the cup.
“What-what happened to us? Everything used to be so good and then, six months ago, everything fell apart. I’m not mad. I just-I just want to know what happened.” She is weeping softly as she speaks.
“It was Jiarah the Conqueror. In a fit of rage over the death of his children, he destroyed his planet. He killed his entire race in a second and then sent his consciousness across the galaxy until it found a host. Me. But he was so weak from the journey, he lost control. I have his powers. I have his memories. I have the power to make and unmake life and its eating me alive inside. I couldn’t be around you or Gracie like this. I would destroy you too.” The words poor out of me. I cannot stop them. “I love you. All I want is to go back. I love you so much. I want to go home, with you.”
“John?” She is no longer weeping. Her hormones have changed. She is terrified.
“Nothing happened, my Laura-love. Sometimes people just fall out of love. That’s what happened with us. Neither of us did anything wrong but it was time to separate. There is no Jiarah the Conqueror, only two ex-spouses who respect each other and want the best for our daughter.”
She is better. The previous memories are gone. She sips her coffee. She smiles.
“I think you should ask our Ryan from accounting. He and you would be good together.”
“You think so? And you would be cool with that?” she asks. She respects me. She does not want to hurt me.
“Nothing would make me happier.” I lie.
edit: formatting | I started out as a single atom. Not unlike anyone else, but what is different about me is that I started when there was *nothing else.*
I created more matter around me, and made everything rapidly mash together to give the nothing around me energy, and more importantly, life. I have created countless worlds, galaxies filled with stars, more systems of planets than you can comprehend. And I can feel every speck of dust. I am constantly aware of what is happening on every planet. Every solar system. Every galaxy. Each universe.
I have created, and now I do upkeep. I spend days floating my main consciousness to each of my galaxies to see if any creature really has, what they comically refer to as "free will." Whenever I let some civilizations have some slack, I return to have a little fun.
I witness men making promises. I see people convinced they won't do a certain thing. I have watched men and women live good lives. And then I change them.
One of my favorite corruptions is alcohol. Makes it easier for me to get my work done. Many men out there have started a night saying they will only have a drink or two, and then they will "cut themselves off." Haha! I only can laugh! I slowly work into their nervous systems, releasing more neurotransmitters filling their brains with pleasures, getting them to have one, maybe even two more drinks!
That is double! They are so easy!
My next favorite way to take advantage of some people is a term they have coined as "clumsiness." They think it is their fault when they drop a dish and it breaks, or they walk by a table and stub their toe, but it is me! I am all powerful! You are washing a glass in the sink? OOPS! It becomes too soapy and falls out of your grasp. How deliciously weird for that to happen, eh?
Last but not least, corrupting a good person is my pinnacle! Oh goodness, it feels so good to do. My sweethearted, good natured, loving people of the world... What would I do without you? Well, not have as much fun that is for sure! They are the ones always filled with the most remorse when I wipe their memories. That birthday party? What birthday party! Hahaha. Now they only have time to get a card until everyone else knows they forgot.
Omnipotence is wonderful with all the small intricacies. | 2017-05-16T08:01:23 | 2017-05-16T07:26:08 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse is over and the survivors are rebuilding what's the left of the world. Suddenly the rich and powerful emerge, having sat the whole thing out, hoping to regain control. | The city of New Brooklyn was bursting at the seams. It was a testament to how far things had come. The plague had decimated the population. The walkers had nearly wiped the rest out. Humanity was scattered until the First Resistance and the battles that followed. Eventually the walkers were almost essentially gone. Sure the odd one would be found, badly decayed, wandering in from the wastes or down from the mountains or washing up from God knows where. Those never resulted in more than an isolated outbreak... quickly and quietly by the Core. Now humans were banding together again, trading and clashing as they often do, but making real progress for the first time since the outbreak began 10 years ago.
Every inn in the city was full to bursting. They came from all over the Republic and beyond. Freelanders. Canucks. Federates. Texicans. Even Island and Sailor folk. Some enterprising citizens used the chance to make a killing in the trade markets. City guards were double shifted to keep an eye on the typical riff raff but it was largely unnessessary. Everybody wanted to be there for the big moment.
The world after the apocalypse was a surprisingly dull place. There was harvest time and festivals of course, the odd outbreak, and for the very young that was plenty. But most folks still remembered how things used to be. They remembered media and hype and the way there was always the Next Big Thing. So when the generator that powered the Ark first came back to life, an innocuous blue light in the center of the doors, word spread like wildfire.
It would have been one of humanities most impressive accomplishments under better circumstances. From draft board to finished product in less than a year. Powered by a previously unknown fusion reactor, able to access ground water and geothermal heating, titanic in size and resistant to all but the most power nuclear strikes. The Ark was a sanctuary for the human race. Others tried to replicate it, some even managed to succeed before society collapsed. None held a candle to the size - and as time would tell *the success* - of the Ark. Most from the Republic were part of the lottery. A few still clutched them as they lined the streets around the plaza, jockeying for room and talking excitedly. All remembered the day they'd been abandoned.
It was a day of ceremony which was already beginning to feel out of place. The plans to contain the plague had failed. The walkers had begun to rise. Humanity was on the run. All the resources and manpower possible had been diverted to building the Ark. For their compliance, each healthy person was given a ticket. Fair was fair. When the moment came though, the ruse was revealed without fanfare. The blue light of the blast doors simply ticked to red. There was confusion, riots. A few attempts, mostly for show, of breaking in. But it was clear everyone had been had. It wasn't until one of the project administrators had been found that the truth finally came out. The Ark wasn't for just anyone. It had been bought and paid for by the elite decades before the plague was on the horizon. A failsafe for the highest echelon of society. The administrator gladly traded his service for the life of his family. He had a smile on his face as they ripped him apart, limb from limb.
But now the door was opening for the first time in a decade. After ten years of luxury, sealed away from a world gone to hell, the 1% had decided it was time to reconnect. The 99% were ready. There wasn't a soul there who wasn't armed in one way or another. Many hadn't picked up weapon in years, but they still knew precisely how to use them. You didn't make it in the new world without being able to get your hands dirty.
Some people worried what would be on the other side. New tech couldn't hold a candle to old tech. If they came out guns blazing a lot of people would die. It was worth the risk. For the knowledge preserved inside. For the riches of the Ark. For revenge.
A murmur rose as the light changed to green. The crowds swelled as the calls of those holding vigil were heard and echoed through the town. They waited. Minutes. Hours. A lifetime. There was a shudder and the doors slowly opened.
At first silence. Then came a man. Once handsome and refined, certainlu a politician. He hobbled with a crutch as fast as he could. Fell. Crawled. The panic on his face was plain but he did not notice the nation before him, united in hatred.
Already some began to grow uneasy. The Islanders and Sailors began to slink away but they were cowards and runners. Then the familiar calls could be heard, echoing up the cavernous halls of the Ark. Horrible wails and moans that were etched into the mind of every man woman and child on earth. The walkers.
The plaza exploded into chaos. Some stood to fight. Most tried to flee. The hoard of walkers poured into the confusion. Celebrities. Bankers. Businessmen. Rotten and howling for blood.
That was the day the Second Resistance began. The survivors believed that the worst humanity had to offer had been hidden away in the Ark. They were right. | We'd embraced the new ways. Life was hard, but Z incursions were rare now, nothing like the Rising. Hell, we thought we'd actually reclaimed a lot of livable areas, even. We'd *adapted*. At first we fought them with handguns and flamethrowers, and when that didn't work, with shotguns and battering rams, and when we ran out of shotgun shells, with plate armor, chainmail and morningstars. It had worked. My family was dead and buried, no city larger than 2,000 inhabitants existed, and we'd been driven back to subsistence farming, but we'd survived.
Zombies weren't scary anymore - the farms were secured behind fences and watchtowers, armored patrols kept us relatively safe, and Old Man Irons even thought we'd eventually be able to make bio-ethanol for some of our cars... Or maybe even for electricity. Rebuilding was an actual possibility.
We'd even adopted some sort of new society. There were no leaders, except among soldiers. People took decisions together, and in an emergency people turned to the most respected, not the asshole with money or a badge, to make decisions. When selfishness can get an entries community killed, people tend to leave it behind.
We'd figured the bunkers had existed since we'd first started fortifying. The reports had been unanimous - the most powerful of us all had disappeared with the first reports of the Rising. When there was still a United States and the National Guard was still hoping to control the situation, they'd all vanished. Well, not the obviously powerful - President Clinton had been eaten on live TV with half of Washington - but the rich. The movers. The powers behind the thrones.
When they came back out, they wanted control again. They figured we'd run back to familiarity, but none of us were having it. They couldn't fight us - each bunker had been prepped with only twenty guards or so to minimise consumption, and they were damn near impregnable anyway.
So they tried to bribe us. With actual, paper money. Some of our elders laughed their heads off at that one - we hadn't seen actual dollars in years, and we had absolutely no use for them anymore. That was a shock to them, I'm told. They said Tim Cook nearly turned blue in the face, he never imagined some near-feral primitive survivor could refuse his money.
So when they came back, they showed us what we really needed : resources. They had canned and processed foods. Fertilizer. Crude oil and petrol. Vehicles. Medicine. And lots and lots and lots of guns and ammo.
Spokane was the first to go over to them. They'd always had a grudge against the Idaho communities since a lot of them were survivors from Colorado who'd been turned away by the Idaho forts in the early days of the Rising. There wasn't a single family in Spokane that didn't have a relative that died screaming outside a fortress in Idaho. They got vehicles, guns, everything, with one condition : You let us do what we want to the towns out east, and we're yours.
They said the massacres went on for three days. I believe them ; I was on radio duty one night and I listened in to it. Some of the survivors were talking about risking everything to escape, even going into zombie-heavy areas. I didn't hear anything else from them.
Other communities either declared for the bunker-lords or were raided - taken as slaves and cannon fodder to "reclaim" zombie-held zones. When they came for my little fort in Oregon, our two thousand with maces were up against five times as many gunmen. I watched as one of the Koch brothers put a bullet in our elder's head.
I work an oil rig now, of the coast of Texas. No pay, some food, 18-hour days. I'll be dead in less than two years. Disease or exhaustion. They say the new world will be like the old one. They don't realise it already is, it's just... Less hypocritical.
If there's one thing the end of the world does wonders to, it's hypocrisy. | 2015-12-14T11:15:56 | 2015-12-14T09:25:15 | 89 | 48 |
[WP] You're a multi billionaire with severe god delusions. You have several small children kidnapped and leave them on an island with resources and carefully placed 'evidence' suggesting at your divinity. Ten years later, you arrive at the island...
Edit: Sweet, frontpage | "Where is everyone?"
My helicopter circled the island multiple times looking for signs of life. Beyond the trees and coarse sand on the beach, only the ocean waves and occasional stray bird dared to move.
"Set her down on the beach!"
I had to yell over the sound of the propeller. Riding in helicopters was always a pain, but this trip would be worth it. My lifelong dream of being recognized for what I am was moments away. Only the worthy had experienced moments such as this. I was clearly deserving of everything that was about to happen. God would not have put me in this position if I wasn't worthy.
As the helicopter landed, I searched the treeline for any sign of movement. Surely, they had heard the helicopter of prophecy descend from the heavens, as my "evidence" had so clearly predicted. Their God would arrive from the sky in a machine. Hadn't my people figured it out?
Waves began to clash against my feet as I step out on the coastline.
"HELLO?! IS ANYONE HERE?! YOUR GOD HAS ARRIVED AS FORETOLD!"
Birds chirped in the distance as they flew along the thin beach. The waves were getting bigger and bigger the longer we stood there.
"Do you see anything pilot?"
"Nothing as of yet, sir," he replied.
Confusion began to settle in as I begin to walk along the beach. Were they all hiding from me? Were they scared of their God? I suppose meeting God would make anyone nervous.
Something hard hit my ankle that came on the wave. I look down to locate the source of my pain and discover a skull. A small, human skull had washed ashore from somewhere.
"What the heck?"
My pilot screamed in the distance, causing me to jerk around to see what was causing his distress. He had bent over on his hands and knees, crying and yelling at the heavens.
"What's going on?! Are you okay, pilot?!"
He turned to look at me, tear filled and red in the face. He was breathing heavily now, clearly in a fit of rage. He began to point along the coast line and began to speak.
"YOU... DID... THIS?!" His voice shook noticeably.
"Did what, exactly?" I was not in the mood for childishness.
"You killed all of these children?! You're a monster! An absolute monster!"
I looked where he was pointing and began to realize why he was upset. Small, human bones littered the beach, slowly being moved by the tide.
I fell to my knees in shock. They were dead. For whatever reason, all of my children had died. As I sobbed for the first time in my life, not for the children, but because of my lost dreams, I hear a helicopter start up behind me. Turning, I see the pilot working extremely fast to take off.
"Wait, what are you doing," I demanded of him, " We aren't done here yet! Maybe some are alive deeper in the island!"
His face was mutinous and something beyond anger.
"You deserve the same fate as them," he yelled. As he said this, he pulled up on the controls and took off, leaving me stranded on the island that knew me as God.
And so he was.
By Curtis
First time trying one of these. Open to critique! I haven't written in a while (3-4 years) and want to get back into it. | Decades. I have waited decades for this moment. My most ambitious and ultimately, rewarding project thus far, and likely my last. The media reported the children all to be "lost at sea" after the plane they were on "crashed" into the ocean. All the brightest children in the world gone, in one fleeting moment. After all, I did not want to become a god among imbeciles.
Its been 10 years since I've had the worlds brightest children kidnapped, and the world has all but forgotten their disappearance. But I haven't. I have been eagerly awaiting this moment. It has been a very, very long time since I've returned to the island. The island which began my fortune. The island which made me who I am today. 4 8 15 16 23 42. The numbers. MY numbers, now. are still fresh in my memory, after all these years.
I have done things much differently then my predecessor, Jason. I gave my disciples time to learn, time to grow, time to LIVE... time to worship. I had everything changed, after all, I had the funds to do it. Everything Darma had my name placed on it instead. Food drops, bunkers, houses, all in my name. I even had the temple erect statues in my honor. Eventually, after the children grew to adolescence I would only drop food to those who praised me.. the rest caught on quickly. The children were easily deceived by technology, and misinterpreted it for divinity. Cameras located throughout the island had made me "omniscient" in a sense. Speakers allowed me to communicate my wishes, which sounded like whispers on the wind. I wanted to be subtle, keep them unsure of what they were hearing yet still believe and listen whole heartedly.
Whatever they needed they got, after a prayer of course. Medicine, food, water, guidance. I was always there. Everyone in the village has heard my voice. And they have heard of my second coming. They have heard of the trials and hardships I bring. I have given them fair warning. I have given them the means and time to prepare. Only the strong survive. They do not know it yet, but today is the day I arrive. Today is the day their trials begin. Today is the day a God is brought to life.
MY FIRST PROMPT, GO EASY. | 2015-11-27T08:10:52 | 2015-11-27T08:00:08 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] A portal opens before you and out steps a version of yourself covered in blood. "I've killed humdreds of you and they say you're the strongest one. Time to find out why." | "What are you-"
"DIE!!" The doppelganger screams as he charges me, attempting to pierce my chest with the long sword in his hand.
I dove out of the way, getting up quickly. "What the hell are you doing?!"
"KILLING YOU!!" He shouts, a snarl on his face as he tried another stab.
I sidestepped, before jumping forwards and grabbing his arm. "A few things real quick asshole! One, you are being WAY too predictable. Two, HOW AM I THE STRONGEST ONE OF US?!"
He headbutted me, making me release his sword, before punching me in the chest. "That's what I'm here to find out, but I'm not seeing anything yet!"
He tried to hack at me with the sword, but I jumped away, sprinting towards my bed. "I'm overweight, and absolute idiot, and have the attention span of a goldfish, there's no way I'm the strongest!"
He rushed at me, trying to keep me from trying anything. "Well, guess we'll have to see!!!"
I threw my nightstand open, grabbing my nine millimeter before turning to face him. "FUCK OFF YOU- AGH, SHIT!"
He had managed to stab his swprd between the bones in my forearm 'what are those bones called? Shit, no time to start drifting you idiot!' I tackled him and held my gun to his head, noting the terrified look in his eyes.
"How are you ignoring the pain?!" He shouted, his voice quite a bit higher pitched then a moment ago.
"I DON'T KNOW, BUT FUCK YOU!!!" I screamed, pulling the trigger as many times as my hand would let me. I sat there, staring at the now swiss cheese that used to be his face. I panted, my breath heavy as I tried to catch it. "What the fuck just happened?"
It would be about an hour before I hid the body, and I didn't think to call an ambulance about the sword for a little after that. It was hard to convince people that a burglar stabbed me in the arm witha medeval longsword I just HAPPENED to have, and then ran away without stealing anything. | “I don’t understand.”
“Well of course you don’t.”
“Can you run it by me again?”
“I’ve killed Humdreds of you- us and they say that you are the strongest one. I’m here to see why.”
“Okay I’ve got 2 questions, why are you covered in blood? And did you say “humdreds”?”
“Did I say humdreds? Shoot I meant hundreds, and the reason I’m covered in blood is because I go and kill alternate versions of myself to insure I’m the only Abo there is.”
“Well I’m personally confused, why would I be the strongest I’m just trying to mind my own business.”
“Well here I go.”
Abo plunges his sword into Abo, and it ceases to exist.
“What in the fuck?”
“I’m thinking the exact same thing.”
“What did you do to my sword?”
“I dunno. I guess I didn’t want to be hurt”
“Okay… so you can cause stuff to stop existing?”
“I… don’t know…”
“Alright well I’m out of ideas, I’ll be right back”
“See you friend!”
“Wait what are you… ohhh! I get it now. Wait don’t leave!”
Abo exits his room, after all he has a great imagination. | 2022-11-09T12:43:10 | 2022-11-09T08:59:54 | 124 | 86 |
[WP] A top-secret division of the S.S., in charge of protecting Adolf Hitler from the thousands of time travelers trying to kill him. | “Why doesn’t anyone go back to kill, say…Genghis Khan? Why is it always the Fuhrer?” Roland sighed, as he lowered his sights to another fissure opening. The Chronokorps were instructed to wait until the travelers were entirely through the fissure opening, or else they risked destabilizing the portal, which would have all sorts of unfortunate consequences.
The fissure cracked open with the sound of radio static. “Uh oh,” his partner, Heinrich, called on the radio, “We have an Israeltech! Requesting disruptors.” An armored mechanical suit stepped through the fissure; the Star of David glowed on his chest in bright neon. His suit was surrounded by crystalline light; the SS’s regular weapons would be no match for the Israeltech’s shield. Two more SS came out, wheeling a plasma cannon recovered from another fallen traveler.
The cannon began to charge with a whir, blue light began to shimmer from its barrel. The Israeltech launched two drones mounted from its shoulder armor. They began to whir around, Roland and Heinrich concentrated their fire on the drones. The drones tended to be delicate enough to be taken down with standard firearms. As the Israeltech began to draw its sword, the plasma cannon fired, tearing a hole straight through the armor, exposing the young man underneath. He fell to the ground, his skin charred, struggling to breathe.
Heinrich walked to him, “I know you mean well, young man,” he spoke in Hebrew, he had learned enough at least to have this typical conversation, “But you cannot kill the Fuhrer. If he died now, the world would be much worse in the long run.” Before the young Israelite could speak, Heinrich put a bullet between his eyes. He picked up the electric sword that had fallen to the ground, “This one looks good,” he called over another soldier to add it to the armory.
For the next few days, the pattern remained relatively consistent. Israeltech continued to send their armored suits and infantry men back in time, the Chronokorps continued to push them back.
Until one day, a fissure began to congregate unlike any they had ever seen before. This one was much brighter, the energy swirling in ornate fractal patterns. “Roland,” Heinrich ordered, “Get everyone!”
In all of the handbooks the Chronokorps were given, only one section in one book mentioned anything like this. Himmler’s research concluded that overwhelmingly, time travelers would come from a singular source in the future. That turned out to be Israeltech. The pattern that was appearing out in the field indicated an anomaly that Himmler described as theoretically indicating a traveler from the past.
The fissure grew and spiraled, flashing red and gold. Finally it opened, with the sound of trumpets. The man who walked through the fissure was like no one the SS had ever seen. Even his first step through the portal exuded confidence. He was majestic, like a statue or a painting. He was tall, with pale skin and dark hair. He wore a beaming golden breastplate and red cape. He carried with him a shield and spear, and on his belt hung a sword along with a collection of heads tied together.
“I have come for Adolph’s head!” he announced in a booming voice.
Roland took a shot at the golden laurels around his head. With the speed of Hermes, the man raised his shield and deflected the bullet.
“I have conquered everywhere in my time, and everywhere in all other times. Now is the time of the Reich’s reckoning.” He threw the heads hanging from his belt to Heinrich’s feet. Heinrich inspected the heads with cold disgust, and then terror. There, lying on the ground, were the heads of Napoleon, Caesar, Saladin, and Genghis Khan.
“I will add Adolph’s to my collection, and Germany will become part of the Empire of Zeus.”
“Who the fuck are you?” Heinrich stammered.
“My name is Alexander, and your world belongs to me now.”
| "Zis tiem travelleurs!" laughs Oberst Henckel von Krantfindeneinbludinaam, pointing at the latest. "Ven veel zey evah lern?! Zat tiem douß not wehk zat vey?!"
"Ich douß nicht know, Oberst Krantfindenbludinaam!" laughs Leutnant Klaus Einmoarkrautnaam. "Die alvez kommen allesder tiem!"
The two soldiers laugh raucously.
"Kawzwalitee shuld nicht iben allow zem tu comm! But ze oonivars ist funnie, no?"
"Ja! Das ist soo funnie, the oonivarhs!"
"Eef zey feuer bullet, eet seemplie **bounce off** ze Führer! He kannot be keeled zat way! Alles of them are of ze eediot-speecees! Der zeit-travelling Üntermensch!"
More laughter.
"Beste vas zat eenfiror Jude who appears zat day vee arr keeling ze unscwstors, but *Ach!* Herr Jude ist arrihve ***tu meenitz tu late!***"
Bellies are positively bursting right now.
"Ze facht zat zere arr *zooh* mennie tiem travelleuhrs komming back in tiem minz zat vee shall rise from ze presshur and veen ze Var!"
Hum-hum, lots of humming goes all around.
"Ja, ja, eet must be truh!"
But suddenly....!
###BANG!
The two SS officers burst into Herr Hitler's room, guns at the ready, only to find the Führer on the ground, hole in his head, smoking.
"Ach Gott!" cries Oberst Krantfindenbludinaam. "Die Führer has kommitment sueecyde!"
Behind the two men, the air shimmers, and out pops a tall, but slightly wonky-looking man. "No, no, no!" he yells, throwing up his arms. "That can't be it!"
"**Was ist das?!**" ask the officers, in unision, whirling around.
"Sorry boys!" says the man. "I just wanted to see what it really looked like in real life. Pretty disappointing, really. Don't worry, I'll make it all nice an epic for my masterpiece!"
"Who arr yiu?!" asks Einmoarkrautnaam.
"Here, have this instead!" says the man. "Spread the word through the ages! I'm off to rewrite history!"
And just like that, the man is gone, in a shimmering of light.
"Was ist das?!" asks Krantfindenbludinaam, looking in horror at the piece of paper the man's left behind.
Einmoarkrautnaam turns it over in his hands. On the other side, are two words.
They are:
##INGLORIOUS BASTERDS | 2014-07-01T07:25:46 | 2014-07-01T06:35:21 | 404 | 60 |
[WP] The superhero stared at the supervillain. "I need your help...they have my daughter." | "I need your help...they have my daughter. **I KNOW YOU CAN HEAR ME! OPEN THE DOOR! PLEASE, I'M BEGGING YOU!** ^I'm ^begging ^you" He whispers again, heartbroken kneeling in front of the the door. As the hero begins to sob quietly the castle all around him began to shake violently, as if the whole earth had been unbalanced. The door he kneels before, a stone monstrosity easily weighing tons, opens up suddenly, just enough to allow him through. He knows where to go. He knows exactly where the throne room is, where *he* is.
In the throne itself a black suit of armor, for a moment it's entirely silent then the slit where the eyes should be glow red. Wasting no time the hero speaks again, "I wouldn't be he-" "*Shut up*" comes the reply, the voice of a man, anyone else would find that voice utterly terrifying, instead the hero just remains silent, hiding his tears.
*"Growing up I never had a single person who loved me. My siblings always tortured me, bullied and berated me, then they'd come apologizing only when I could do something for them. 'Do for family,' they said, 'we promise we won't hurt you again.' Do you want to know what I did? Like a lost puppy I'd go running back to them every time. Every. Single. Damn. Time. My parents? they were no help. My brothers and sister could do no wrong in their eyes, and I was a goddamn disgrace. Their actual words. I suffered endless torture for 18 years, and the one time I stood up for myself, I was kicked to the street and abandoned. But you know all of that don't you brother? After all even now I'm the Villain, and your still the golden boy. It's your fault. The reason I am who I am. It's your fault."*
"We were kids, we all grew up, we all moved past that. You? You very nearly buried a thousand cities in a mountain of rubble, if it wasn't for me your hands would have so much blood on them. Who stopped you from making that mistake? Who made the deal for amnesty as well as the ransom cash instead of throwing you into jail, or worse. I was trying to help you, I was the only one who could stop you."
*"So that wipes the slate clean hmmm? Your one act makes up for everything you did? And now, again you've come to me after years of silence, not a word, only to ask me to do for family. This time for a niece I haven't even met, that I didn't know existed."*
The two stared at each other for a moment, before the hero looks away again, and this time he doesn't raise his head. *"Nothing to say, for your abandoned little brother? Leave me be brother, this time don't come back, your daughter is your problem, not mine."*
"Brother please." He begs him, but even now the red glowing slits begin to darken, the doors rumble open again. This conversation is over. The hero take a small device and throws it in his brother's lap. "She's only 4 years old. I'm going in 3 hours, without you I'll die, and so will she, I know we aren't on good terms, we never were, it was my fault, but if you change your mind...." He waits, hoping against hope that an answer is given, but it never comes, and slowly, sadly, he walks out the door, no more plans left.
---
END OF PART 1 | The supervillian shifted from his fighting stance back to his normal stance, slowly but gradually. "Whatever do you mean?"
The superhero floated down towards the ground, now 8 yards away from his nemesis. They lock eyes.
"My daughter's life is in jeopardy. I...I need your power!"
The superhero shed a tear of healing which, when it hit the ground, created a bed of flowers (which stood out from the cracked streets and buildings surrounding the villain, who was responsible for the damage but will never take responsibility for it).
Everything became silent, for a mere two seconds.
"This war, this city, this violent world...; I spent all my life seeking vengeance, for my parents were brutally murdered at the hands of you. Yet, everyone praises you like a God. And you prided yourself on that distorted opinion, and now you suffer the consequences. They, indeed, have your daughter. They believe that she could be of great use to the world, that her DNA can combat the most powerful of diseases.
It's pathetic, actually. The very people who praised you were fooling you from the beginning. That is the flaw of humanity - when something like you can come about and extend their lives an extra day without effort, they become lazy and more careless. They continue to praise you, they continue to use you until you accidentally speak out against them, or accidentally murder their leaders. Who, then, is the super-villain? Am I, a mere fool enlightened by the simple truth - that humanity needs to pay for its corruption - or the one that humanity labels the hero (the same one who murdered both my parents because they were falsely accused of assassination)?"
The hero bowed to his knees.
"Please help me," said he, who was now overwhelmed with tears. Plagued with the thought of what he has done to create his nemesis, he only managed to choke out, "I'll...I'll do anything..."
"Coming here was more than enough," said the villain, who took out his trap box, imprisoning the hero inside a miniature cell made out of his weakness."
"No, don't do this!" cried the hero, literally.
"The human race will have to find another God to bow to."
These were the final words the hero heard before he was murdered by the super villain's deadliest move - "Ultimate Annihilation."
....
....
"Alright class, put up your toys. School's over!" remarked Ms. Buford. James Red and Kyle Forte put up their toys and headed for the exit.
"Kyle?"
"Yeah?"
"I don't want to be the hero anymore ;/"
| 2017-12-17T11:45:42 | 2017-12-17T09:15:30 | 39 | 26 |
[WP] When your university announces they are going to bury a time capsule for 100 years you decide to include a USB drive with a super-high resolution copy of your brain just for fun. The last thing you remember is going into an MRI to be scanned before waking up and being told it's a century later. | When I was a child, I'd often look up into space from the comfort of my tiny room. I'd adjust my telescope and pick a spec to focus on. I liked to imagine that somewhere in that star system, there was an alien child just like me adjusting his own telescope and staring back– wondering what amazing things a different planet would consist of.
My mother was mostly to blame. She worked for NASA, and according to her, everyone that worked there shook my chubby little hand when I was a baby. I think being surrounded by all of that from birth stoked every interest in my heart about the great beyond. I wanted to grow up to be in whatever position I needed to be if only it meant I could observe and communicate with the aliens when they arrived.
That's how I ended up at MIT.
I had never seen my mother cry tears of joy before I walked the stage at graduation. Nobody cheered louder than her and it made my heart swell with emotions to finally hold that diploma in my hand. I was finally going to work in the same building as my mother, and everyone at NASA knew it (whether they wanted to or not). She was the proudest mom on the planet, and I'd never seen her glow the way she did when we walked into work together for the first time.
That would unfortunately be the last time.
I stopped short of my step and became confused. I'd never experienced a feeling like that before. Left was right and down was up. I didn't remember who I was, where I was going, or why. It lasted only an instant, but it left me with a headache that pills couldn't fight. I saw the doctor the next day and held my mother's hand for the last time before climbing into that MRI machine.
In the moment after that, I was standing wet and naked in a glass tube. I felt like I weighed a ton and a half as I looked around at the beings surrounding me. They looked sort of like humans, but the difference was immediately noticeable. Their arms and fingers were longer, disproportionate of my species. Their heads were elongated, but only slightly; if I'd seen someone with a head like that on the subway, I wouldn't have assumed them an alien, but just deformed. They were completely hairless. No eyebrows, no eyelashes, nothing. Their eyes weren't actually very different, but their noses were small and their lips thin.
I slowly lifted my hands to the glass and they observed me carefully. I tried to speak, but my mouth and throat were so dry that it was painful.
They didn't appear to care.
They simply jotted down notes on their clipboards.
It was hours before they gave me water. I drank it so quickly that I threw it up, and they began portioning my water for me like I was some kind of infant. The food I was given was just some kind of pink substance. It had no taste– kind of like what I imagined it would be like to eat silly putty.
"What... happened?" I croaked.
One of them stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"Meep meep. Meep meep meep meep *meep* meep," he spoke with all the seriousness of a heart attack. "Meep meep meep meep. Meep. Meep meep?"
Suddenly, a speaker within my containment tube clarified.
"Hello. You've been dead for a *very* long time. My name is Biln, and I'm the one responsible for resurrecting you."
I looked at the creature with wonder. I was dead? For a long time? Resurrected? Was I truly looking at humans? Had it been so long that they'd evolved this way? He continued meeping until the speaker began again.
"We didn't know why we were supposed to dig that container up. Many of our brains seemed to remember, however, that we were supposed to. We each converged in front of that building on the same day. Each of our hosts was working in high-profile facilities when we adopted them. So it is to our understanding that something in that container was important enough to call to all of us. We believe that thing is you."
He held up my USB. The one I'd buried in front of MIT for my history course. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Hosts? Adopted? What the hell was going on?
"Meep meep meep meep. Meep meep. Meep meep meep meep meeeeeeep meep. Meep! Meep meep meep meep."
"If you understand what I'm saying, move your head up and down. That machine sometimes has difficulty relaying our words precisely depending on the subject's lexicon."
I nodded.
"What happened? Why am I here?"
He sighed and meeped for a while before the speaker broke it all down for me.
"This may be shocking to you, but... You are the last of your species. My people failed to preserve a single one of you. If not for the anus in this storage device, the human race as it once was would have been lost forever. Your existence is a very important breakthrough for science."
I felt my body run cold.
The last... human?
"Meep meep meep meep meep. Meep meep meep meep meep."
"Your brain, as it was kept in this file, was imperfect. In fact, according to this anus log, you would have died of an aneurysm only a year or so later. We recreated your brain so that it will not kill you. All of your brain anus should be intact, so if you have difficulty accessing your memories, let one of us know."
An aneurysm.
Had it happened so quickly that I didn't notice?
I backed against the far wall of my tube and felt a swell of emotions welling up inside of me. I felt tears begin to form in my eyes as I realized that everything I knew was gone. I died so suddenly I hadn't gotten to say goodbye to my mom. To study the cosmos.
And now it seemed the cosmos were instead studying me.
"Meep meep meep."
"I told you we should have removed his emotions."
r/A15MinuteMythos
Wanted to write more, but I've got to go! Great prompt OP! | The lights were blinding. I tried to cover my eyes but I couldn’t move. I closed them instead and noticed a sharp throbbing pain in my head, like someone had driven a nail through my brain.
“He’s awake”.
I heard the voice as if it were at the end of a long tunnel. I had the distinct impression that I had been dreaming. The last thing I remembered was the MRI scan.
“What happened?” I had intended those words to come out but they sounded alien to me. My voice was deeper, and sounded like someone had run it through a synthesizer.
“Nicholas, you are alive. It’s a miracle”. I recognized it as the voice of a woman. I opened my eyes and waited to adjust to the lights and blurry shapes above me. I was lying on a table, that much was clear. A woman’s face peered down at me. I felt a flutter in my chest. She was beautiful. Hazelnut eyes, long brunette hair, and she was smiling at me. I felt like an idiot but I smiled back. She wore a white lab coat that did little to hide her curves. The room around me was bleached white. There was nothing in the room except a man seated on a chair against the wall. He seemed a bit older, maybe in his forties. He was balding and had a strong jaw. He watched me over half rimmed glasses, taking notes on the clipboard he held in his hand. I tried to sit up, but felt hard metal straps holding me down at my arms, legs and waist. I couldn’t move. I felt a moment of panic. Was I being held hostage? What did they want from me? I began thrashing around, trying to pull myself off of the table.
“Wait Nicholas, please”, the woman said. Then her hand was on my chest, but I only knew that because I could see it. I felt nothing.
“What the hell is happening?” I had stopped thrashing but tried to look at both the woman and man at the same time.
“What was the last thing you remember?” she asked.
“How about you start talking first and then I tell you what I know”, I snapped. All niceties were out the window once someone starts chaining me to tables. She bit her lip.
“My name is Evelyn, this is my associate Peter. We are both doctors specializing in human and machine biology”. She paused as if waiting for me to ask a question. I just glared at her, so she continued.“You have been- well, your brain has been hibernating for the last 100 years. We have revived you inside of this machine’s body.”
This was a dream. That was my first thought. I looked down at my body. It was covered in a hospital gown but my hands were visible. They were covered in metal. They looked so much like human hands except for the metallic gray. Then I saw what I had done to the metal straps. They were bent. Six inches of what looked like steel and I had bent it.
"What kind of sick joke is this?” I asked.
“It’s not a joke. We need your help”, Evelyn said.Peter got up and walked over to stand next to Evelyn.
“This must be confusing for you Nicholas. The human mind needs time to- adjust to its new surroundings. It may be best if you rest”, Peter said.
“Get these off of me first”, I said, my eyes glancing down to my bonds.
“We can’t do that, it's for your protection as much as it is for ours.” I gritted my teeth and tore the metal bands off in anger. I blinked, surprised that that had actually worked. They clattered to the floor as I sat up and ripped off the one at my waist and the two around my ankles.Peter and Evelyn backed up, and Peter had some kind of device out.
“Wait!” Evelyn said, grabbing Peter’s arm. “Look Nicholas, we wanted to wait to tell you but- the human race is dying. There are only maybe a few hundred of us who remain free. An alien species has invaded earth and enslaved everyone except us and a few others. We don’t know who else has survived. Your brain was in storage, we found it. We have been trying to implant ourselves in machine bodies to make us stronger, faster, to help us to fight back. There have been some- side effects. Your transplant has been the most successful so far. Please, I’ll explain everything if you just sit down.”
I sat down. I wasn’t sure I really believed what Evelyn had said but my hands, they told the story better than she could have. I took off my robe then and looked down at my body.A human body by proportions only, yet everything was metal. It felt almost like skin, it moved in the same elastic way. I had washboard abs for the first time in my life. But it was all a metallic gray.My brain wasn’t processing everything that was happening. I was pretty sure I was dreaming, and felt a little delirious. I looked up at Evelyn with a grin on my face.
“Well at least I can still have kids”. Then I fainted. Everything went black. The last thing I remember was Evelyn rushing to catch me and my face clanging against the cold white floor. | 2021-09-14T07:23:58 | 2021-09-14T07:21:41 | 1,036 | 166 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence. | "See Steve, what did I tell you, being God isn't as easy as... Sweet Baby Me..."
God was aghast, seated atop his marble dais were Steve and the devil. And they were laughing.
"Seriously?!" Steve chuckled. "He's darned them all to heck for worshipping a Furby? Wow, that's rough! Look, Luke, we'll have to continue this conversation another time, but this has been amazing. Keep in touch."
With a demonic chortle and a parting puff of smoke, Lucifer was gone, leaving God and Steve alone in the echoing antechamber. With no regard for the Big G, Steven Smith promptly picked up a piece of paperwork and began scratching down scrawls with stunning calligraphy. For the first time in eternity, God was taken aback.
"You were talking to LUCIFER?" he spluttered. "Do you realise how much trouble he's caused?! What on My Green Earth could you two possibly be talking about?!"
Steven didn't even look up from his paperwork. "Soul Reformation Program" he said simply.
"Soul... What?"
"Soul Reformation Program" Steve repeated. "Hell is seriously overpopulated, have you seen the numbers? Lucifer was basically begging me to take some of these poor saps off his hands. I mean, look at this guy."
Steve finally stopped scratching on the paper and turned it around to face God. On the paper was a picture of a smiling middle-aged man next to a small paragraph of text. God conjured a pair of reading glasses and picked up the paper.
"Greg Burns" he began. "Middle-aged entrepreneur, wife, 2 children, both adopted. Investor and volunteer firefighter, has spent most of his life and money building and running an orphanage... He seems nice enough, what's he in for?"
"Died in a fire" said Steve.
"Died in a... Hang on, that's not one of the rules!"
With great effort, Steve pulled a large dusty tome out from somewhere unseen, and dumped it onto the dais with a heavy thud. With a grunt, he turned the cover and began flicking through the pages.
"Ah, here it is." Steve stopped on a page. "Page 347, section C. And if ye should succumb to the flame, thou shalt burn for all eternity."
"I didn't mean that literally" said God. "And I didn't even put that one in the final draft. How the deuce did this Greg fellow slip through the cracks?"
"You've got to be careful G," cautioned Steve. "Luke's got an army of lawyers down there, people like Greg end up in hell far more often then you'd think. And this is just one problem. Take a look at Earth right now: political bedlam, wars, cancer-"
"I've been working on that one," God interrupted. "We've made great strides, but you've got to be careful with that sort of thing. I help those who help the-"
"Fixed it," said Steve, who stood up from the desk and began collecting his things. "At least I think so. I talked to some of the doctors up here and they said they'd had a cure for a while, but they had no way of fast-tracking it. I've inserted the idea into the dreams of some of the physicians back on Earth so we'll see what happens."
"But that's..." God paused, and let Steve's solution sink in. "Actually pretty good..."
Steve finished gathering his things together, pulled on his coat, and started towards the golden gates of the antechamber's entrance. God leaned heavily upon his marble dais, and looked down at Greg Burn's smiling face once more.
"God," said Steve, stopping at the archway. "I know I'm overly critical, but if you'll allow me, I'd like to make one suggestion. I promise, it will be my last."
God looked up from the paper, met Steve's eye, and gave a gentle nod of his omnipotent head. When Steve finally found the right words, they were filled with uncharacteristic solemnity.
"You could benefit from a human perspective." | After reading the paper again, I couldn't take all the hypocrisy and ignorance in the world. I slammed my fist on the table and grunted, "if only I could run the world for a day" something I've said for years now. I glanced up from an article I wasn't very interested in to see a very irritated man looking at me.
"Can I help you?" I asked him, hoping he would just go away.
"No, but I can help you. I'm sick of hearing all this crap about how I run the earth. So I'm presenting you with an offer. I'm God. Nice to meet you." The man was obviously insane.
"Sure buddy. And I'm the antichrist."
"We won't get into that just now. But yes I am the God. Now, back to my offer. You run the world for one day and I don't have to hear you complain about it anymore. Agreed?"
"Uh huh, sure. I'm gonna have to ask you to leave."
He snapped his fingers and I looked around me to see a control panel. Rather large but everything was labeled and there was a manual next to the chair.
"Have at it." He snapped his fingers again, I'm thinking just for show at this point, and vanished. Well then. Guess I've got a world to run.
The buttons were easy and manipulating the weather in a few American states was fun, but then I guess I started taking it seriously. I broke out the manual and began my search. I familiarized myself with the conditions of free will and divine intervention, and after about two hours I knew what had to be done. I found the button I needed, hidden and rather dusty. Who'd have thought anything a god had would be dusty? Anyway, I found the button and blew off the dust, making sure the label matched the schematic in the manual. I read the manual once more, to be sure, then pressed the button gently. Things began to slowly change. Wars suddenly stopped and I stopped receiving prayers on screen. I zoomed in to be sure it worked. Sure enough, everything was peaceful. I spent the rest of my time watching a documentary on atheism.
God poofed back in (I don't know what to call it he wasn't there and then he was and it was dusty so poof?) and asked how bad I screwed up. I told him I fixed it. He stepped over me and checked the controls. He frantically pulled up graphs and readings of everything going on and seems like he was panicking really. "How the hell did you do this?" He gasped.
"Easy. Hive mind. Right there in the manual. Now every human feels and hears what every other human feels and thinks. All the time." I smirked a little. God couldn't read a manual. He just stood there hunched over the controls with his mouth open. "You mind if I go back now?" I asked. He closed his mouth, stood up straight and just nodded, snapping his fingers again.
Edit: spelling and punctuation. | 2017-03-05T02:28:32 | 2017-03-05T02:02:16 | 407 | 65 |
[WP] You're homeless, sleeping on the street in NYC. You have no family, no friends, and no where to go. After 5 years living like this, a man in a fancy black suit walks by where you're begging and hands you a blank check. Then he says "Knock yourself out, kid." | “Knock yourself out, kid.”
It’s become almost Pavlovian: my hand shot out, palm upward. “God bless,” I didn’t hear the words anymore, let alone mean them.
He wore a plain black suit that looked like it had just been dry cleaned. I’m not a fashion connoisseur, but it looked quality. Expensive. He wore black leather gloves despite the heat.
To be honest he looked like a bad James Bond cosplay.
A folded piece of paper was pinched between two outstretched fingers.
I reached for it, but he snapped it back just before I could grab it. A mischievous grin spread across his clean-shaven face. “Ah, ah, ah.” His pale blue eyes twinkled in the afternoon sun.
“Fuck you,” Now *that* I did mean. Half a decade on the streets, and this half-baked stockbroker was in the wrong neighborhood. As if to illustrate the point, muffled police sirens resumed their incessant wail a few blocks out.
I hawked up a wad of phlegm and spat it right between his feet- a few droplets of spit hit his freshly shined shoes.
He chuckled. There was no kindness in it. “Relax, kid. You’re rich.”
“Rich?”
“Rich.” He repeated.
He handed the paper over, and I unfolded it: It *was* a check. A *blank* check with the name “Aaron Howarth.”
“What the fuck?”
“Like I said, kid. Knock yourself out.” He winked at me and stepped into the street.
“What the fuck?” I repeatedly numbly, trying to process what was happening as he crossed the street and disappeared.
…
I was acutely aware of my odor as I walked into the cool bank lobby with my tattered Jansport backpack, soiled jeans, and stained Ramons tee shirt.
Ignoring the stares, I walked up to the front counter and loudly cleared my throat. “I’d like to withdraw…” I looked down at the check and shrugged. “One million dollars.”
“I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She was wearing too much makeup. Her eyebrows bunched together like two worms fighting for the high ground.
“Go get me a pen, lady, I gotta fill this out.” I hawked up another wad of thick phlegm, briefly considered the plush blue carpet, but swallowed it.
She folded her arms across her chest.
“This is legit,” I waved the check around like a surrender flag. “I just want to cash my check.”
Someone from behind me gripped my wrist. I knew it was a cop even before I heard the crackle of his police radio.
“You’re making a mistake,” I said, still staring at this bitch of a teller. The handcuffs clinked into place.
“That’s definitely him, detective.” A familiar voice said.
I spun around, facing a uniformed police officer, a detective in a cheap suit, and *him-* the stranger that had given me the check.
“That’s the man I saw coming out of his house last night.” He was still pointing at me. He wasn’t wearing gloves anymore.
He wasn’t smiling anymore.
“What is this?” I croaked.
The detective stared at me. Dark bags hung under his eyes, and his breath stank of coffee and cigarettes. “You’re under arrest for the murder of Aaron Horwath. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…”
The cop knelt down and started tossing my backpack as the detective rattled off the Miranda Rights. I wish I could say this was my first time.
“Can someone tell me *what the fuck is going on?!”* I started to panic. *Murder*? The bundle of heroin at the bottom of my backpack was the least of my problems.
“Detective.” The uniformed officer pulled a knife out of my backpack. A knife that I’ve never seen before. *Knock yourself out, kid.* He had approached from behind me. Where my backpack was. I hadn’t been looking at him when he first showed up. Dread began to blossom in the pit of my stomach.
The rust-color of dried blood was all over the blade.
"That's not mine..." I said dumbly. They ignored me.
The detective snapped on a latex glove and plucked the blank check off the counter.
“Check #121,” he scratched his scruffy neck with the ungloved hand. “The one that’s missing from his checkbook. My friend, you and I are going to have a conversation.”
“A... conversation?” Things were happening too fast. I started to feel nauseous.
“Let’s head downtown. I’ll buy you a soda.”
“Downtown?” I felt like I had to shit. My knees started trembling.
The detective put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “The last thing we want is for you to get caught in a lie. Let's just get in front of this thing,” he gestured vaguely toward the check and knife. “You're already dead to rights- and we both know your DNA is going to be on or near that crime scene.”
I glanced at my accuser in his fancy black suit. Those pale blue murderous eyes.
His shoes were clean. Too clean. In agony I thought about the spittle that had landed on those shoes just a short while ago. My DNA. As if reading my thoughts, he winked at me.
I screamed as I was stuffed into the back of the police car.
I couldn’t stop screaming.
\_\_\_
r/epaulfiction | August 22nd, 2020: I stared down at this piece of paper that could change my life. That could change a lot of lives.
“Are you sure..” I start to ask, but he’s already gone. Looking at my meager belongings, I realize someone else can use what I can replace. I leave everything but my wallet, a battered old strip of leather that’s falling apart. I dream of buying a new one. The same kind. It has held up to a lot, so it must be quality.
I can’t help myself. Over five years of this, and I’ve never lost my optimism. I’ve seen the worst side of people. I’ve watched people fight, I’ve seen people die. The night I saw the light in a young boys eyes fade out, a drive by victim, still haunts me. I have nightmares.
Maybe it’s all been too much. Maybe I’m ready for a little hope. I walk to the nearest check cashing place. What amount, I ask myself. What is enough, but not greedy? Then I throw caution to the wind. One million dollars. I’m going for it, and so help me, I swear I’ll help others with this money.
The check cashing place is jammed. I wait three hours. When I get to the counter, I hit a roadblock.
“We can’t cash this, ma’am.” The clerk sneers the word ma’am at me.
I stare, unable to speak. I can feel my face collapse. His face softens as he takes pity on me.
“It’s drawn on a Chase account,” he explains. “Take it there.”
Numb, I take the check back. It’s ok, I repeat inside my head. It’s going to be ok. I know Chase, let me get there. Only four blocks to go.
I make it, with ten minutes to spare.
The clerk looks over the check. Then he looks over it again, and stares at me.
“What?” I snap. Rude, but I can’t help it. I’m so tired, and I feel so defeated. This was obviously a prank.
“One moment, ma’am.” I’m too angry to notice he said ma’am with no condescension.
When he comes back he has a lady with him. Her eyes are kind, though her expression is serious.
“Come with me.”
It wasn’t a request. I went through the door beside the counter, and followed her down a long hall. An elevator. Another long hall. Another elevator. I’m lost. I’m tired. I’m in tears. My feet ache. Still, I follow. Silent.
She opens a door and waves in front of her. I should proceed her into the room. Well, this is where I die, I think, hysterically. A laugh slips out, then a sob.
When I step in, the man who handed me the check is sitting at a desk.
He gestures for me to sit. Then he begins to talk.
September 1st, 2020: The applause is overwhelming. The crowd is huge. I’m standing next to the Mayor, trying to breathe and stay calm. He’s talking, but I hear the teacher from Peanuts. I’m quietly panicking. The applause gets louder. I realize it’s my turn. I step forward and grip the podium.
“My name is Alaina Sumner. Ten days ago I was sleeping on that very corner. I slept there for five years. Many of you here probably passed me, often, and never looked my way. The homeless are invisible in this country. But that’s about to change. Thanks to a very generous private donation, we are here, celebrating the opening of Blank Check Services, a program dedicated to ending homelessness, creating a workforce, and educating the people society has forever looked down on, instead of offering a hand up. Things are going to change, starting here, in New York City.”
The roars got louder. The applause was ringing. The people came from any number of backgrounds. I could pick out the wealthy. The well to do. The homeless. The working poor. All gathered to celebrate helping the downtrodden. The dregs of society. The forgotten. My entire life changed in that bank room. The suited man’s tale had enraptured me. Drawn me in. I was now dedicated to making this work.
Finally, I spotted him in the crowd. He stared at me. I nodded. He nodded back. Then slipped away. | 2020-08-22T20:44:42 | 2020-08-22T17:54:26 | 526 | 332 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle | “Hey! Blankie!” A blast of light came at my face as I quickly dodged, used to him doing this exact thing.
I turned to see an absolute hulk of a man, his eyes dimming back to normal, as he came over to me chuckling to himself as he knew what he would be getting , just like every day. He stuck his hand out. “Hand it over, wimp.” He sneered. “Or do you want to show just how pitiful your empty circle is?”
He had taunted me like this for ages. James called his sigil, a bright sun over an old town on his back, the “light of the world”. He claimed that it was the strongest sitio on campus, and almost everyone decided to stay away from his antics. “No, I’ve told you already. I’m not showing it. That's final.” I had a plain, untouched circle on my wrist. Nothing special. “Actually, I’ve been getting bored of that answer. Let’s change it, shall we?” A whole bunch of the boys with versions of fist sigils came out, about 5. Fist sigils essentially allow people to attack much stronger, to the point of breaking bones. I sighed. This wasn’t going to be fun. “You want to see it that badly? Fine. Get over here.” I told him. “What? No?” He retorted rudely, stepping back in disgust as my own eyes turned black, to counteract his own usually radiant white pupils. black.
“I don’t think you understood." I acted shocked that he would “disobey” me, and when I looked at him, my eyes went from black, to blinking between black and red.
"Get over here.”
I pressed my wrist sigil, and looked at James. He started to shake, uncontrollably, as light started to be sucked into my sigil from his eyes. He started to scream, and after about 5 seconds of others looking on in agony, the light finally left his eyes. I smiled. “Who’s next?” I looked at the rest of the bullies. They all ran.
My sigil on my wrist now showed “1”.
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------
&#x200B;
Okay, I actually love this premise. The idea of a simple sigil, especially in a world with(what I assume to be) lots of really complex ones would probably be either
A) Taken as a form of weakness, as something that would be laughed at and mocked because of how basic it is.
or
B) Feared immensely because, if its that simple, there has to be something primal to it, and if you've been watching anything about primal power, its definitely a thing not to be messed with.
Still, love the idea, and I may do a part 2? Who knows? | I dont know how many of you are interested in biology, and i dont know how many of you know how a human fetus developes inside the womb. But we all start as a circle, a ring if you will.
Andrew was this dude at my school, who was probably the most popular kid, had one of the coolest powers (basically he was johnny the flame), was incredibly good looking and decided to use his free time in school to bully me. Also he didn't know how a fetus develops.
You are probably wondering why I keep bringing this up, and I can understand that it might confuse or annoy you. But believe me when I say it is important.
It was the first day of school after summer break and I decided to no longer play their game. The last five years have been hell and I was tired of it. I decided that this year would be different. The thing is, my power was not very cool, or fancy, but very effective, harmful and very gross. That's why I was never allowed to use it, after my parents found out what it was.
Anyway, walking in on the first day of school, I knew what was coming. Andrew approached me, wanted to do the same old routine of pouring chocolate milk in my school bag, punching me, putting trash in my locker, but this time he didn't really have a chance to do that. He started to talk: "Hey loser, did you miss-" his sentence ruptured.
But his sentence was not the only thing that ruptured.
If you remember what I told you in the beginning, you probably know what comes next. The first thing that develops on a human fetus is the anus, and fighting or doing basically anything with a ruptured sphincter is hard.
The last thing I enjoyed before I got suspended from school, is Andrews walk of shame to the toilet, while feces was running down his pants. Worth it. | 2020-02-26T09:23:25 | 2020-02-26T09:05:57 | 25 | 13 |
[WP] Need something neat in a superhero theme for a child's cancer fundraiser story.
Hi!
My boss's 3 year old nephew is currently battling cancer for a second time and the prognosis isn't the greatest. She owns a cupcake shop and for the month of September we are doing a month long fundraiser for him and his family. He is completely in love with superheroes. I am not great with stories and instead of just listing facts I thought it would be cool to have a fun superhero story about the two of them that has the facts inside as a flyer for people interested.
The story must include these characters:
- The Real McKoy - This will be the main character as McKoy is the child with cancer. My boss really likes this as his super hero name.
- Captain Sawyer - His twin brother. I was kind of thinking that his twin brother turned to the super world to help his superhero brother out? But am okay with any ideas and direction you go as long as he's his right hand man.
- The villain is unnamed so have fun but it needs to be family friendly.
This is his medical story and my boss would like as much used as possible but I understand if you can't include all of it in the story.
- McKoy was diagnosed with a stage 4 Wilms tumor in July 2014 on his kidney. It had also metastasized in his lungs & lymph nodes.
- He underwent 10 months of chemo & 8 days of radiation. In April 2015 he rang the bell celebrating the end of chemo and no evidence of Cancer.
- May 2015 he went back to the hospital due to severe headaches and they found out he had a tumor on his brain. Came back as a Wilms tumor.
- The tumor was removed successfully June 2015.
- Before starting treatment he went on his Make A Wish trip.
- He is currently doing a combination of outpatient and inpatient chemo combined with 18-proton radiation treatments. At the end of it all he will undergo a stem cell transplant.
- Wilms in the brain is very rare: affecting only 0.5% of Wilms patients. Although the cure rate for McKoy is low at 10-15%, his oncologists are going for a full cure.
I have some pictures so you can have a reference of what he looks like. The flyers will be by his huge display that I'm making.
http://imgur.com/a/7AHE6
I know this is a lot of information and may be difficult so I understand if this just isn't feasible but figured I'd reach out and try. Thank you!!
EDIT: If I use your story I will send you a PM asking for your real name or user name (assuming it is appropriate for a child's story) to give you credit. If you do not wish to be credited then I will put Anonymous. :)
EDIT 2: If you want to follow his progress as he goes to battle feel free to do so [here](https://www.facebook.com/pages/Team-McKoy/1455989124659414?fref=ts).
EDIT 3: These are amazing! Thank you guys so much for this. When my boss comes in today I'm going to let her read them and decide. I showed my coworkers and we loved all of them... So this is definitely going to be tough. This is definitely better than anything I could have come up with. I'll keep you guys updated on what we decide and will send a PM to get info to give credit. I also can't wait to show his mom. She herself is a superwoman by taking all of this like a pro and keeping herself together to care for all 5 of her kids. I know she'd give each of you guys the biggest hug if she could for these amazing stories. <3 | The Real McKoy was a superhero, the greatest among superheroes. He had superpowers that made him the strongest man on Earth. Super strength, super speed, even flight! He was undefeated in combat. It was said that his shield could deflect any attack, while his sword could cut through anything. But the Real McKoy's powers and equipment were not what made him a superhero.
Every superhero needs a great hideout, and the Real McKoy had the best secret hideout ever. It had a bed for him to sleep him - the bed even moved up and down, and could be moved around when needed. There were many advanced machines in the hideout. Some of them beeped, some of them had flashing lights, and some of them made the Real McKoy stronger by giving him special serums. The hideout was full of the Real McKoy's friends and teammates, who would work with him to defeat any foe. But it was not the hideout, or the machines, or the people that made him a superhero.
The Real McKoy had a partner, Captain Sawyer. They would fight evil together, day after day. There was no enemy they could not overcome together, because they understood the power of teamwork and friendship. They helped each other whenever it was needed, because they shared a bond that went beyond any other. The bond that comes from brotherhood, from being one half of a whole. But having a partner was not what made the Real McKoy a superhero.
The Real McKoy was a superhero because he had courage, the most important quality in a superhero. The Real McKoy was brave, even when he faced enemies he could not see or fight with his sword and shield. He would never give up, no matter how tough the fight seemed. All superheroes are brave, and the Real McKoy was the bravest among them. That made him the greatest among superheroes. | #The Real McKoy and Captain Sawyer vs. The Destroyer
The quite Real McKoy
And Captain Sawyer,
Partners in crime
Against the Destroyer.
The Real McKoy fought
Aided by his Capt.
Around McKoy
The Destroyer was wrapped
An army of Chemo,
With wick'd vexation
Aided by eight
Generals o' Radiation
The heroes fought
With McKoy taking blows
Slowly they won,
The Destroyer not close
After their struggle
The two twins rejoiced
The Destroyer, a cancer,
Was no longer voiced
He had started
Remission, and before long
The nasty affliction
Was completely gone
_______________
It's not exactly what you asked for, but I hope it works. It's not as lighthearted as I think you wanted but... oh well. Good luck to our little protagonist! | 2015-08-31T19:13:02 | 2015-08-31T18:58:38 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much! | The problem with life magic is that it's so damn boring. I know, I know - that sounds silly, doesn't it? We're so popular. Who wouldn't love a man who can mend a broken bone with a gesture? Cure arthritis, grow back a missing limb. Make a paralyzed man walk.
Every village has a life mage - or wishes it did. In the cities, we're constantly in demand. I could walk into any of the trade hubs along the Kairen sea and be rich in a week. I've got more than enough talent for it.
But it's so damn *boring*. The same problems, over and over. The same dull, banal issues. Bones want to go back together the same way they came apart. The human body *wants* to work. It's so easy. Just a little pulse of magic, helping the body do what it already wants to. There's no thought, no finesse, no skill involved. You don't need to be good at your job, you just need to be a battery to help the body do what it wanted to do anyway.
There's no art in that.
Life magic is the magic of growth, and renewal, and change.
Change - now *that's* interesting. Anyone can grow an arm back. Anyone can regenerate damaged nerves. That's what your body wanted anyway - it's as easy as coloring in the lines of a book. But change, that requires real skill. Taking something living, and making it more than what it was - more than what it ever could have been - that's where the true challenge of life magic is. That's where you can truly show the world that you're more than just another quick fix for their broken bones or lamed horses.
I thought you might enjoy understanding why you're here. Sure, we could do something simple, like fixing that arm of yours. But I think it would be ever so much more interesting to do something neat - have you ever heard of cancer? No? That's okay. Most people haven't.
We're going to see how much of it your body can hold, before I can't keep you alive any longer. It should be fun. The last guy lived for *weeks*. I think you'll outlast him, personally. I'm a lot better at this now. And now I know to make sure to keep your airway open. That was rather amateurish of me, I must admit. What a silly mistake, yeah? Certainly won't do that again. Not with you. You're going to last such a very long time. | Of Wizards, it is known that they are highly dangerous beings of terrific power. All across Midgard, they are kept occupied by quests and adventures.
It was after the aftermath of one adventure that sunk the ancient peace loving nation of Avulsey to the sea that a small team of 1 to 4 Wizards learnt of the Dark Lord Totali Knot-Sauron, who was building an army to the East.
After re-learning the elemental spells in a helpful tutorial, voiced by a black cloaked figure who vas very handsome and not at all a vampire, they journeyed westward to vanquish their loot-holding foe.
---
After blowing up several villages and decimating to 1/10th the population of goblin tribes, the one to four heroes, each with elemental magics being used successfully reached the Dread Tower of the Dark Lord Totali Knott-Sauron.
Upon finding the door was locked, and their spells didn't work, they buggered off south to go on holiday somewhere tropical.
When they returned, 12 years later, the Dark Lord Totali-Knott Sauron had created a free hospital service where trained land-orca whales would treat humans for all aliments.
Seeing this as the big plot it is, the wizards froze the Dark Lord then chucked him in a conjured volcano for ten minutes until fully cooked.
They rejoiced as the nation went into a dark age of terror under the rule of wizards, as the Dark Lord did a lot of good for the people.
By Tyr's Day they got bored and returned to Castle Alfheim. | 2016-11-12T10:49:45 | 2016-11-12T10:02:44 | 94 | 11 |
[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. | PeculiarPete was scrolling through /r/Jokes when he realized something.
He took his idea and went over to another subreddit and began scrolling back through some old prompts when he saw something that captured his fancy.
*"Writing Prompt[WP] Humans blood gets darker the more evil we do. One day you are suspected of murder, they draw your blood to test if you are truely a murderer. You blood is a clear white. You realize that you can get a way with almost everything now, seeing as to how you actually did commit the murder"*
"What a novel idea!" Pete thought to himself, and suddenly realized he need only reverse the characters Plight.
He began to write *"[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."*
As he typed his dog came up to him and gave his skin a little nibble, when a peculiar thing happened to Pete, his skin was broken but his blood did not drip. Darker than jet black it looked as if his wounded flesh had ceased to exist. He reached over and took a sip of his
Fanta:Black, when we see the F fall off to reveal a V.
A story to truly fit the name "PeculiarPete"
| Turns out following the rules of god was the wrong way..
Turns out following the Bible to a t, never wearing cotton, the whole fish thing was wrong..
That woman who was dying I couldn’t touch her,
Turns out slaves where bad...
Turns out cutting my wife’s hands off was evil..
I needed a moment
| 2018-08-04T11:11:45 | 2018-08-04T09:44:59 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | "When we first visited the planet, we saw how silent it was. The inhabitants communicated through speech and actions, but were often silent, contemplative, staring into devices.
"They communicated via waves and digital methods. Images, and spoken communications. We easily interpreted them, but found nothing of value.
"The technology orbiting their planet had markings on them, common symbols of their allegiance. Seeing these markings symbolizing allegiance is always a good sign of quick conquest; tribalism and schism in a planet always made for short and bloody work.
"We are born into a loud world, a world of action. Our people learn at an early age how to speak and interpret actions. We learn everything from our elders, watching them, memorizing their instructions and speeches, movements and exercises repeated until perfected.
"This world had speech and had instructional institutions, but there was little memorization from what we saw. In fact, we saw that their instructors would prattle on, while students did little to engage. They just sat in contemplation, silent, engrossed in their devices.
"The planet had not achieved inter-planetary spaceflight yet. No wonder. On our world, we have institutions where the young build the creations of old, the creations of new, thousands, millions of generations building technology on each other. Our best knew how to design the simplest gliding vehicle, component to component, from scratch, as well as our engine of interplanetary travel. We are a fiercely learned society, rote and repetition, discipline, practice has made us each great.
"We took over their method of video and audio communications first. How could anybody fight us without the communication? Without commands? Without visuals? This planet had no telepathic ability. This divided, tribal, silent and contemplative planet would fall in no time against our coordinated brutal attack.
"We projected our message to them on all video and audio channels. We were coming, they had no hope to survive, surrender now. Over and over, repeated, so that they would learn. The only image they could hope to see on their devices was our own symbol of planetary conquest.
"But when we came, they were prepared. The tribes had banded together. How they had known to do so? A mystery! They knew our positions. But we had destroyed any method of them being able to send an image of our position! Or to verbally advise each other of our position! A series of explosive projectiles took out my squadron that hovered over a vast body of water. But there was no way this planet - this non-telepathic planet - could have communicated our position! We obscured all visual and aural technology, but somehow they knew!
"Somebody suggested it was the symbols. The hashes and circles. That the intense tribal iconography was actually a form of communication. We dismissed it, and I suppose that it does not matter. I cannot contemplate how a being is supposed to learn each individual symbol and formulate such complex communications with it. Pictures, I could understand -- Pictography of mountains! Water! Birds!
"But hashes, cross-hatches, scribbles? What sort of technology was that?
"Now I will repeat this exact screed seven more times, younglings. You will be expected to repeat this word for word back to me by the end of the day." | It's been 1720 days since they arrived. I don't think they were expecting the resistance they would encounter when they first dropped out of the sky that otherwise normal May morning, but they are a resourceful bunch. Too resourceful. All they have on us is numbers, and sometimes, that's all the resources you need.
We first detected their ships accidentally, one day. Apparently some scientists were using some kind of new technology to be able to detect metals on far away objects, such as the moon or other planets in the solar system.. I don't know. Anyway, there it was, two giant ships suddenly appear just past mars. No one knew what to think - is this real? 6 months it took them to get from Mars to orbit around Earth.. and then the real horror began. Thousands upon thousands of these beings emptied from the bellies of these ships like flies from a corpse poked with a stick. They fought with their claws. Carapace like iron. No technology to speak of - I suppose they never really had to develop weapons to do their fighting for them.
Fortunately for us, we have spent the last few hundred years fighting each other, it didn't take long for our military experts and scientists to sort out an easy way to kill them - only needed a few corpses to play with and there we had it; depleted uranium rounds worked great, but there was a limited supply of those. AP rounds were the next best thing, we had LOTS of those.
Anyway, fast forward four years. We would have won a long time ago but they breed so damn fast. Furthermore they seem to come out of their.. gestation egg.. already knowing how to fight. We ran out of ammunition about 8 months after they showed up and true to our nature, science took over and developed all kinds of new ways of using our natural resources as weapons. From water jet sentry turrets that are as good as lasers at short range to actual lasers. Luckily for us, the only thing their ships appear to be good for was bringing them here, and floating around in orbit being useless. Even their landing vessels are useless. If they could have simply picked up their troops and dropped them strategically they might have had a chance but no. | 2014-10-17T10:26:00 | 2014-10-17T10:04:02 | 142 | 29 |
[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. | "Have you ever considered, you know, doing something with your lives Seamus?" Death sat next to me in the pub, taking a swig of his pint.
"What do you mean!? I've finally perfected the brew, can't you taste how amazing this is? I have it on good authority that it's the best in the universe!"
"Seamus, you perfected this brew well over a century ago. Yes, it's the best beer in history, but surely there's still more you can do. I mean, it's gotta be divine intervention right? Nobody is supposed to win the coin toss. 235 fucking times Seamus. That's how many in a fucking row that you've won. Don't you think maybe you're genuinely mean to be doing something with all this time instead of sitting here getting blitzed? You don't even get any fucking customers out in the goddamn middle of nowhere except Joe in the corner there!"
At the mention of his name, the little old white bearded man in the corner roused himself just enough to look up from his half gone pint for a moment, mutter something unintelligible, and then seemingly go back to sleep.
Seamus, glanced over at Joe "Oi, don't be knocking Joe. He's been my loyal customer for years now, and he knows the true value of my brew."
Death had stopped all the theatrics centuries ago. He showed up in the modern dress of Ireland these days. Neither he nor Seamus could fake an accent to save their lives, but may as well blend in. He had last been at the pub 80 years ago when it was new, and 95 years before that at the tavern in Britain. Always whenever he came to visit "Seamus" was in his personal drinking establishment, serving up his same brew. Nothing ever changed with him, not even the result of the coin toss.
Death swigged down the last of the pint, it really was beyond compare. He'd been all over the world, through all the years, and he'd still never had a brew as good. Seamus was right, he really had perfected it.
"Welp, I got work to do, you know the rules, you get to call it, I get to flip it."
Seamus gargled "heads" through a sip of his drink.
Death used to think he was cheating. He knew it wasn't possible, but still, death couldn't figure out how to recreate that beer, so maybe Seamus had other secrets. Even so, it never mattered what Seamus called. Death tossed the coin in every way he possibly knew. It always came up in Seamus' favor. So this time was no surprise either. The coin landed, death swiped it up, grabbed his coat, and headed for the door.
"92 years, 84 days, 8 hours. I'll see you then."
"Oh aye laddy. Sounds grand. I'll have your drink waiting for you." Seamus said in his awful fake accent.
After death had left, Seamus went over to sit with his only other patron. The only patron he would ever need for all time.
"Thanks again Joe, guess I get to keep on brewing for you for another 92 years!"
Jehova looked up from his beer with a big smile.
"It really is the best in the universe!"
Edit:
Jesus! that blew up pretty thoroughly! I really appreciate all the compliments. Makes me feel good about taking the time to write it! | The solid gold coin flew through the air, slowly arcing as I watched it tentatively. It collided with the ground, making a solid thunk. Slowly, I walked over to it and looked down to see which face was looking back at me. It was heads. The skulls eyes stared back into mine, I could almost feel hatred radiating from it. I looked up at my competitor and stepped back without touching the coin. He stepped forwards, looked down at the coin, somehow clucked his tongue and looked at me.
"You win. Again." He said in that deep, booming voice he's had since the day we first met all those years ago. I smiled at him, stepped forward and offered him my hand.
"Good show as always." We shook hands, his bony hand was cold in my fleshy mitt.
"Next time, you die. For good." Death stared at me. The sockets where his eyes should have been were pitch black, but I swear I could see a faint glint from inside. A wide grin spread across my face.
"I don't think so friend," I said cheerfully. "I think I'll keep on winning and you'll keep on losing. Every couple of years we'll meet back here, we'll flip the very same coin that rests at our feet and the outcome will always be the same. I'll walk outta here safely and you'll go back to reaping your crop." Death stared me dead in the eyes. I could see the fury hidden in there.
"Goodbye, Carter. Please don't show up here again for at least another 80 years." His voice didn't sound anywhere near as boomy and loud as it had previously. He sounded defeated.
"I'll try not to. Goodbye, friend." I patted him on the shoulder and walked out of the endless white void that was Death's Realm. I awoke in the mortuary freezer, stalactites hung from the ceiling. I sat up, swung my legs down over the gurney I lay on and heard a loud thunk. I looked down and at my feet was the gold coin I'd flipped only moments ago with Death. I laughed, picked up the coin and walked out of the freezer to find my pants.
-
If you enjoyed this read my other writings. /r/Ceruberus | 2016-09-23T09:14:52 | 2016-09-23T06:57:22 | 2,418 | 132 |
[WP] You meet God before reincarnation and you discover that there is a prestige system going on. In your previous incarnations you chose to improve weirdly specific stats. | I had died. The last thing I remembered was a battlefield. The ground was seeped in blood. It bubbled up in your footprints, the way water might from mud following a spring rainstorm. I had been thrown from my horse. The ground shook with the impact of a cannon shot and my world exploded. Then I woke up here.
In front of me sat God.
He stared down at me. A slight frown on his face.
&#x200B;
“What year is it?” I ask.
‘It is the year 1889.’
“So I am dead then,” I surmised.
‘Yes.’
“What war did I die in?” My memories are hazy at best. My whole life seems like a story I’d read long ago. The precise details are lost but there is a general idea of who I was.
‘The American Civil War.’
Memories came flooding back to me. Of legions of soldiers. Of long marches along dirt roads. I could picture my plantation home. My wife on the white porch reading in the sunlight.
“Who did I fight for?”
‘The south.’
That’s right I’d lived in the great state of Georgia. I’d grown cotton. More memories came back to me of fields stretching to the horizon. Pure, white cotton on brown stalks, as tall as a man, waiting to be picked.
“Did we win?” I query.
‘You lost. Decisively.’
“Soooo, slavery then?” I ask innocently.
‘Abolished.’
“Wait it was 1864 last I remember, how long have I been up here?”
‘You received a 15 year freeze for enslaving other humans. We don’t condone that kind of thing up here.’ If God had a tone to his voice besides omnipotence, I would say this one was disapproval.
“It’s how I was raised. My daddy had slaves, and his daddy before him.” Surely, God can understand being a father. Raising a son.
‘Yes, they all received freezes as well. Your upbringing is no excuse.’
“Well-” I stop. No sense arguing with God. I don’t want another freeze.
“What did I do in my previous lives?” My mind is still hazy. I could barely remember my last life, let alone whatever I’d been doing before then.
‘You were a soldier under Napoleon. You died of hypothermia a short distance outside of Moscow.’
“Fucking Russia.” I mutter. I remembered the cold. I remembered the battle at Borodino.
‘If I recall correctly and I am omniscient, it was France that invaded.’ Again the disapproving tone. Leave it to God to get on my nerves.
“Russia played dirty.” I can picture the burnt villages, the barren landscape, the frozen corpses, and always the bitter, biting cold. I remembered well now the scorched-earth tactics employed by the Cossacks. “Eh, the French can’t believe I was one of them. Invading Russia in the dead of winter, Napoleon, what a fool.”
‘Indeed.’
“So I was a soldier again in my past lives.”
‘You have been a soldier countless times since the dawn of man. It is your most consistent choice. It is where most of your points lie and it is it seems what you are best at.’
“I’m tired of wars then,” I say mostly to myself. Wait what was that he said about points? “What’s this point thing you mentioned?”
‘When you die you are allocated points based on your past life. How long you lived, whether you had a family, your interactions with your fellow man. There are countless criteria we evaluate to determine your point allocation. Too many for your mortal mind to comprehend. Some points are allocated for you based on skills you used most in your life. The rest we leave up to you. We believe in both fate and free will here.’
“Hey, now we’re talking, so how many did I get?” I enquire excitedly.
‘21’
Not too shabby, I think to myself.
‘You may now allocate them where you choose.’
An angel appears before me in radiant glory. He is cloaked in a garment of purest white, threaded with strokes of delicate gold. He holds some kind of glass rectangle to me. It is sturdy in my hand, and the front lights up when I touch it. Words scroll across the surface of the glass and I can move them with my fingers as if by magic! I flip the glass over and the back is made of silver and there in the center, lit white from within, is the symbol of an apple with a single bite taken from it.
“Ah like Eve and the snake in the Garden of Eden,” I ask knowingly.
‘Not quite,’ answers God, and I can swear there is laughter in his voice.
“Well, I’m done with all this soldier and warring crap. I want to contribute to the world. I want to do good. I want to add to the beauty of your earthen kingdom. I want the next century to be different from my others.”
I’ve always wanted to be a painter. Since the Renaissance. I don’t know this based on any memory, it is more a feeling in my gut, it just seems… right. The device is clumsy in my hand. The angel tries to show me how to scroll down the screen. It is awkward under my fingers. The screen jumps and the text never stops quite where I want it to. Thankfully the attribute I am searching for isn’t far down the list.
I pass Antisocial Personality Traits where I seem to have accumulated an oddly large sum of points in my past lives. Anyway, there it is. Artistic Ability. Right above Attention to Detail.
That’s what I want. I prepare to allocate all 21 points into Artistic Ability. The damned screen won’t stay still beneath my finger as I hit the plus sign to add my points. So damn skittish. You’d think God could come up with something better than this touch rectangle wannabe book nonsense. What happened to simple ink and paper?
“There. All done.” I say as I finish. I hand the glass square back to the angel in white.
He looks at the glass, “Are you sure-” he begins.
I cut him off confidently, I must have a lot of points in confidence and charisma I can feel them radiate from my gut, “Yes, absolutely. Send me back in.”
The angel opens his mouth again, but God cuts him off too, ‘So you have chosen, so shall it be.’
God claps his hands and the man disappears.
The angel turns to him, “Lord, he said he wanted to be a painter, but he put all his points in Autocratic Tendencies by mistake.”
‘Who am I to change the fate of a man. If he wanted so badly to be an artist this time, he should have paid closer attention.’
“Oh well, what’s the worst a failed artist could do to the world after all,” quips the angel as he closes Adolphus’s file on the iPad.
&#x200B; | "Stubbed Toe Avoidance?" I stared in disbelief at the floating egg before me. "Wow, there really is a stat for everything, is there?"
From the pure whiteness surrounding me, there came a booming laugh. The egg shook slightly, looking as amused as any egg could get. "Yes, Ugg112358, there's a stat for just about any random quality you can imagine. About a Graham of them, to be exact."
"A... Graham?"
A slight popping sound occurred as the egg suddenly morphed into a small Rubik's cube. "Graham, I believe, is the name of the mathematician who came up with Graham's number. A number which, purely by chance so happened to match the number of qualities humans can change about themselves."
I stared blankly at the unsolved Rubik's cube in front of me. A sudden urge to pick it up and solve it crossed my mind, but I pushed that urge away, just in case this whole "God is real and apparently changes forms so as not to explode our human minds" thing, which a rather oversized parakeet explained to me not 10 transformations ago, proved to be true. Instead, I took a tentative step backward, trying to take in the absurdity of my situation.
"Okay, I know I've asked this four times-"
"Six, actually, if you count the number of times you've thought about saying it." The Rubik's cube before me replied, as it morphed into a Brachiosaurus.
Scrambling backwards, I let out a high-pitched yelp which I was less than proud of, as I tried to avoid getting crushed by the humongous dinosaur suddenly appearing before me.
"Whoops," the Brachiosaur rumbled. "Forgot to warn you. Anyhoo, to answer your question for the sixth time, yes I am what you might call 'God', although you can just call me Ted. Like the Talk, y'know? And yes, this is sort of like a Heaven, but its a rather boring sort of Heaven. Think of it as a waiting room until people like you get reborn."
I blinked twice after I managed to regain my footing. "And there are... points I get based on what I've done in my previous life on Earth?"
The Brachiosaur vanished with another pop. Instead, the booming voice continued. "Yeah, and like, there are stats you can increase for your next life on Earth. Oh, and I'm what you would call an ant now, so try not to squish me, okay? Last time I died, it took me three whole days to respawn."
"Believe me when I say that I have a whole lot to process here, dude - I mean, ma - sorry, I mean God?" I squinted at the floor, trying to find the ant.
"Ted. Like from the Ted Talks. Fun fact, did you know the Talks were named after me? Yeah, the guys who created these were so stoned, I decided to have a little fun, name a bunch of cool talks after myself."
"O-okay, then. Ted. I have so many questions, and I just need a minute to get my thoughts together."
Suddenly, a guitar appeared out of seemingly nowhere. It was an odd shade of pink, and as I walked over to it, seemed to be missing a few strings. "Take all the time you need," said the guitar. "It's my first time doing this, anyways. Most of the time I just appear as a piece of paper."
"Wait, what?" I stepped dead in my tracks, feeling even more confused than when I first appeared in this place.
"Yeah, dude! I mean, Ugg112358. Protocol says I should use the name of your first incarnation, but since you're going to be my replacement, let me just call you... Bob. How's that sound?"
"So I'm not getting... reincarnated? Is this like... the end?"
"Yep," said the pink guitar, now a clump of blue lint on the floor. "You're going to be the next me, actually. You're the only one to get all my stats correct!"
I picked up the blue lint, only half believing the crazy stuff I heard. "What do you mean, get your stats correct? Does this have something to do with the stats I have?"
"Yeah!" The blue lint danced out of my grasp, falling to the floor as a tiny field mouse. Skittling around my feet, the mouse now continued to speak. "356.7 in Matchstick Lighting, -12 Guitar Plucking, 394 in Harry Potter Knowledge, 69 in Stealth, 420 in Lawnmowing... well the list goes on. I have no idea how or why you managed to get those stats all to agree with those I picked when I first got the job, but you - or I should say all your incarnations did!"
I felt as if I had just been hit by a bombshell. "Wait wait wait. Is this a joke?"
The field mouse vanished, and in its place appeared Morgan Freeman. "Certainly not, dear Bob."
"Your voice-"
"Ah, yes. When I'm in this form, I like to use my true voice to speak. I find the previous one slightly too... intimidating. You'll see, when you get my powers."
"Wait. I get to be... you?"
Morgan Freeman winked at me, then snapped his fingers. "The instructions will all come to you with your powers. You'll know what to do. Good luck!"
And with that, he vanished. No pop this time.
I looked down at myself. I was seven - no, eight feet tall. I had purple skin, and wore an intricate suit of gold battle armour. On my right hand was a gauntlet with six gems inlaid into it. As I felt the power of Ted surge into my veins, I grinned and stared at the Infinity Gauntlet on my hand.
"This does put a smile on my face." | 2019-01-24T11:29:05 | 2019-01-24T08:06:38 | 254 | 57 |
[WP] At 14, every human gains the ability to transform into their spirit animal. Your noble family, comprised entirely of wolves, isn't happy with your transformation... | My father Michael Walters and my mother Natalie were both well respected doctors. My older siblings- Vivian, Sam, and Edward were all gifted. Vivian was still moving through med school, Sam and Edward were focusing on engineering degrees.
I was the youngest, and I'd always felt like a disappointment. My whole family moved with grace and ease, keeping an aura of wisdom and poise at all time. I moved with clumsiness and unease. Mom assured me that when the time came, my spirit form would allow me to fully mature. To fit in.
"Don't worry, Peter" she'd say as she kissed me on the head. "You'll be just fine once you find your way."
And I believed her. So I blundered through school as best I could, yearning for the day to come where I'd fit in. To make up for my lack of academic success, I was the prankster of the school. While nobody could count on me to have the right answer to a question, they could count on me to make them laugh. And for now I was content with that.
When the night of my birthday arrived, I was *so* eager. Finally, I'd be able to tap into the wolven wisdom and power that had blessed my family back for generations. Finally, I'd stop being a joke. I'd be *respected* for once.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
"God damn it Natalie" I whispered. "Our son *actually* got a wolf form. How the fuck is that even possible?"
"The spirits don't make mistakes. Maybe this will help him grow up?"
"You know it doesn't work like this, it's supposed to be a manifestation of who you already are. It doesn't help, it friggin *amplifies.* What are we supposed to do? He can't come to clan meetings, you know that. He has zero sense of decorum."
"Yeah... he does not have the temperament for those at all. If we bring him we are going to piss everyone off. Maybe piss them off enough to dethrone *you*. Wait. I have an idea."
"Breathless to hear it."
"We need to roll for his name still, right? If the spirits see fit to grant him a noble one, then *hopefully* we can keep him quiet at clan events and just... I dunno, cultivate an air of mystery?"
"Better than an air of tomfoolery and, I'm sorry but I have to say this, utter incompetence. He failed fourth grade, Natalie. Twice."
"He just has to sit there. He can do that."
"Fine... roll for his spirit name. Fingers crossed."
Nat bent over the star charts, and cast the handful of ancient carved stones. I leaned back from the table and waited for her to reveal what the spirits had chosen as our son's name.
God.
Fucking.
Damn it.
Moon Moon. | I could tell by the way they were looking down at me. They could only growl and howl and whimper, but I could see it in their eyes. They were disappointed and already feeling itchy, just in anticipation. I saw my sister scratch behind her ear with her back paw. I could tell my father wanted to do the same, but out of respect for me, out of the difficulty he must have known I was facing internally, he abstained.
I looked up at them, way up, at first as if upon my family (for they were my family), but soon after that I looked upon them as upon inexhaustible sacks of food. I licked my lips. My father must have seen, and transformed back into a human.
"A damned flea," he said, shaking his head.
He looked much less appetizing in his human form.
"Well son," he continued, walking over to the cupboard, "I'm sorry to have to do this, but until you learn to control this power of yours--and don't worry, you're only 14, and eventually you won't be struck by the unmanageable physical urge to turn into an animal like you are now, like all 14 year old boys are..." He took out a glass jar and walked back over, "we'll have to keep you in here."
He unfastened the jar and tilted it on the ground beside me.
"So here, hop on in."
My sister, transforming back into a human behind my father, nudged him a little during her transformation. My father jerked forward and he tried to steady himself. I saw his palm get rapidly closer to me, blocking out more and more of the light, until it was dark completely.
"Well that solves that," said the father, wiping his hand on his jeans. And all the remaining family members laughed.
---
/r/lalalobsters | 2017-01-21T19:17:27 | 2017-01-21T18:33:16 | 956 | 22 |
[WP]As you make your way through a security checkpoint on the space station, you stop at a booth manned by a bored alien. Not looking up from its paper work, it asks disinterestedly, "Name?" You reply with the same tone, "Legal or preferred?" It replies, "Legal." You sigh, "Experiment J35-59DK0 - B" | Based on lots of experience the average time between saying my legal name and either the alarm going off or a weapon being brandished is eight seconds. The guard did it in three. I was impressed.
We humans have a modality called "resting bitch face" which apparently is *one of* the scariest things possible in the galaxy. When I first started travelling I avoided using it because of the reaction it caused. Little did I know that my "happy face" was actually the *scariest* thing in the galaxy.
I actually make quite a few credits when it appears in entertainment vids. Two seconds is enough to make a fully mature Ghtrelln faint and they would be able to eat elephants back on Terra. For the guard, I had approached with facial expression number six as this was not my first rodeo.
He managed not to shoot me or any of the nearby passerbys. Again, I was impressed. It wouldn't do much to me anyways, between the bodyarmor, personal shields, and human resiliency which made us as a species terrifying, but I did worry about the others in the station.
"Hey Koprilicview, it okay if I call you Rilc? Why don't we put that back in the holster, alright buddy?" He was a Fralip, which when it came to fight or flight was actually pretty high on the fight side. Like a two on the human scale... of one to one-hundred. If he had ran no one would have thought badly of him. Heck, back on his homeworld he would have gotten a commendation medal just for standing his ground.
"That's better buddy" swapping to facial expression number eight. They liked this one. He calmed visibly. I wish I could have led with it but for whatever reason you always started with six then went to eight or eleven, then dialed it back.
"How about we turn off the alarm? Your friends are still coming, but we're scaring the other passengers." Luckily he complied.
It was right around then that he found his voice again "You're.. you.. you're experiment j35..."
"If we're gonna be friends, you need to call me Dave. You want to be friends don't you?" Expression three worked like a charm... he nodded.
&#x200B; | Barely glancing up from its comic, the Anthorian demanded my name. "Legal or preferred?" I inquired, monotonously. "Legal," the bureaucrat replied in a tone that implied a profound disinterest in any information regarding my person. With a sigh, I gave it. "Experiment J35-59DK0 - B." Finally looking up, the alien gave me an analyzing glance. "Psychic?"
"Esper."
"What's the difference?"
"Psychics mostly have anomalous perception, while espers have anomalous abilities."
"So what can you do?"
"Destroy stuff, mainly."
"You a soldier?"
"Until recently," I showed the alien my stump. The unfamiliar features changed into an obvious expression of distaste. Strange, that an Anthorian would be so disconcerted by the loss of a limb. They have plenty to spare. It changed the subject,
"So what's your preferred name, then?"
"Jarl of the Dark Flame, Ulkar the Sun-quencher."
"I think i've heard of you."
"Yeah, they had me do some propaganda stuff. Gotta keep the recruits coming, right?"
"Right. Enjoy your trip, sir." | 2019-03-01T11:15:49 | 2019-03-01T11:09:02 | 126 | 88 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t… | I took a deep breath in. Closing my eyes as I started to open the packet. The research done about my powers took a lot longer than everyone else's. It has been some months after I took the power test. Once the results was mailed in, I sat there excited. My packet was different from the others. Bringing my hopes up that it's something powerful and deserved special treatment.
Once I opened the packet, I poured out all the papers and even the stickers they sent with it. I searched the mess I made, quickly regretting dumping it all out like a box of Legos.
Eventually within the mess. I found it. Quickly flipping though the papers and looked for the name of my power. Instead of it even having a name, the spot was left blank. After that, I noticed the description was also short.
"Don't write any stories".
There was nothing else on the paper. I quickly looked though the words again before beginning to look though the rest of the papers. That was when I realized that everything else was just request from other companies to retake the test.
I was so confused and just sighed. "This whole power thing was never my cup of tea. I guess just the possibility of becoming super strong and famous was just a wish and dream". I then started putting everything back in the packet and sat it down on my nightstand. I then sits down on my bed and picked up my Xbox 360 controller. Putting on my headset.
"Apparently I can't write story bois". They all laughed at me and asked what my power was. "It's undetermined I bet". I looked over at the packet before starting up a COD game.
*6 Years later*
I stepped inside my house and sat down on the couch. Setting the mail down on the coffee table. Starting to open them up and just read the main bits of it. I then just throw everything in the trash.
"It still says I can't write". He shook his head and picked up his Xbox One controller. "Where are we dropping bois".
They instantly began roasting me like always about how I didn't have any powers. They always have since the beginning.
Despite basically being powerless, I still was able to land myself a good computer job. Turns out that area has been lacking in knowledgeable tech wizards for years. I happened to be one of the better employees there.
However it still stood out to me that my power didn't have a name. I haven't wrote anything noteworthy to really see what happens if I did write. I had some companies just say to write and see what happens. I just been to much of a pussy to try it out.
At this point my friends have all agreed that I didn't have any powers. Which was fine by me because I am still able to love happy.
"What if I actually wrote something". I sat down my controller and dug out one of the pieces of mail. Picking up a pen and just began writing what came off the top of my head.
'A beautiful white flower is blooming in the spring'. I sat down my pen and just looked at it. I then just shrugs it off and stood up. Walking over to the kitchen and grabbed a mountain dew bottle.
Then something caught the corner of my eye. A glimpse of white and sun shining through my kitchen window. I looked out of it and seen a single tulip starting to bloom just outside.
It took me a moment to connect the dots as I look back over at the pen. Rushing back over to the paper and crosses out the word white. Writing blue right above it. Going back to the window to see that the tulip had already changed to the color blue.
"No way". I then just began writing. Writing all of my hopes and dreams down on one piece of paper. Before I knew it, I had a crowd of people outside my house. Apparently being famous here at where I live was an bad idea so I crossed that one out.
I then thought about it. This was a lot of power one could have. So after a long ten second decision, I just quickly scratched it all.
"I can't let people know I have this power"! I grabbed a new piece of paper and wrote on it. 'No one can know I have the power to create anything I write'.
A few days has passed and I gotten more mail about my powers. When I opened it I went straight to the point like I always do.
Name: Powerless
Description: No powers have been detected
I looked at it in disbelief. I then picked up my pen and wrote on the paper. 'Ands the powerless guy gets some real life friends and a raise'.
The days that followed was amazing. I got a nice promotion for my hard work and I met some new people at the grocery store. Turns out, whatever I writes come true. The power behind this is far beyond my comprehend that it's best kept a secret. Even then, being known as the famous person to be the first in a thousand years not to have any powers is amazing. I still ended up being famous in the end. | I remember it like it was yesterday. Maybe because it was, i don't know. Ever since they locked me into this pitch black room my sense of time has gone away. What i can say for sure is that it was my 14th birthday. Oh i was so excited. The day you turn 14 is the day you get your power. My entire life up until that point i was dreaming of that day. What id be like, what power id get, how life would be different after, and how id use my power to take over the world.
Other than it being my birthday everything was very normal. I woke up to the rich bitter smell of coffee in the morning. When i entered the kitchen my mom was sitting at the wooden table staring the chocolate cake on the table. On the cake in white lettering was "Happy Birthday! My Little Superhero". When my mom saw me her face lit up and she said,
"Do you know what today is?" I could tell she was joking so with a sly grin i said,
"No, is today special or something." We both laughed. As we were eating the cake my mom saw that her coffee was ready and got up. As she walked over i heard a knock on the door. My heart stopped. I dropped my fork. I took a deep breath. I looked over at my mom and she looked at me with nervous excitement. I got from my chair and waled to the door and opened it. Standing before was a man, no say a being with pitch black skin, no eyes and a wide grin its face. I knew what it was, everyone does. We call them Gift Givers. No one knows the origin of them all we know is that since the dawn of man The Gift Givers were their giving powers to us.
In the Gift Givers hand was a black envelope with a white x on it. It reached out its hand trying to give me the envelope and i took it. As i did that it started chuckling. It turned around and started walking away from my house. Its chuckle soon turned into a manic laugh as it walked farther and farther away. It creeped me out a little bit. I closed the door and went back into the kitchen. My mom was waiting at the table, her cup of coffee hadnt been drunk yet.
"Open it," she said.
I sat down at the table. I looked at the envelope, my hands were shaking. From this point on my life begins i thought to myself. Unbeknownst to me that would mark the end of my life.
I opened the envelope that seemingly pitch black. In it was a piece of paper that was also pitch black with whiter letter on it that read,
"Dont open your eyes"
"Huh?"
"What is it?" My mom said.
"It says dont open your eyes. What does that even mean?" My mom had a puzzled look on her face as she thought about it. then she said,
"why dont you try closing your eyes and see what happens?" Just then i closed my eyes. Immediately after that i heard voices screaming "Dont open your eyes!" They kept saying. The sound of someone cracking their knuckles filled the room. I could hear my mom make a quick gasp.
"Mom?" I opened my eyes and i started screaming. My moms head was rested on the table her neck was longer than normal. it was like someone spun her head around a million times. Her eyes were bulged and her face was purple. Just then people in white rushed into the kitchen. I think i was hit with a tranquilizer dart because when i woke up i was in this room. Theres a speaker somewhere in this room. A robotic voice told me that i was what was known as a an unstable variant. It didnt really explain what that meant it just said that it was unsafe for me to be allowed to be amongst other people. Since then ive just in this room. Sometimes the loud voices come back to me. Yelling DONT OPEN YOUR EYES!
&#x200B;
Please tell me everything wrong with how i wrote this and what i can do to get better. | 2022-05-08T11:24:06 | 2022-05-08T10:30:53 | 91 | 48 |
[WP] Multi-dimensional travel already exists, but no one visits our dimension because it's "that" one | Somewhere, not far off the coast of Florida, a small inter-dimensional rift opens and spits out a dimensional craft not much larger than an elephant that promptly deploys its inflatable anti-hydro surface depressor to keep it from sinking like a stone, and drops unceremoniously into the ocean.
After a few fitful bobs, the small boxy ship settles to a rocking sway, and an internal speaker sounds; "the craft has come to a stop, and will be taxiing to land shortly. You are now free to move about the cabin."
This news was met with shrieks of anguish as many different humanoid bodies of different sizes and shapes stood up violently, grasped at what were presumably their family members, and sobbed, praying or begging to their own respective higher powers.
Something had gone wrong. Something had gone very wrong.
The ship's captain, a wide, substantial, portly man with one large horizontal ocular cavity with three irises and three pupils, three nostrils, and a somewhat impressive handlebar mustache, entered the passenger cabin, flanked by his two flight attendants who were visibly shaken, and cleared his throat.
In a booming dual voice, he declared "ATTENTION PASSENGERS." He cleared his throat once again, as most of the passengers had stopped dead in their tracks, all eyes and infrared cavities fixed on him. "Attention passengers," he now crooned in a comforting, but still deeply seated tone, "this is no reason to be alarmed. We simply got a bit..." he glanced pointedly at the two disheveled and very embarrassed flight attendants who may or may not have been canoodling in the computer room, and knocked the navigation systems awry," off course. But no matter! We will be refueling at this dimension's nearest nuclear power depot, and continue on as planned."
From the back of the ship, a spritely woman, who looked like she couldn't be more than the age of 17, but had silvery locks tied back in a bun with wisps framing her genetically enhanced face stood up. "Excuse me captain? From my calculations we've landed on..." she glanced at her digital notebook, "Earth X-273. This version of our world hasn't invented nuclear travel yet and in fact... uses it for warfare. Which is still here. Not to mention the various forms of criminal activity that have been eradicated on most Earths. I can't ima-"
The captain promptly cut her off "THANK YOU miss, for your input, however I'm sure that we will find an alternative fuel source. After all, our backup engine runs on plasma cathodes. Surely they have /that/ here, it's over three centuries old."
The woman sat down, her face glowing a bright red.
The inter-dimensional tourists were in for one of the worst shocks in their very very long lives. | *ding!*
The head of the council rang the small bell that sat on the desk before him.
"Presiding, the elected representatives of the gathered multiverse," he droned, a line he had spoke multiple times since he had been promoted to council head. As the murmurs dimmed, he glanced around the room and watched a sea of faces stare back at him from the massive circular table: faces all matching his own.
He shuffled the papers before him and cleared his throat.
"First order of business, we have a complaint from Reality-713 concerning the ban on inter-dimensional drug transfer?"
A scruffy, hooded mirror of himself stood up at the opposite end of the table.
"It's just not fair," he whined, and an assorted groan went up from the gathered duplicates.
"I mean," he went on, "have any of you ever tried [REDACTED IN CURRENT REALITY]? It's addicting *and* harmless!"
The council head shuffled his papers once more and rang the bell a few more times as conversation arose among the assembly.
"We will not be adressing this issue any longer - please be seated, council member-"
He was interrupted as a worried voice rang through the crowd.
"Hey, uh, excuse me? I think I'm lost, and - oh my god!"
As one, the council turned to observe the shocked newcomer: a figure resembling themselves, but sporting a t-shirt labeled 'Supreme' and a small, three pronged, spinning device in his hand.
Member 56 leaned over and whispered to his neighbor.
"Oh Jezezus, it's this guy. Someone get the mind wipe." | 2017-12-24T07:10:25 | 2017-12-24T04:12:00 | 81 | 21 |
[WP] Many years in the future. You are a student that puts no effort into getting correct information. Your homework is to summarize the existance of an ancient civilization in one paragraph. Your teacher has assigned you to write your paragraph on "Humans from Earth". | Humanity rose and fell as a species on its single home planet, Earth, named for its primary feature: Dirt. At the height of their civilization, Humanity developed its greatest invention: the Smartphone. These devices were only called phones due to their ability to make phone calls, but truly they were a link to an extra-dimensional being named Siri. Humans would use this connection to get information and recommendations on travel directions, restaurants, places to hide corpses and major life decisions. When a child came of age at 13, he would consult Siri on what to do with his adult life as his relatives celebrated around him and lifted him up in a chair. This was called a Bar-Mitzvah.
Humans were a truly inventive species. Over the years Humans found a way to get on to their own moon while somehow not ever discovering gravity manipulation, a feat that has never been reproduced throughout the federation. It is said that when Lance Armstrong - a Starsailor or as humans called them, a Bicyclist - took his first step onto the moon he said "We're no strangers to love, you know the rules and so do I".
Over time, humanity declined as a civilization. Some scholars believe that Siri tricked the humans into creating a device that would infect them with a compulsion to always be staring at their phones. This was called a Selfie Stick. The loss in productivity due to people becoming trapped in the so called selfie-state eventually lead to a global economic collapse that proved to doom humanity. Other scholars believe there was a great war over two sides of a document held dear to most humans. Roughly half of the society deemed the Right Twix more valuable, while the other half asserted that the Left Twix should hold a more prominent place. Either way, humanity never traveled the stars and eventually became a forgotten memory of our galaxy. | From humble beginnings, foraging in caves and hunting the available mammals, the human developed civilisation. From the humble beginnings of human sacrifices, inhumane torture, and wanton destruction, the species evolved to merely sacrifice humans, torture in the least inhumane ways it could legally justify, and destroy wantonly only that which was politically wise. Eventually, the civilisation, delicately balanced on the arbitrary assignation of monetary value to incorporated institutions collapsed under the weight of its own complication, unable to sustain itself. With little or no perceived value to any of its most significant assets, when the perception of wealth vanished, it had nothing to fall back on and crumbled. Its final days were as its first; foraging in caves and hunting the available mammals. | 2015-11-17T14:30:22 | 2015-11-17T14:23:31 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] You're midway into your flight when you, feeling bored, decided to surf the Internet. You read breaking news about another plane disappearance. You're on that flight. | This wasn't my first time flying, but it was my first time flying transatlantic. I was on a red-eye from New York to Frankfurt, Germany. Everyone was sleeping and I could only stare out the window into the dark ocean for so long. Finally I gave in and pressed the button to summon a flight attendant.
"Yes?" whispered the flight attendant. She smiled at me, but I could tell she was annoyed with having to attend to me.
"I'm sorry." I said. "I can't sleep. I'd like to purchase the in-flight WiFi access. I promise to be quiet and not to disturb my neighbors." I was half joking as I gestured to the man sitting next to me snoring like a freight train. She replied with a nod and a smile and asked me for my credit card. I quietly retrieved my wallet from my jacket pocket and dug out my card from inside. She ran the card and then handed me a small piece of paper with the WiFi password on it.
I opened my laptop and turned down the brightness, so I wouldn't disturb anyone, and began to browse the internet. After about an hour I had exhausted my favorite websites and had to get creative. I had a teacher in high school who told all his students that it was their civic duty to keep up with the news. I'm not sure why I thought about him just then, but I found myself logging into CNN.com. The first thing to load was a huge red banner across the top of the webpage. Then the rest of the webpage caught up, and big white letters appeared in front of the red banner. "TRANSATLANTIC FLIGHT VANISHES. AUTHORITIES PUZZLED."
At first I wasn't worried, not even the slightest bit. There had to have been hundreds, if not thousands, of flights crossing the ocean on any given day. In my stupidity I ignored the breaking news and browsed the rest of the webpage. I read about Mexican drug cartels, a high school football team that was advancing to the national finals despite having a record low budget, and a dog who saved its owner from a house fire. When I returned to the home page the "BREAKING NEWS" banner was still there, and so I finally clicked on it.
*"Air Atlantic flight AC173 has failed to maintain contact and authorities report that they have not heard from the pilot in over two hours."* The article began. *"The flight left JFK Airport this afternoon and is scheduled to land in Frankfurt, Germany at 10:00 pm EST."* My heart was pounding. That was my flight, why couldn't they find us? There must be some mistake.
Suddenly I was all too aware of the presence of someone behind me. I turned around and the flight attendant was standing in the alse looking at me, only this time she was different. This time she seemed to have a sort of aura about her.
"I'm sorry." she said, looking at me with sad eyes.
"What's going on?" I tried to keep my voice low, I was still doing my best not to disturb anyone around us. "Why does this say were missing?" I pointed at my laptop. "Does the pilot know about this?"
She looked at me for a second. "I'm sorry." She said again, but this time she took a deep breathe. "Your flight crashed into the ocean. There were no survivors. You're dead. This plane was never going to Frankfurt."
I wasn't scared, I found I was suddenly relieved. "Well." I paused. "Where are we going then?"
She smiled. "There." she pointed out my window. I followed her finger to where she was pointing and it was the most beautiful place I had ever seen.
| "Hey," your brother says for the second time in ten minutes.
"HEY," he says again, poking you hard in the rib this time.
You sigh a long-suffering sigh and lift the headphones from your ears. "What?"
"Do you see anything yet?" He gestures to the window. "Land? Coastline?"
"No," you tell him. There's nothing but clouds. Clouds and at *least* another hour before you get to your destination, if the schedule you read yesterday was correct. "It'll be a while. Go to sleep."
"I can't," the little asshole whines. "I hate this. I hate flying. I'm going to throw up."
"Vomit bag is over there," you say, rolling your eyes and starting to put your headphones back on, but he grabs your arm.
"I'm *scared,*" he insists, voice shaking, eyes intense. His grip tightens until it almost hurts. "I'm - I'm freaking out, man. You know I hate planes. What if we crash. What if we *die*."
"We'll be *fine*."
"But - "
You shut him up by clamping a hand over his mouth and reach into his bag which has a tablet in it, of course - because god forbid the kid go for an hour without being glued to a screen, right? - and dump it in his lap, maybe a little harder than necessary, and give him a pointed look.
He deflates a little and nods, once.
Except then the next minute, he's grabbing at your arm again. "Look!"
It's a news website. Across the top, in huge, capital letters:
MISSING: FLIGHT 471. HIJACKING? KIDNAPPING? (YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHO WAS ON BOARD!)
He stares at the headline. "Hey - 471! That's our flight."
"Looks like it."
"*Wow*." He stares down at the tablet, fear disappearing as an awestruck little smile spreads across his face.
You've seen that look before. You sigh, again. "First job?"
"What? Oh. Uh, yeah," he says, shifting a little awkwardly in his seat. But at least he's not whining at you any more. "...dude, we're famous!"
"Wake me up in half an hour," you tell him, putting your headphones back on and leaning back in the captain's chair.
Now if only everyone in the back would stop with the screaming, maybe you could get some fucking sleep. | 2015-04-07T19:26:24 | 2015-04-07T19:11:23 | 29 | 13 |
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty. | A deep, primal roar echoed through the hull of the ship, muffled by the doors of the mess hall. It was there the crew of the Leviathan huddled. Roughly 50 of the galaxy's best hunters, trappers and bounty hunters stood,every species and race imaginable, quivering like frightened mice in a trap.
At approximately 2300 hours we recieved a distress transmission about a hostile creature terrorizing the Nionkiia sector; a peaceful but deadly planet colony of semi-primitive hunter-gatherers. Reports of a sentient, feline-esque creature hunting Nionkiian livestock for sport. Our mission was to capture the beast and bring it to Neptune Animal Containment, for research into the newly discovered predator.
We had no idea what we were up against. It proved to be a formidable opponent, dodging our traps, outrunning even our best hunters with ease.
And now it was on our ship.
Thankfully, our crew was evacuated to the mess hall before the creature could cause any fatalities. All but one human female, a diminutive creature that was sent by NAC due to human's innate ability to bond with even the most repulsive creatures in the galaxy.
But not even the human could tame this animal, if the angry yowling of the beast was any indication.
Thankfully, humans were replaceable, cheap labor. Another would be begging to travel the galaxy in a week's time.
The ceiling creaked above us as the creature moved across the communications deck, through the Containment Areas and finally down to our level.
Tension lay thick in the air. The crew murmured with terror, prayers to various higher powers and the occasional muffled sigh of acceptance.
A soft beeping of a keycard opening the locked mess hall doors reverberated around the room.
In stepped the human, smiling brightly with her prize, the beast stood before us, with a bedsheet wrapped around it's neck. A.. collar?
Beaming with pride, the human made a sweeping gesture to the hellish creature.
"I've found us a mascot! Crew of the Leviathan, meet Kitty!" | „Here kitty, kitty, kitty...“ said the human while being in the cargo bay. I never understood that creature, but I’m still fairly new to this crew. But that human is still a mystery to me. However, the captain ordered us to get some of the cargo we need to ship. As I grabbed the inside of the crate, something damaged my skin really bad and a loud „hiss“ appeared. Shocked, I let go what I held and took a step back. That beast again, tried to kill me. But the human ran to me and grabbed with his hands inside the box. „Stay back whit that creature from death!“ i screamed. That predator still tried to attack the human with its hissing sound and claws sharper than anything I saw in my live. „What’s your problem?“ he than asked „ it’s a beautiful cute little kitty“. I said then „ stay here with that devils beast while I bring the loot, I mean the goods to the captain“ | 2019-11-21T08:55:59 | 2019-11-21T06:21:21 | 37 | 21 |
[WP] In a world of magic and mages, where magic can do all sorts of wondrous things, even the darkest of black mages and necromancers fear your...creative use of spells. | 'Look, Terri, we appreciate everything you do, but could you be a little...more conventional? I mean, don't get me wrong,' Vigorno the Destroyer looked to each of his henchmen in turn for support, 'we all like pink as much as the next guy, right lads? But you covering us in pretty pink flowers isn't exactly... um... well, it doesn't exactly fit our *image*, know what I mean?'
His henchman Kaquinorius the Undefeated nodded in agreement. 'It's humiliating. How are we supposed to inflict terror on the people of Debaris Major when our Cloaks of Indestructibility are covered in glitter and rainbows, eh?'
Terri the Creative nodded. 'Gentlemen, I understand. And, just because it's you, I'll cut you a deal.' She waved her hand. The cloaks that Vigorno, Kaquinorius, and Espramal were wearing turned back to a menacing black, complete with shrouds of dark mist weaving about them. 'This is more like it!' Vigorno exclaimed. 'I -- wait a minute!' He lifted his hands. They were a delightful shade of pastel blue with yellow polka dots. 'You bitch!'
Espramal the Horrifying held his enraged leader back with his equally decorated hands. 'Don't, boss, she'll only do something worse! I'm sure there are spells we can use to change them back when we get back to the lair, or gloves or something!'
'Didn't work last time,did it?' Kaquinorius pointed out, 'We tried everything. Every cloak we wore turned fucking *sparkly*. Remember the one that had Hello Kitty plastered all over?'
All three mages shuddered. 'You're right, Quin,' said Vigorno, calmer now, 'this is probably the best we're going to get. Let's get the fuck away before she changes her mind.' And with that, they left. The last thing Terri the Creative heard was Espramal muttering, 'This is what we get for having a little girl as an Arch-Mage.'
She turned all their clothes hot pink, with extra glitter. | This is an odd one, hope you like it.
Its madness clammored the assembly! Not 3,872 years 7 months 15 days 13 hours and 37 minutes had a assembly of magic been called, and this was not even counting non planner time. Answering the call for assembly were Archmagi, Liches, Vampires, the nine lords of hell, and those were the tame attendees. What had roused such a display of magic and power? Why none other than you! You dear reader are on trial for the most heinous abuse of magic ever preformed. Your imagination has warped worlds, killed millions with but a thought, and the worse part about it. You don't even care! Even now you change the forms of every being present. Hey quit that! The nine lords of hell are not toads! See! This is why you are on trial. The nine lords should menacing constructs of pure evil, leering at you soul, but noooo... you made them into toads... therefore you are sentenced to the realm of earth! Before you can do more damage... I pray this is not to late.
| 2017-06-06T14:25:13 | 2017-06-06T11:44:55 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] many young adults claim to have seen a tv show called "teletubbies" as kids, but there is no record of such a show existing.
Shamelessly stolen from vinny vinesauce | **Item #:** SCP-4451
**Object Class:** ~~Euclid~~ Safe
**Special Containment Procedures:** Copies of SCP-4451 must be contained in a locked safe within a sound-proof viewing room. A two man security team composed of bi-sexual eunuchs must guard the entrance at all times. All viewing of SCP-4451 must be done with no video or audio surveillance. Personnel of all levels must receive an A-level personality test before and after viewing. Testing of SPC-4451 must be approved by a level 4 researcher.
**Description:** SCP-4451 is a digital blu-ray copy of "Teletubbies: Episode 1" although this show aired before blu-rays existed. When viewed by pre-pubescent children, a state of euphoric laughter is achieved that lasts for exactly ██ minutes unless the child has seen the episode before, in which case [REDACTED]. Children exposed to SCP-4451 more than once must be terminated immediately.
Anyone post puberty who views SCP-4451 immediately suffer from a complete reversal of sexual orientation and an uncontrollable urge to ████. When prevented from ███████ for 17 hours, victims of SCP-4451 sprout colorful antennae and try to hug and speak in childish mumbling to any human they come into contact with. Each victim who undergoes transformation carry similar properties of SCP-4451 although those they hug and speak to may fully recover if they escape contact within 17 hours. This is extremely difficult for the average human due to the grip and hug strength of 4451's victims exceeding ████ pounds per square inch.
**Additional Notes:** Most people who view SCP-4451 are able to ████ and successfully revert to their original orientation. Victims of 4451 lose all memory of the last 24 hours which has lead to an increase in unsolved ████ cases in the south-western United Sates. It is believed that the video originated in San Fransisco, USA.
The blu-ray came into foundation hands when [REDACTED] was caught trying to play the video during the [REDACTED]. Estimated casualties exceeded ████████. | I frantically searched Google for video clips, hoping to have my memories confirmed- but there was nothing. I searched images, desperately looking for even the tiniest shred of affirmation, but was met only with fan-draw renditions of the show. Memories, like me.
We all remembered watching Teletubbies, that creepy show with the baby sun and strange, cultist, alien people, but there wasn't the slightest bit of proof it existed. Not even a website, not even mock media, merely people discussing it online like some kind of insane cult making up their own religious text.
Some thought it was a prank, others a sign; some went so far as to call it a conspiracy, stating the government was playing mind-tricks on us. I didn't want to think about it, and pushed it aside from the scope of my life. Why bother worrying about a children's show?
Well, I avoided caring until I woke up with the TV screen etched into the flesh of my abdomen, at least.
*Tinky-Winky.*
----
*tfw rising prompt and you just woke up 45 seconds ago and try to write; you can check out /r/resonatingfury for work that's better lol* | 2016-07-01T06:54:32 | 2016-07-01T06:22:12 | 371 | 28 |
[WP] We were warned when we hired our first human crew member that they would pack bond with almost anything. We didn't listen, and now have an apex predator somewhere in the ship, that the human won't stop calling Kitty. | "DAMMIT GERARD, how could you be so dense?"
The captain shouted close enough to Gerard's face that he could practically feel the stench.
"I dont see what the big deal is! Cats are great companions on Earth! Everybody here seems so scared of Pryde, but just look at that cute little face! She wouldn't hurt anybody."
Captain Jols sighed and rubbed her face - where a human's nose would be. Not unlike a human rubbing their nose when theyve worn glasses for too long.
"It is a dangerous beast and it is endangering this entire ship. I'm not even sure how you got it on, but that is a conversation I'll be having with security officer Eklar."
"MEOW?"
Pryde reached out and began to tap at Gerard's Arm.
"Aww, see captain. She wants attention, she is just a baby. Are you hungry girl?"
"MEOW?"
Captain Jols paused for a moment, " Gerard... can you not understand it?"
"Of course I can, she is meowing because she wants food and scritches."
Captain Jols reached into her pocket and pulled out a pea-sized device. She gave it a few gentle shakes and handed it to Gerard.
"Here, swap out your com module. It must not be translating for you correctly."
Gerard looked shocked, "You mean Pryde is actually *talking*?"
"Its amazing your species has lasted as long as it has. How long have you not been able to understand a species so many of you live with?"
Gerard put the device in his ear. Looked over at Pryde and said, "hey girl, can you understand me?"
Pryde's eyes got wide with excitement, "you can understand me now?"
Gerard beamed with glee, "Yes Pryde, I can! Oh this is wonderful! Tell me what you want, can I get you some food?"
"Actually, I could use about tree-fiddy."
And that's when Gerard realized that Pryde was actually a 50 foot reptile from the Paleolithic Era. | „Here kitty, kitty, kitty...“ said the human while being in the cargo bay. I never understood that creature, but I’m still fairly new to this crew. But that human is still a mystery to me. However, the captain ordered us to get some of the cargo we need to ship. As I grabbed the inside of the crate, something damaged my skin really bad and a loud „hiss“ appeared. Shocked, I let go what I held and took a step back. That beast again, tried to kill me. But the human ran to me and grabbed with his hands inside the box. „Stay back whit that creature from death!“ i screamed. That predator still tried to attack the human with its hissing sound and claws sharper than anything I saw in my live. „What’s your problem?“ he than asked „ it’s a beautiful cute little kitty“. I said then „ stay here with that devils beast while I bring the loot, I mean the goods to the captain“ | 2019-11-21T06:53:05 | 2019-11-21T06:21:21 | 150 | 21 |
[WP] Last words aren't just words spoken before death, but actually call death to you. You have known your last words for years and kept death at bay by refusing to speak them. Now, however, they need to be said. | He descended from the dome ceiling without aid of an exosuit. His landing in the middle of the rock garden was quiet and drew little attention from the security drones. After all - he had no sonic resonators or gamma emmiters He had nothing but a standard lifesuit, issued to all peasant Earthians, on their way to mining colonies.
My paramours and pleasurebots took no notice of the visitor, but they looked to me with the same inquisition they always have. I could almost feel the buzzing of communication going on between them on the neural net. They are always curious about my thoughts, considering I've refused to integrate to the collective. My disinclination to have everyone around me know my thoughts is a perversity on Titan, and my neighbors only know of my age and immense personal wealth, never the inner workings of my comparatively limited mind. But it is necessary to guard them from the knowledge of the words. The words that corrupt every one of my thoughts, crying out to be uttered. Begging to be expounded and released for Death to hear and find me to end this hellish perspective once and for all. The words I learned in my 34rd year, when I deposited my paycheck of 600 dollars into an account, which over the centuries has compounded to make me the oldest and wealthiest person in Solar, save Queen Elizabeth II herself.
Still, I recognized his glare. He was an Earthian, judging by the hollow sockets where eyes never sat. His nanobots swarmed around his head, imputing sensory information faster than even my paramours, whose genes are edited and patched daily. I knew why he was here. An assassin sent from one of my rival asteroid harvesters, sent to kill me in whatever way he could. I've never feared these soulless creatures, because they were always with weapons or sentinels that inflict horrible suffering upon me - and yet never have I left this body. He walked unevenly, not used to the atmospheric simulations of the life-dome. As he approached I realized he knew the words. He was going to say the words! If only I had integrated with the collective, I could have asked for help. Feet from me, he opened his tooth-less mouth and said, "Here come dat boi"
Helpless to fate, I could only reply, "o shit whaddup!" | Grass, tall and smooth, traces lines against exposed skin, lying flat against the earth. Across the horizon, the sun begins to set. In departing light, the sky finds itself tinged by deep purple streaks, shooting past clouds to define the dusk. It's heaven here, sometimes. In the palms of both hands, you grip clumps of fragile green, holding vegetation tight, and for a moment you can feel it. Everything. The lonely souls walking downtown streets, tattered shoes holding fragile feet just centimetres over sordid ground below. The half-rate lovers, trading stolen glances late into the night. The urban professionals, the homeless, the coffee-shop dwellers, the hipster low-liers, the 2nd rate parents, the 1st rate parents and their 2nd rate kids, the prisoners, the judges, the police, and the citizens, the businessmen, the artists, and the insane watching rabid moonlight bounce off the metal bars of a supposed caring protection while longing for the plains beyond. You feel it all. And although it's beautiful the time is now and you know it and they know it and even the earth beneath your feet knows it so you take a breath, and prepare to speak.
"Home. I'm ready to go home once again."
And, just like that, so it is.
| 2017-08-07T11:49:49 | 2017-08-07T08:47:50 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] As a human cop in a fantasy world, you’ve never gotten used to how bizarre, insane and ridiculous the crimes can get around here. One day, you’re called in to deal with a situation unlike any you’ve faced before. | "Husband hit me!" the Ogress wailed. "I want him arrest!"
"Wife hit me too!" the Ogre shot back. "I--"
I held up my hands "Sir, you'll both get a chance to--"
"Why cop only believe female can be victim?!" The Ogre demanded. "Look at me black eye!"
"Sir!" I said, more sharply. "I'm not taking anyone's side! I'm here because there was a report of a domestic disturbance. Your neighbors said it sounded like someone was getting murdered in this cave!"
"Me should be so lucky..." the Ogre grumbled.
I sighed, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Look, we can't keep doing this, you guys. Clearly, both of you are contributing to this problem, and both of you need to find a way to fix it."
"Easy fix!" The Ogress snarled, pointing at her husband. "Arrest!"
"She one who need arrest!" The Ogre growled, pointing right back at his wife. "She danger to self and other! Need head doctor!"
"I doctor *you* head!" the Ogress hissed, cocking back a meaty fist.
"ENOUGH!" I roared, loud enough that it actually brought the quarreling couple up short. "Come on, I know neither of you *really* wants me to arrest the other one!"
"Why not?" the Ogre demanded.
"Yeah, why not?" the Ogress agreed, sticking out her chin defiantly.
I couldn't believe it. I opened my mouth to answer, and then closed it again.
"You know what? Fine. Learn the hard way." I pulled out my magic mirror, and traced the rune for Dispatch onto it's surface.
"This is Uruz 312 -- I need a paddy wagon sent to the cave residence on Ymir Street." I said.
The gnomes at Dispatch, naturally, asked what sort of creature I was placing under arrest, and how many there were, so they could send an appropriately sized and enchanted transport to contain them.
I glared at the defiant pair as I replied. "The prisoner? One *very stubborn* two-headed Ogre!" | Hanalei's mind raced as she scribbled noted from a case down into her trusty notepad. She couldn't think straight. Another double homicide, cause of death- thaumaturgy. The victims were a poor centaur child and an older half-elven man. They were in the wrong place at the wrong time...
Hana shook her feelings off. It was time for work, not crying over something she couldn't help. She got back to work, finally settling into the rhythm before the phone rang. She picked it up immediately.
"Kalawai'a. We've got 56-7 on Main. Should be quick."
A 56-7. She hadn't heard that since basic training. Maybe it would be interesting? She hurried to her car, flicking on her lights and heading towards the scene. Hana slammed the door behind her and ran to catch up with Officer Durham and the perp.
"You have to pay that, sir. It's the law." She gestured towards the parking meter. | 2022-12-30T20:54:29 | 2022-12-30T20:27:13 | 221 | 25 |
[WP] you are a powerful warlock that has retired to raise your daughter everything's been going well that is until a couple of her classmates try to sacrifice her after reading about a 'dark spell' online, you've decided to show them what real black magic looks like | “Those fools have no idea what they’re in for”, said the man in black as he looked over his unconscious daughter. The Doctor, used to hearing this kind of thing, went about his business. Glancing over the chart, the Doctor noted that the girl came in from what was reported as an accident, apparently her and some friends were partying in an abandoned building and it caught fire.
There were so many discrepancies in the report though and her injuries didn’t match up. She had what appeared to be rope burns around her wrists and ankles, occult symbols had been carved into her chest with a blade, tape residue over her mouth and eyes, this kid went through the ringer and yet there were no visible burns on her!
Rounding the corner the Doctor found himself in the middle of a shouting match between The Man in Black and what could be assumed as the the family of the girl’s friends. Normally the Doctor was smart enough to stay way from such drama but the mystery of the events surrounding this girl puzzling him. “My daughter would never associate with trash like your daughter and even if she did you should be more gracious for the charity,” spouted a well groomed man in a gray suit, with his daughter behind him and her face buried in her phone. “You’ll pay for your arrogance, I assure you on this night,” the Man in Black stated,” mark my words, sir, you will pay!” The man in gray, with a smug look on his face,” go ahead and try pal, I have some of the best lawyers in the county on stand by and this whole place is wired with cameras. I can easily tear you apart with the video of you threatening me and my daughter!” The Man in Black, appearing angered yet with a smile forming on his face,” You’re lawyers won’t protect you for long, go ahead and call them!” The Man in Black stormed off, leaving the Smug Man in Gray and his daughter behind.
The Doctor hadn’t heard anything for a few days, then the girl succumbed to her injuries. The Man in Black returned but had been barred from entering after his outbursts. The Smug Man had returned a few times with his daughter for follow up appointments for her injuries, once he found out about the death he cold heartedly told staff “just throw her in a dumpster” which incited a chuckle from his daughter. It wasn’t long before the killings began.
The first one happened that night, he was found with his mouth ripped open and his tongue torn from his mouth at his home. There were no signs of break in according to the baffled police, just screams. And then silence!
The next one just a few days later, her ears driven full of nails. And one by one more and more came and were processed, until she arrived. It was the Smug Man’s Daughter, she had attempted to kill herself first by pills, then by slitting her wrists. But the weirdest thing was she didn’t seem affected by the drugs and the blood coagulated instantly and began scabbing over. The girl was a nervous wreck, far removed from the distracted teen The Doctor had seen previously.
When she finally calmed down she began counseling. At first they were just ramblings, incoherent dribble. Then she started to become more lucid, stable and began speaking much more clearly. She started with talking about that night, how she and her friends had began cozying up to Candy. She had lived in town for a few years but had only recently began public school. They saw her as this perfect, little bimbo. A perfect sacrifice.
Her and her friends had been dabbling in the occult, they found all of the literature they needed online and researched everything. It was their time now, they were gonna rule the world. Over the last few weeks they warmed up to her, invited her to outings, and generally made her feel welcomed. The whole time plotting to use her.
Finally the time came, she was invited out for a party in the woods. They took her to an abandoned cabin where she was drugged. After that they tied her to a male shift crucifix and began the ritual. They carved into her skin and danced to the screams. They relished in her agony as the process continued. Soon, darkness was overcome by a chaos the building caught fire. Candy was left tied up inside as the building collapsed, everyone else making it out. After that they went to the hospital where they first ran into the Man in Black, Candy’s Father. Rumor’s around town were he was some kind of sexual predator but no official words or paperwork was ever provided. Other rumors were that he was a criminal of some kind who’d moved in to hide. What ever he was he had a dark, sinister aura surrounding him.
After Candy died the Man In Black remained quiet despite his threats. He maintained his distance from the Smug Man, but that didn’t stop the stories. The Smug Man began to appear paranoid due to believing he’s seeing the Man In Black in just about every reflection. Then he began disappearing for long lengths of time. But he would always return. Then it became clear that he was the one killing his daughter’s friends!
He began claiming that the Man in Black was controlling him anytime he slept. He became more possessive of his daughter, fearing for her so he began locking her in her room. After killing the last of her friends he began hunting her, he released her and chased her down with a four wheeler and a crossbow but she managed to defend herself with a shotgun. After killing her father she tried to take her own life with the pills, but didn’t work fast enough so she slashed her wrists. She ended up being found by her housekeeper who called 911.
As the Doctor left the room he thought he saw the Man in Black in a reflection but when he blinked he was gone. Shaking the experience the Doctor decided to head home, the last few days deserved a reward in the form of a few stiff drinks. | I watched over my precious daughter, May, as she slept. Her body was covered in bandages. What those girls did angered me. I grinned instead. This was going to be fun, indeed!
After a few hours, I left my husband to watch over our daughter. There were things I needed to do, such as finish my part of that project and send it in so the boss would stop breathing down my neck. I had been sorely tempted to give him a little problem magic wise multiple times. I only missed the deadline once. It wasn’t my fault the power was out for three days!
I got home and went down to my office in the basement. Our basement was a finished basement. No smelly and cold stone here. I went to my computer and opened my files, going for my spell file. What? I upgraded!
Let’s see, who shall be first? There were four girls. Tiffany, Lila, Nida, and Latasha. Tiffany was the blond who wore a ton of make up and valued beauty over all else. Which spell? Oh yes. The allergy spell. Let’s add a tiny twist by wording in a burn spell. Perfect. I wrote the new spell down. This bitch was about to be disfigured for life.
Nida. An ablest. Constantly picking on the special needs kids. The locked in spell would be perfect. Get ready to be trapped in your own body for life, bitch.
Lila. Miss lies a lot. A truth spell? Nah. Let’s add a touch of itching for every lie told. Only the truth will bring relief. No more lies from you, bitch.
Finally, Latasha. The ringleader. Heavily into guys. I grinned. She had a huge crush on the star quarterback. Let’s make her undesirable to any man. Try to win your man now, bitch!
I cast each spell, and waited for results.
—-
Her face was itching. Tiffany went to the school bathroom. She’d been catching herself scratching, and her makeup needed to be fixed. She looked at the mirror and began to fix her makeup.
—-
“Did you hear? Tiffany is in the burn unit! They are saying her face melted off!” A girl said.
“I heard her parents are going after the company.” A boy added.
“Considering how much she wears, she was bound to have a reaction.” Another girl said. “It was a matter of when.”
A scream turned their attention to Lila, who was clawing at her body.
“It won’t stop itching!” She wailed over and over again. “Why won’t it stop?”
May watched the proceedings. She knew my handiwork.
“Try telling the truth, Lila!” She called out. “You are probably experiencing a reaction to your guilt for lying!”
“I’ve never lied once in my life!” Lila was starting to draw blood.
“Seriously, say something true about yourself.” May pushed, “Like how you like to lie.”
“But I don’t!” Lila was crying. Her hands were bloody.
“Go on.” A girl said.
“Fine! I’m a liar!” Lila panted. “The itch stopped!”
—-
“Did you hear about Nida? She’s in the hospital.” A girl said. “She suddenly collapsed. They can’t find anything wrong with her.”
“That sounds like locked in syndrome.” A boy pushed his glasses up his nose. “You become a prisoner in your own body. Your mind works but you can’t do anything but think.”
“You know, all three girls tried to use dark magic on May. If I’m right, the spell did work. Latasha is going to be next. What will happen to her?” Another boy said.
Latasha heard. “Oh no!”
“Tiffany liked being beautiful. The spell messed with her face. Lila lies a lot. The spell is forcing her to tell the truth. Nida often picked on the special needs kids. The spell made her special needs. It’s like it’s punishing them.” Another girl said.
“You know, it’s targeting what they love and changing it.” May said. “We all know Latasha loves Ryder. I bet it’s going to make her gay!”
“No way! I will force myself to like guys!” Latasha cried out.
“Latasha, your chest.” May pointed. “I think it gave you a third one.”
“Ether that’s one giant zit on your cheek, or it’s a nipple.” Someone else noticed.
“Wha…” Latasha started screaming.
—-
“I know you cast some spells, Dad.” May said to me at the dinner table.
“Some lessons needed to be taught.” I grinned.
“Well, they think it was the spell they tried to do.” May grinned. “Thanks, dad.” | 2021-09-05T01:57:50 | 2021-09-04T20:01:18 | 96 | 64 |
[WP] The ritual calls for 100 sacrifices, but reading carefully you realize it never specified they had to be human. Deciding to be a smartass, you got a petri dish full of bacteria and sacrificed that instead. | Well, i suppose I shouldn't have been surprised, unintended solutions have unintended consequences.
But this, man this is next level, id spent months doing research in the antarctic circle, searching for ancient dna in ice core samples. We had found some excellent samples, transferred them to lab conditions and established colonies on agar plates.
We had approximated the bacteria to be of three age groups, the youngest are around 100,000 years the oldest are in the 8 - 9 million year range, with the third landing somewhere in the middle. Our tests showed the youngest being most viable, with the oldest group we found it took ten times as long to double in size.
On the last day of our mission i sequestered a long agar plate into my rucksack, placed in an cooler bag, my flight back to Australia was only 9 hours.
It was only 20 minutes since id checked the plates to make sure the bacteria was still alive, id observed that about half the plate had perished on the flight over, it had still left me with plenty of sacrifices. The ritual called for a mere 100 sacrifices, i had big aspirations, so i thought id go big, and the ritual never specified what kind of sacrifices.
The ritual played out exactly as it was written, but the moment i cast the sacrifice into the teal hued flame, the dread crawled up my spine. I was paralyzed, frozen to the spot by fear, a beautiful young masculine face appeared in the flame, followed by a lean and muscular body adorned with great grey wings.
The creature announced himself as Thanatos, in a deep and commanding voice, haunting yet inexplicably entrancing, he told me the gods were amused by my ingenuity, and Zues himself had asked Thanatos to escort me to Mt Olympus.
As it turns out, its the life span with which the gods gauge the quality of the sacrifice, and nothing had ever came close to the quality i had given, 200,000 bacteria with the average lifespan of 7 million adds up rather quickly.
So as i said, unintended consequences, i didn't get the thing i had set out to gain by performing the ritual, but did end up with a new job, God of Bacteria. Responsible for all aspects of their lives. Its a hollow title though, as we all know bacteria dont have any wants of desires more than eat and reproduce.
So here i sit, an immortal god of nothing, the opposite of how the genie from aladdin felt, 'phenomenal living space, itty bitty powers' but heed my warning dear reader, never play with the words of the gods, no matter how tempting. | I knew it was a bad idea. Of course, it was, you don't fuck with the spirts of your entire realm. They could damn you, torture you forever. But I was done with the war. I had to do something. My father, the lord, only sat on his pile of gold and ate the last of our food. I was not about to sacrifice the animals, my only friends, and where was I to get 100 humans. I had to request the spirts help, so I sacrificed the bacteria.
I lay it in the fire and whispered the words the ancient text called for. In a flash of orange and red, spirits stood before me. They fluttered hungrily about the sacrifice, before realizing it was nothing more than a small dish. The head spirit was upon me in an instant, a splitting voice shrieking, deafening my senses. The spirits circled me, their screams one by one growing louder and louder. Then the wind whipping around me stopped, and the demons had ceased in a circle around my crumpled body. Starting with the lord of the spirits, their mouths unhinged one by one. Soon they all were one fearsome beast, brimming with sharp teeth, dripping firey saliva. That was the last thing I saw. Loopholes get you nowhere. So I recommend, you looking to summon the body of phantoms, do not repeat my mistakes. Follow the text, but not as literally and idiotically as I. That is no way to make a deal with the devils. | 2019-11-02T16:46:51 | 2019-11-02T12:55:33 | 46 | 30 |
[WP] You are a member of the chosen hero's party. The hero enters the first dungeon and slays a goblin. A large portal suddenly opens. Two giant dark knights appear, disarm the hero, and pin him down. They begin reading him his miranda rights. One knight turns to you. "You need to come with us." | Wulfa sat behind a splintered, oak desk, amidst a high-ceiled room with exposed brick walls. There came a jangle of keys, followed by the echo of footsteps.
An arched door swung open, then a city guard threw a roll of parchment onto the desk as he sat opposite Wulfa.
The guard sighed and rubbed the bridge of his nose. Then he slipped a miniature flask out from under his cloak and took a long gulp.
Without looking up, he dipped a feather in a jar of ink and wrote on the parchment.
Wulfa cleared his throat. “Pardon me, sir, perhaps—”
The guard silenced him with a hand. He kept writing, not once lifting his gaze.
Eventually, he set the feather down and scanned the scroll.
He held it up. “Soooo. Wulfa Volda, wild mage for the Ethereal Titans, legendary Guild of Volda Bay. Famed for defeating the Under-King and defending the Konwiu docks from the scourge of the Vampire-Squid on three consecutive occasions.”
He scratched his nose. “You work with the local community teaching summoning spells to the cities orphans, have an excellent credit rating in the cities taverns, and even mastered three forms of elemental magic. Impressive.”
A long, awkward silence passed.
Wulfa cleared his throat. “So, are you gonna tell me what this all about?”
The guard looked up. “Your party leader is Edmund Cytio, a dual-class Warrior/Cleric. Correct?”
“That’s right.”
“And under his leadership, the Ethereal Titans have completed over five hundred quests and conquered eight dungeons in four years. Sound about right?”
“If you say sota.”
The city guard looked at the scroll and pushed out his bottom lip. “Hmm.”
Wulfa threw up his hands. “Look, I—”
“Would you be surprised to hear that in the past two years your guild leader has declared only two ice daggers and one enchanted cloak on his tax returns? Even split amongst a party of five, that's not a lot to show for five hundred quests and eight dungeons.”
Wulfa rolled his eyes. “You'd need to talk to him about that.”
"So after completing these dungeons you never saw him...claim any quest rewards?"
"I'm just the spell guy. Guild leader divvies up the rewards. Keep's things simple."
The city guard took another swig from his flask. “Well, your guild leader is looking at a sentence of fifty years for tax evasion.”
Wulfa put both feet up on the desk. “If you say so—”
The guard looked down at Wulfa's feet, then back to his face. “Mmmhmm. Tell me Mr. Wulfa,” he double-checked his notes. “Killed any elder dragons lately?”
Wulfa bit his bottom lip.
“Mmhmm, and did the dragon drop any *interesting* loot?”
Wulfa took his legs off the desk.
“According to this, you the dragon dropped a...Schmitar of celestial fury? Is that right? Strange. I'm not seeing that in your-- ”
Wulfa stood and slammed his fists against the table. “Alright, so what's this about? You're gonna lock me up over a fucking sword?”
The guard puckered his lips. “This is a serious issue Mr. Wulfa. Legendary item like that? You're looking at five years, at least.”
“Look, it was a mistake.”
"A wild mage, in prison? What do you think your cellmates might do when they find out you can cast polymorph?"
"Alright alright ALRIGHT. FUCK." Wulfa folded both hands behind his neck and looked down.
“Mr. Wulfa, what if I told you we had a way to make this go away.”
“Go away?”
The guard folded up the scroll and put it in his front pocket. “Yep. We’re willing to cut a deal Mr. Wulfa. You testify against Edmund, tell us about all the dungeons rewards he’s claimed without paying the King's tax, and we’ll just forget all about this," he made circles with his hands as he tried to find the word, "indiscretion.”
Wulfa took a deep breath. “OK. Tell me what I have to do.”
\---
Thanks for reading! If anyone has any criticisms, feedback or tips on things I could improve, please let me know!
Hope you enjoy! Subscribe to [https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/](https://www.reddit.com/r/jtb685/) for more | *The time is now.*
The first gibbous moon of the New Year. A drop of blood freely given. An ancient language intoned by the wearer of the enchanted headpiece of Frinn.
A glowing amber archway appeared on the face of the mountain. The adventurers entered the Antechamber of the Mountain King.
"Anyway," Dromedus continued, "that's the beautiful thing. Because it's like a missile, right, but *magic*, so --"
Marthor frowned as they brushed cobwebs away from their faces. "What's a missile?"
"It's a...um. It's like an arrow, I guess, but better."
Marthor tried the door on the far side of the entryway, then smirked. "Why don't you just call it," he rammed his shoulder into the door, bursting through it as if it were paper, "'Magic Arrow?'"
Unseen by his mighty companion, Dromedus rolled his eyes. "First of all, that name has no style. You lose out on the alliteration. It just *feels* different when you cast Magic Missile instead of Magic *Arrow*. Plus, it gets confusing, because there's this other spell called *Melf's* Arrow, and --"
"What's a Melf?" Marthor said as they moved down the corridor, deeper into the heart of the mountain.
"Not a what. A who. A wizard. Melf. He came up with a spell."
Marthor's boots echoed off the stone floor, swallowing the sound of Dromedus' slippered footsteps. "Seems like that's about twice as many arrow-based spells as you need, my friend."
"No, they're different. See, one of -- goblin," Dromedus leaned back against the wall of the corridor as his companion drew on the goblin advancing on them. "...one of them is...hm. I think one of them is acid, and the other -- ew!"
Dromedus flinched as green ichor splattered his face, spraying out from the up-until-recently-not-eviscerated body of the goblin. "You couldn't angle it the other way, or something? Anyway, they're both magic, but...I mean, it goes back to what I was saying before. The *missile* part of it --"
There was a sound as of parchment tearing as the air before them was rent asunder by an unseen blade as deadly as Marthor's axe. "Hey, look," Dromedus said, "It's two -- oh snap!"
The hulking figures, clad in ebon armor, bull-rushed Marthor and pinned him to the ground as if he were a welpling. One began intoning "Thou hast the right to shutteth thy mouth. If thou chooseth to ignore this right, thou wilst be decapitated. Thou hast the right to an advocate. If thou canst not vouchsafe the fees of an advocate, thou wilst be decapitated."
The jet-colored helm of the other dark knight turned slowly. Two crimson embers behind the visor fixed on Dromedus. "You need to come with us."
* * *
If you enjoyed this, check out my sub -- /r/ShadowsofClouds -- for more tales of fantasy and adventure. If there's enough interest I'll try to put up a part 2. | 2020-12-29T10:56:34 | 2020-12-29T10:40:27 | 1,408 | 146 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don’t stay dead easily. | Our people were conquerors. The true law of the cosmos is the same as the law in the primordial seas of every world: eat, or be eaten. We understood this in our very cores. When the first contact with beings from another world happened, we **were** amazed. Not because of their powerful weapons (they didn't have any), or vast technologies. No, we were amazed, because they said they came in peace, and wanted to be friends with us. To learn from us. My ancestors recorded that their flavor was flat, but filled the stomach and made us stronger. And of course, their technology advanced us even further.
Soon, we left our world in ships of our own to meet many other species. Each one fell before us. Some were great warrior races like ours, and fought valiantly before succumbing to the inevitable. These we respect and enshrine in our histories and songs. Though weaker, they showed that they too, understood the Cosmic Law.
So when we found your world, and watched your transmissions, and saw that you too understood, we looked forward to the battles. You would lose of course, even though your weapons were formidable compared to most at your level of advancement. Another century or so before discovery, and we could have faced ourselves at our beginnings. How fortunate, we believed, we found you earlier. We began to prepare.
Had we continued to watch as we got closer, we may have learned of your true power. How your hunger was greater than any other we have seen before, how it eclipses even ours. But we were arrogant after millennia of unbroken conquest. The "generals", if you will, of our forces relied upon tactics that had been honed in a thousand campaigns before. Tried and true, these tactics worked. Of course, we had to meet in battle. You ask why not just bombard your world? We had to give you the chance (however slim) to meet us, to defeat us, and then eat your fill and become stronger like us. We simply don't bombard those who can't defend against it. And I am glad we did not.
After the first planet-fall, our hunger for your kind grew swiftly. You are delicious! Truly, every part of humans has a unique taste, and those early samples and the reports of those who ate them whetted our appetite. So we began killing en masse, so that we could start harvesting as much as we could.
And that was the critical point. When the un-butchered meat in our holds awoke and swarmed our vessels, our shock was profound. Not because the dead rose, no. Many species have warriors that fight even after "death", for awhile. On your world, a dead snake can still bite.
The shock was your hunger. Nothing would stop you from consuming, no weapon, no chemical, not even vacuum itself as you crawled along our hulls to get to us. We wept at the beauty of it! We had arrogantly thought that **we** were the ones who understood the Cosmic Law best, that it was our duty to eat and revel in the life it brings. We were but children thinking we were gods. How fortunate to be wrong!
You even weaponized them, sending chemical rockets jammed with your dead to pierce our vessels and consume us. And how swiftly you learned from our empty vessels. By the time the second wave arrived, you were almost on par with us. We brought the might of thousands of worlds to bear on your little system, but we had already lost, for by then we did not want to end you. We cannot destroy such perfection, that would be a sin our kind could not bear. But to do no less than our best would be an insult to you, so we battled and battled, and every battle, you gained more and more on us.
And thus, I, and the remaining few thousand of us, come before you here, to your home-world. We cannot defeat you, we cannot even offer much more than token resistance at this point. Your understanding of the Cosmic Law is such that you complete its rites instinctively. We are here to engage in the rite of Final Meal. Consume us, and then continue following the Cosmic Law and consume all!
...What do you mean you don't want to eat us?
[edit: a word] | “We are approaching planet ‘Earth’ Captain, shall we ready the intergalactic rangers?” I said. The Captain Gorgan replied “Yes, signal the rangers to report to battle stations and to suit up, we will send only one detachment, these ‘humans’ are a rather primitive species that still rely on ballistic weapons”. “Very well sir, this should be an easy conquest and the supplies will be vital for our voyage across the galaxy” I said. -sirens blared in the 1st squadron bay- “Get moving! On the double, we have resources to secure!” Proclaimed the squad leader. The troops suited up and readied themselves for what they thought would be a light skirmish. The ships landed in China. “Sir are you sure this is the best place to begin? The scanners detect the largest density of life forms in this vicinity.” I asked. The captain assured “We will defeat them easily, their weapons and military tactics are no match for our superiority”. The first squadron, consisting of about 300 troops moved quickly off the ship, without initiating dialogue or diplomacy, they began firing on crowds of civilians. As the civilians fell, our troops moved quickly through the city, they were in search for food and building materials. But all of a sudden, as the troops were stepping over 1000’s of bodies of fallen humans, one stood back up. “Impossible” Exclaimed the squad leader who shot it again. The human, unfazed by this shot, continued towards the aliens, it took hundreds of shots(one happened to hit the head) to kill it. Than all the bodies began reanimating, the troops were being bit at the ankles and had their lower halves torn apart by teeth. You see, our species had created weapons so accurate and sufficient in killing that they had moved on from armor, they had not needed it in hundreds of years as they killed enemies instantly and from a distance. One by one the 1st squadron was eaten alive, decimated by an undying race. “Captain! We have a problem! The humans don’t seem to stay dead for very long!” I yelled. “Send squadrons 2 and 3, we must obtain these resources or our journey will fail!” The captain ordered. “Sir, squadron 2 and 3 are still sleeping, it will take them 30 minutes to ready for combat!” I said. As I looked out of the window from the control room, I saw a horde of these undying creatures approaching. Before I could shut the air lock, so many had come in that the gears were jammed from body parts of these seemingly unintelligent beings. “Captain, we are defenseless sitting here, we could be attacked by ballistic projectiles!” I warned. The Captain assured me “These being are not intelligent, they eat each other’s flesh and walk into laser fire, we must have gotten false data about the state of their weaponry”. Just than out of the corner of my eye, I saw what looked like an asteroid, but the scanners went haywire. “Sir, the scanners report a missile incoming, but it is not ballistic alone, the scanner reads that it contains some sort of unstable, radioactive material”. “Thats impossible, how can they be so advanced yet so simple, ready the shields” the Captain replied “Sir, the shields won’t activate, the airlock must be closed....” | 2018-09-29T19:15:40 | 2018-09-29T16:21:21 | 222 | 41 |
[WP] You're rather annoyed that your history teacher gave you a D on your essay about Mesopotamia. Not just because you're sure she doesn't like you, but also because - as an ancient being trying to adapt to modern society - YOU WERE THERE. | _A D?? This deserves better than a D, Mrs Naurood!_
\- You can't go around pulling stuff out of thin air and calling it history, John! And as I've already said, See. Me. After. Class.
_But they're not made up! It's right there in the books!_
Mrs. Naurood ignored me as she picked up her books and left the class.
I'd been going on refresher courses every three years... And it's been hard enough for me to adapt to the decimal system and different conventions of weight and distance that used neither hex or decimal (pound? feet? Whose feet?), but this took ridiculous to a new level.
I've been a historian as a cover for most of my life, and while I need the community credits for my new identity, arguing with a historian, worse, a historian who had been there and seen the stories change through time, was just the cherry on top.
I sat with gnashed teeth through what seemed an eternity of a maths class, waiting to confront that upstart. She had Mesopotamian blood in her, clear as day, and she didn't know one ounce of where she'd come from. The nerve on her!
I knocked on the door. A voice - Mrs. Naurood's - beckoned me enter. I'd run through a few scenarios in my mind, unleashing broadsides, asking for an explanation, demanding to see her history teacher credentials, but I didn't anticipate what came next.
A hug.
"John Smith! John. Smith. Finally you ran out of names."
_"I don't quite follow"_
"Roger Tombs? Brian Babylon? Peter Palms?"
I fell silent. How did she know?
Mrs Naurood read the question. "You're 28. Always have been, always will be. Shaving a bit closer or having a grizzle doesn't make you younger or older. Changing names and moustaches and doing newsworthy stuff doesn't change the fact that this is a new age - with face recognition and instant image searches and supercomputers. Remembering history isn't half as important as keeping it safe. Keeping you safe."
She knew! And she knew what the cuneiform in the textbook said too. Yet she chose to ignore it.
"And if you want to remember history as it were, you should remember its players too."
_"Are... Are you an immortal too?"_
"From the same blood sacrifice. I was under the girders and the blood dripped on me."
We shared a moment of silence.
"Remember this D. Don't stick your neck out, keep the truth to yourself but don't fight for it. Not yet. These guys, they lap up their cuneiforms selectively, they don't realise that propaganda has been with humanity since the very first tablet. They think of Hammurabi the terrible as a wise Saint. They write science fiction about cities with towers struck by their God for vanity. It's... Not worth it."
I reflected on her words.
"Look, if you wanna talk about the good old days, come over some time. I still make wheatwater and roast locust like we used to." | "And the goddess of light, she bestowed upon you an eidetic memory as well?"
I gaped at Mrs Gray, utterly bewildered. She was behaving surprisingly nonchalant considering I had just informed her I was immortal and stabbed myself through the neck with a compass to prove it. I was hoping to have the old hag in hysterics and eventually shipped off to a padded room so Mr Green from class B would take over for the rest of the semester.
"A what now?" I finally responded.
"Eidetic memory. It means you can remember things in perfect detail." She responded, not even looking up from the papers she was marking. "Can you remember what you had for breakfast last week?"
"Well no but..."
"Then I don't see how I can trust anything you've written without sources."
"What? BUT I WAS THERE!" I yelled, just about ready to flip her desk. "I saw it with my own eyes!"
"And witness testimony is about one of the least reliable sources of evidence there is." She responded finally looking up. "False memories occur all the time, and only more frequently with age."
"You...you're just biased because you hate me!" I threw the essay down onto her desk and was just about to storm out.
"On the contrary, it seems you are the one who is biased." She picked up the essay I had thrown in front of her and cleared her throat reading aloud. "The honorable tribes residing on the east side of the Tigris river were known for their valiant warriors, fending off the dirty savages from the west."
"So? It's true." I responded "Low lives the lot of them. My father said so, as did his father and-"
"And I'm sure they probably thought the same thing about you." she interrupted. "History is more than just *what* happened. Equally important is why. Proper history is viewed through an objective lens. Because only by understanding the past can we hope to improve things for the future. Now with that in mind, if you'd like to learn from your past I'd be willing to allow you to write your essay again." | 2021-07-18T02:10:51 | 2021-07-18T01:20:47 | 385 | 274 |
[WP] You have thwarted the “chosen one” and his rag-tag gang of preteens. Nothing else can stand in your way. You bring your world domination plan to fruition only to be defeated by... competent adults with a full military. | As the door to my sanctum sanctorum hissed open, I swivelled my (carefully-designed) chair away from the (mostly for show) control panel to face the incoming prisoners. The lighting had been arranged to throw my face into shadow, and I steepled my fingers before me. The classics must be observed, after all.
"What have we here?" I asked rhetorically. Everyone knew what we had here, and everyone knew that I knew. But I still had to ask, if only so I could inject the appropriate amount of menace into my voice. Also, so that I could answer myself. "Ah, if it isn't Duncan Dwight, leader of the Young G-Men. Or is it the Junior G-Men? Oh, I'm sorry, that was last month." I didn't let out a mocking laugh, but I didn't need to. The tall, strong youth at the head of the group of prisoners cringed ever so slightly anyway.
"We're the G-Teens, and you know it, Overlord," he stated defiantly. Or at least, he tried to make it defiant, but I'd faced down too many quivering minions to not be able to recognise the signs of hidden fear. "Or should I say, Samuel Paris, philanthropist by day and crime lord by night?"
My eyebrows rose and I bequeathed him a nod of recognition. Few had ever gotten as far as he had toward discovering my true identity, and certainly none so young as him. "Well *done,* young Dwight. Your father would be truly proud of you. Before, of course, he tore a strip off you about exposing yourself and your young companions to this sort of danger." My lip curled and I sneered. "Prancing about with them, capitalising on your father being an FBI agent for leadership in the group, even naming yourselves the G-Teens in some sort of sad mockery." I pointed at the earphones that trailed over his jacket and shook my head. "Typical teenager, listening to music while breaking into the bad guy's base. You read too many teen adventure books, boy. Only in *Scooby Doo* does the villain ever actually say 'I would've succeeded if it wasn't for those meddling kids.'"
"You don't know what you're talking about, Overlord!" shouted one of the aforementioned companions, a redheaded girl whose face was basically one big freckle. "Dwight's the smartest, toughest person you'll ever meet! He's got a plan for this, you'll see! You'd better let us all go, right now! I mean it!"
I sighed, shaking my head sadly. "Ahh, Miss ... Jessup, was it? Dahlia Jessup? Your best friend in home room is Kimberley Jones, and you keep a stuffed kangaroo called Mr Hoppy on your bed." At her shocked look, I inclined my head modestly and continued. "Yes, I know all of you, rather better than your parents do, I would imagine. Ever since your junior league of teenage would-be do-gooders started meeting and planning how to make the world a better place, I've been keeping tabs on every single one of you. And I will admit, you have the persistence to make it happen." I glanced back at the young Mr Dwight. "And your investigative skills are better than I'd previously imagined. But with all of this, you failed to master the one skill that might have saved you. Of course, it's not one that's mentioned in any teen adventure novel."
"Oh?" Young Dwight was good at putting on a show, I'll give him that. "What's that?"
I tut-tutted in mock annoyance. "*Telling an Adult.* But of course, you had to prove to the old man that you could handle yourself, didn't you?" I gestured to the minions holding them. "Take them away. They might be useful as hostages or sources of information." Dwight, I suspected, had access to his father's passwords. Those could be valuable.
"Wait!" Dwight pushed back at the minions holding him. "I've got two questions for you!"
I almost let them take him away, but then my curiosity overtook me and I raised a hand. "Ask. I may even answer."
He shrugged off the minions' hands and cleared his throat, straightening his jacket. My finger strayed to the button that would open the pit trap between us, just in case. He didn't *seem* the type for a death-and-glory charge, but one never knew.
"First question," he said, gesturing at the large picture windows to the left and right. "Why do you keep your main base in the top floor of a skyscraper and not an underground bunker?"
I snorted. "Bunkers are so hard to escape from, young man. They went out of style in the seventies. Besides, who looks for criminal masterminds out in the open?"
"Fair point," he allowed. "Second question. Did you get all that?"
It took me a moment to parse what he'd said, and in that moment the picture windows shattered inward, to the left and right. Dark-clad figures swung in on ropes, rolled, and came up in a crouch, weapons aimed. Laser sights glittered in the air, dancing on the chests and foreheads of my minions. And my own, for that matter. Very carefully, I raised my hands in the air. Nothing I could do would take effect before fingers depressed triggers. I was done.
A series of surprised grunts and thuds from the back of the room signalled that my troubles were far from over. Dwight had been teaching his little teen coterie self-defense moves, and it appeared that even the petite Miss Jessup was proficient. My minions had been caught by surprise, and they had been expecting the signal. As young Dwight knelt on one of the minions who had been holding him, twisting his arm painfully up behind his back, one of the black-clad men approached him.
"Yes, son, I got all that," he said, extending his hand downward. "Well done. You pulled it off."
That was too much. "Wait, *what* again now?" I blurted. "This was all *planned?*"
As one of the soldiers took over securing the minions, Dwight senior helped his son to his feet and they walked toward me. "Well, yes," he said. "When Duncan brought the plan to me in the beginning, I was dubious, but you do have a reputation for acting with a certain flair. So they let themselves get captured."
"But what did you get out of it that you couldn't have gotten by just knocking on the front door with a warrant?" I demanded, as I was hauled out of my chair and my hands secured behind me.
Dwight junior shrugged. "A confession. You said stuff to us that you'd never say to an adult." He tapped the earphone cords. "You thought I had an iPod or something, yeah? Every teenager has one. There's no chance in the world that I'd be carrying a high-tech transmitter and locator beacon." He smirked. "So, I believe there was something you should be saying to us, right about now?"
It only took me a moment to realise what he meant. At that moment, a physical pang went through me. Eating one's words is never pleasant. On the other hand, the little snot *had* earned it. I took a deep breath and glared at him in aggravation.
"If it wasn't for you meddling kids," I ground out, "I would've gotten away with it."
The classics, after all, had to be observed.
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\[Comments welcome\] | Dr Von Evilbeard laughed in glee as the kid-Hero and his ragtag band of adolescents was cut down by his death-lasers.
"Fools!" He cried, "Did you seriously think that I, the most powerful super-villain in the world, would be defeated by a bunch of teenagers?" He snorted with laughter, "What do you think this is, a Nickelodeon cartoon?"
He turned to one of his henchmen.
"Dispose of the bodies," he said shortly.
"Yes Doctor," smirked the goon as he went to find some rubbish sacks to place the still-smoldering corpses in. Dr Von Evilbeard sighed in glee. It was too easy. Granted, he had expected someone to find out about his robot army sooner or later, as you can't keep something like that a secret forever. And he couldn't blame the dumb kid who found the secret documents for wanting to stop his evil plot.
But instead of taking the evidence to the authorities, the fool had instead taken it to his friends, who had devised a ludicrous scheme to thwart the robot army, involving duct tape, a water blaster, a tube of glitter, and a calculator. And now he paid for his folly. He chuckled. Outside his Evil Tower of Ominousness, a plane could be heard buzzing.
\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*\*
"Re-calibrate azimuth sweep angle, adjust elevation scan," instructed the pilot of the AC-130 Gunship. The plane lazily circled Dr Von Evilbeard's tower, its guns all aimed at the top floor, where the mad scientist's office was.
On the ground, elite teams of Special Forces soldiers covertly surrounded the building, waiting for the go-signal from Command. Clad in black fatigues and body armour, they wore gas-masks and night vision, mostly for psychological purposes, but also to protect themselves against any potential chemical weapons. They stood poised for action, gripping their rifles intently and adjusting night vision goggles. A squadron of tanks rolled up to the tower, ready to provide fire support. Everything was as silent as a mortuary, the proverbial calm before the storm.
"All teams, this is Command," crackled the radio, "UNSOC has given authorisation. You are clear for operation!"
The storm broke.
The AC-130 fired its plethora of weaponry into the tower, shattering the top floors. The tanks blew massive holes in the lower floors as the infantry rushed the lobby. Dr Evilbeard's goon squads tried to hold back the invaders, but they were no match for the elite special forces. The soldiers stormed the lower offices, throwing flashbangs to stun the guards before cutting them down.
"H.Q, this is Nighthawk," reported the commander, "Lower offices secure, are moving to the factory floors."
"Roger Nighthawk," replied Command, "Proceed with operation. AC-130 'Warhammer' will remain on standby to provide fire support."
"Roger Command, out." the commander gestured to two squads of soldiers, "Come on, you lot, get moving. Clear the factories on the east side."
"Team two, take the west side. Teams three and four with me. We'll take the top."
It was a tedious process. The evil genius had installed many... exotic... security devices, mostly in the form of pits and other death traps that were surprisingly easy to escape out of. It was almost like the soldiers were in some kind of kid's show.
The two floors just below the shattered top floor were much harder to navigate, though. The corridors were laced with lasers and mines. After several soldiers had met their demise, Nighthawk decided just to blow up the whole place.
"Warhammer, this is Nighthawk. Fire on red smoke, Danger Close," he threw a canister of red smoke.
"Roger, have eyes on Red Smoke. Guns guns guns."
The soldiers ducked down the stairwell to the lower floors as the AC-130 opened up with its Bofors cannon. The rounds shredded the offices, setting off the mines and destroying the laser grids. With the danger past, the special forces stormed up the last floors and onto the top floor.
It was a mess, was all Nighthawk could think as he surveyed the carnage. The AC-130 had done a thorough job, leaving no room intact. Rubble and other debris was strewn across the floor. The soldiers cautiously edged their way into the remains of Von Evilbeard's 'throne room'. The Doctor himself was lying on the floor, stone dead, as well as several of his henchmen. Nighthawk peered closely at several piles of burnt human remains. He recoiled in horror as he realised that the pieces that were left were too small to be those of Evilbeard's goons.
"So that's what happened to them," he muttered, silently praying, "Those poor kids..."
He waved a pair of soldiers over to him.
"You see those small piles of bodies there?" he asked them. The soldiers looked, then turned away shuddering.
"Is that... all that's left of those kids who tipped us off, sir?" one of them asked. Nighthawk nodded.
"If only they hadn't gone off on their own like that, the stupid little..." he broke down in tears.
"Get someone to collect the bodies. Bring them home," he ordered, recomposing himself. The soldiers went off to do that.
"H.Q., this is Nighthawk," he reported, "We've found the bodies of those kids," the person on the other end swore.
"Is the good Doctor still alive," they asked tersely.
"No sir, he's very much dead," replied Nighthawk.
"Good," Command said simply, "I hope he has a nice long trip in Hell. Bring the children back... or what's left of them," they ordered.
"Already on it sir," replied Nighthawk.
Several minutes later, the Hero and his ragtag band of friends were placed in body-bags and loaded onto a CH-47 Chinook, which took them off to be buried. The soldiers mined the Evil Tower of Ominousness with enough explosives to level a small town, then they boarded waiting helicopters and APC's. Once everyone was clear of the tower, the combat engineers detonated the explosives, bringing down the last monument to one of the most despicable men to ever walk the Earth.
And that was how Dr Von Evilbeard was defeated. Not through the power of friendship, or some other namby-pamby nonsense, but through the doctrine of superior firepower. | 2020-02-18T00:38:09 | 2020-02-17T23:43:46 | 41 | 29 |
[WP] You have the power to change the age of anything you touch. You try to change the age of your sleeping partner as a prank since they know of your power. But it doesn't seem to work, no matter how hard you try. Your partner wakes up and says "Gods don't age dear." | Her reddish-brown curls were all I could see when I touched her shoulder. I wondered what she'd look like in forty years. Would she still be as hot? Hotter? Impossible, I thought and aged her. Nothing happened. I tried again, harder this time. Still nothing.
"Gods don't age dear," she said sleepily then resumed snoring.
"What?" I asked her but she continued sleeping which irritated me. You just can't age when I try to age you, wake up, drop a bomb like that and go back to sleep. I shook her till she woke up.
Turning over, I noticed her blue eyes open in the dim light and she smiled at me.
"You just said you're a god and you don't age," I told her dramatically.
"Yes," she said, then closed her eyes and went back to sleep.
"Wake up!" I said and she did, annoying me with another smile.
"Just because I don't age," she said shrugging, "does not mean I don't need any sleep. If you keep this up I'll flood a small village in my irritation come morning and it'll be all your fault."
"Wait, what?" I told her defensively, "You wouldn't do that, would you?"
"Of course not," she was smirking at me playfully, "You're irritated that I didn't tell you I was a deity, aren't you? Would it help if I tell you I'm a lesser Mesopotamian god of little importance? I'm practically forgotten."
"I am irritated that you didn't mention that you're a god!" I said and crossed my arms, "You'd think that would be something worth mentioning."
"Just like you told me about your ability to age things?" she demanded playfully, sitting up in bed.
"That's not the same!" I said but she had really gotten me with that one, "Besides, it's not the same as being a god."
"Oh dear," she said and kissed me, "I've made you feel unimportant. Sure, sure, I'm immortal. Yeah, I can fly and things. You know turn invisible? Work minor miracles. Heal the sic..."
"This isn't helping," I said and she hugged me giggling, forcing me to smile.
"Would it help for me to tell you what I'm the patron god of?" and her face held a certain lewd look that piqued my curiosity.
"What?" I asked, genuinely curious.
"Fertility." she answered. You, dear reader, can use your own imaginations past this point because I'm not telling. | "oh... honey... you're up!!! I, I don't know what you're talking about. NIGHT!!!!!!"
I try to cocoon myself in the sheets... Sadly Janet has been taking Pilate classes lately and they showed. I settled for ducking under covers.
"It's ok sweetie, Who do you think gave you that little trick to begin with. Honey? I know you're still up..."
Well of course you know I'm still up. Do I look like a baby? Nobody falls asleep THAT fast! Stupid Janet, stupid useless powers, stupid....
"Wait. Janet, you're a god I mean goddess?! For real!"
She gave me one of her trademarked -what am I going to do with you!- smiles and ruffled my hair.
"Silly, I told you that when we met remember? Those time turner powers were your anniversary gift. Didn't think you'd make one when you blew the cake candles but I figured it'll make you happy."
I thought back to that day. I wasn't sure when I got these powers, just that it was after my single days.
"I think you should watch Harry Potter with me. That's not how the time turner works. WAIT! Read the books! The books are better... WAIT! You're god right? Can you get me stuff from Rowling that was never printed? None of the new stuff though, original HP only."
"Sorry dear. She asked someone for those but it sure as heaven wasn't me!" | 2018-11-13T11:34:04 | 2018-11-13T10:38:48 | 86 | 14 |
[WP] Whenever you get chills, you just died in an alternate universe. | At first it just seemed like I was crazy, like my memory just didn't work right. Being a kid, I'd talk about how my friend John walked down to the duck pond and got kicked by a mule, and my friend Amy would say, "no, no, John went to the fair and got kicked by a mule." I'd know what I was saying was right, because I was there, but then I'd be corrected by six or seven people. "Johnny was at the fair." There were even times when I forgot I had a sibling, or that I didn't have a sibling. Sometimes their face would stay the same but their name would change. And sometimes, a name I'd called them yesterday wasn't their name -- instead, their name was what I knew them by a month or a year ago. My parents took me to the doctor and tried to explain it. Soon they just gave me medicine in the hopes that it was treatable. It wasn't.
It started affecting my school life when I got older. Mrs. Lafferty would say that Richard Nixon was at the Watergate Hotel, and I'd say that she'd taught us he'd been at the Folsom last semester. The gym teacher, Mr. Holland, would change the rules in baseball where we'd run around a hexagon of bases instead of a diamond. And then, there were the days when things went back to "normal", or at least the most common way of things. Mrs. Lafferty would agree that George Washington crossed the Delaware. Mr. Holland wouldn't use the third hoop in basketball.
It took me a while to realize what was going on, why it always seemed like stories changed, histories changed, the entire world changed without me knowing. When I finally caught on, after looking in the mirror and seeing the odd little changes in my face, in that freckle or this scar, I'd realize what was happening. Eventually, I'd have to try and keep track of what reality I'm in. And eventually I kept it to myself. Even if it was a slightly different set of parents every couple of weeks or months or years, they were still my parents, and I didn't want them to worry.
I could somehow walk through universes, and I never knew which one I'd end up in.
When I got older and out into the world, it started to get worse. There's just so much more to remember out in the real world. Computers, technology, phones, doctors, lawyers, news -- I had to relearn and relearn and relearn. That was okay, though, because I could always eventually catch up somehow. No, the worst part of the real world is that it is dangerous, and with the real world came the jitters.
It always hits me out of nowhere. Sometimes, I'll be at the corner of the street with my foot off the edge of the curb. I'd find myself getting chilly jitters across my skin, and in that second, I'd feel myself walk across the curb, see a car, and get hit. I'd feel it in that minute -- bones crunch, unimaginable pain, road rash down my left side, suffocating blackness -- and then, in that same minute, it would be gone. I would still be standing at the street, and a red Miata with a texting driver would whiz by.
And I'd never go back to that universe. I'd figured out a system of keeping track of which universe I was in, and that one -- that particular one, in fact, my Elbow Scar universe where I never went to ballet practice and Mom didn't die of heart disease and the US invaded Kuwait and stayed-- just vanished. I never woke up in that world ever again.
I try to stay indoors a lot now. I don't get the jitters when I'm inside. It's a little safer, a little bit less dangerous. I can't walk by streets anymore. I don't go near construction sites. I almost never eat anything at a restaurant. My computer is my best friend, on the days and in the worlds where I know how to use it. But even inside my apartment, I'll get the jitters. I might plug in a laptop, and suddenly I'm electrocuted, only to find myself sitting against a wall bawling with the cord plugged in. Or I'll take a bath and fall asleep, the jitters making my heart tap-dance three milliseconds before I wake up and drown in the tub. There are so many, many little ways to die, and I experience them all.
Sometimes I wonder if there are infinite universes, and if this will keep going. I keep aging, after all, and maybe I'll just die when I finally reach old age. But, if there *aren't* infinite universes -- if there *aren't* an unlimited number of me's out there to die -- I'll never know when my jitters are running out. Each one could be the last before I finally draw the unlucky straw and die. Every act is a flip of the coin. Heads I win, tails I lose.
At this rate, I want to lose that coin toss. | This is normal. My alarm goes off at 6:30 AM and the last of the alcohol has worn off. Well, not the last. I still have plenty in my system, or what would be plenty for most people. I stagger down to the fridge in my boxers. Tough choice, miller lite or bud lite? Miller lite is the closest choice so I take that. I need at least two beers before I leave for work, or I can't drive. The chills start after six hours without a drink, but I was up until two last night, so I'm fine. The cold shower helps to wake me up, but the most important player is the vyvanse that my roommate is prescribed, and uses to help pay his rent. Two beers, two cups of coffee, and two pisses later I'm ready for another day at work.
Amazon really needs to have their drones start delivering booze. It's a huge pain to drive to different liquor stores all over town. You start to get looks buying a fifth at six and then running back at 8:50 to buy another before the stores close. Maybe I should move to Louisiana. I hear gas stations sell liquor. Forget all that for now, I've got my flask in my suit and I'm ready to get through the day.
Being an alcoholic isn't easy. It sounds glorifying, the romantic alcoholic, unable to find peace in this world writes his music while drinking alone. That isn't what it's like. Last month I had a panic attack because of a business trip I went on to Pennsylvania. My flight arrived in the evening, after they stop selling alcohol, and I spent the night shaking in a cold sweat. You have to plan everything out, because once sobriety hits, so do the symptoms.
The headache is bad. The sweat is bad. But the chills are the worst. The worst. Most people get them after watching The Twilight Zone when home alone with the lights out. Ha. They are constant when I am sober. I don't think most people really recognize what the chills are. A brief spasm of paranoia and then a quick light hearted giggle at yourself. They are different when you get them a lot. And I get them a lot.
It took me awhile to notice it. I wasn't always a heavy drinker. I actually never drank in high school, because it was wrong. I wasn't 21, but I was old enough to die in Iran or Iraq or whatever place the government decides to ship you off to, and that really hit home when my best friend got himself blown up by stepping on an mine in Afghanistan. If the government said he was old enough to die, I was old enough to have a fucking beer. And I had one. And another. And another.
At first the chills aren't really that bad. The headache and other flu like symptoms that start to effect your body when the alcohol leaves are much worse. The thing you don't notice is the cry. Next time you get the chills, try to listen for it. Or don't. You won't hear it, I have no doubt. I kept getting them nightly for two years before I started to notice. Now I hear it every time. It's not your mom or your sister or your best friend crying. It's you. It's the most gut wrenching saddest cry I have ever heard. The cry of someone who has met the devil himself. The cry I never want to hear again.
I know this alcohol is killing me, but I can't stop. I keep going, living my life on an autopilot designed by someone as suicidal as myself. The booze doesn't give me the warm feeling anymore. It doesn't make me happy anymore. It doesn't make me forget anymore. But it does stop the chills. | 2016-01-29T21:01:10 | 2016-01-29T17:34:03 | 159 | 87 |
[WP] Instead of getting in to Heaven or Hell when you died, you ended up in a pretty okay place called Meh-ven and met a guy named Gosh. | Ben looked up at his mother for the last time. The white hospital room a calm peace save for his family trying to hold back tears. The drugs kicked in so he felt no pain for the last few hours. It was a peaceful passing, there wasn't even a hint of pain.
When he awoke, he was in a plain room not too different from the hospital room.
"Where am I?" he said to himself. He wasn't frightened, he'd been alone plenty of times when he used to climb trees in the woods near his house, but this was just confusing.
"Ben!" He heard a voice behind him not too different from his older brother's. It spoke again. "Ben, over here!" He turned, and saw a guy that, strangely, looked a little like his brother too, only a bit older, and wearing a plaid shirt. His brother hated plaid shirts.
"Who....Who are you?" Ben asked, still puzzled.
"The name's Gosh."
Ben scratched his head. "Gosh? Like the word people use instead of-"
"Instead of God, yup! I'm real too, didn't you know?" Ben shook his head side to side gently. Gosh continued "Speaking of which, I should probably tell you where you are. You see, you uh, passed away."
Ben couldn't believe what he was hearing. "I'm dead?!"
Gosh nodded his head. Ben wasn't too disturbed, oddly enough, but he wasn't pleased either. "My grampa sometimes told me about Heaven, is...is this it?"
Gosh replied with a smile "No, this is Meh-ven. It isn't bad, but it's just shy of being great. It's the waiting room before you get into Heaven."
Ben went right back to being confused. "Waiting room?"
Gosh pondered for a second, trying to find an explanation. He snapped his fingers and a lightbulb, a rather dim and flickering lightbulb, appeared over his head. "You know when your mom would take you to the hospital and you'd have to wait in those rooms filled with chairs and old magazines? It's like that!"
Ben understood now, and this he wasn't okay with. "You mean I have to read old magazines until I get to Heaven?!" I'd rather spend some time in Heck!"
Gosh raised his hands in a calming gesture. "Hey you don't have to read old magazines! We have frisbee here!"
Ben loved frisbee! "That sounds awesome!"
Gosh waved his hands, and a frisbee appeared! He gave it a toss and it didn't quite fly right, but Ben managed to catch it anyway. Frisbees usually fly better. Ben looked at it. "Hey, Mr. Gosh, this frisbee is bent."
Gosh replied quickly. "Everything here is a little off from being perfect, remember? We don't have good funding because this place is only temporary. Throw it here Ben!"
Ben threw it back and forth, not quite bored, but he played better frisbee before. He still had one last question though. "So, like, I don't get to go to Heaven?"
Gosh caught the frisbee. "No you definitely get to go to Heaven, it's just having a small problem it needs to fix. Something about the piping being clogged with Mormons I guess."
Sounds of John the Baptist flushing repeatedly and murmuring something about a stupid plunger in the distance almost on cue confirmed what Gosh said.
Ben caught the frisbee again, and was content. Everything was gonna be, well, *just okay.*
| "Welcome to meh-ven. I'm Gosh." A red headed guy greets me in front of a chain link fence. "What is this place," I marvel, looking around me. I just fell off a 40 story balcony trying to sidestep a pigeon, I must be dead. This is... "Is this the afterlife?" Gosh is waiting at a pulled up area of the fence. He had been daydreaming. "Huh? Oh yeah. You're dead. You died. Are you gonna climb under the gate or not?" I abide, and crawl under. On the other side, I look at the landscape before me. No clouds and angel babies playing harps, so not heaven. But no red devils and pitchforks, so..."What did you say this place was?" Gosh was already walking away. "It's meh-ven. It's alright I guess. There's free beer in the bar on your left." Excited, I rush in. Gosh was wrong. This must be heaven. "I'll have your finest craft beer, please." The bartender scoffs. We only have light beer. Low calorie." Why would I care about calories? I'm dead? Anyway, I drink one. It's not bad, but...
I go outside, and holy-moly there it is! Paradise, all laid out for me. Huts on the beach, sunny skies, and clear sand. Perhaps this only light-beer drinking world wasn't so bad after al-wait. What was that. I look under my foot and realize I stepped on an old sock on the sand. Why do people wear socks to the beach? It was disgusting too. But I can shake it off. I go into the water, beautifully still and clear! Okay. There's clearly some poop in the water. I almost stepped in it. You know what, fine. I can do without the beach anyways.
Well, I was always a movie buff, and what do you know! I have my own personal movie theater in this place! Can't go wrong there! Unless...ok yeah you can go very wrong. The only movies I can watch here are those cheap knock-offs of actual blockbusters. I suck it up and give it a shot. Halfway through 'Atlantic Rim,' the watching becomes unbearable, so I reach for the remote to stop the movie. Now what-where the hell did I put the remote? It's like it just disappeared!
You know what, I think I'm starting to get the gist of this place.
| 2017-03-13T22:43:54 | 2017-03-13T22:05:29 | 55 | 18 |
[WP] Everyone wakes up with a number and a RPG-esque classification (e.g., Thief, Warrior, Cleric, etc.) tattooed on their dominant arm | "Hey Tom!"
Thomas turned around. Across the street, he saw Sarah waving at him. For a moment, his heart stopped. He gulped. She was wearing her school uniform, but she could've been wearing a garbage bag for all he cared. It was her. After a moment of stupor, he raised his hand and waved back. Sarah smiled.
Thomas didn't quite understand why Sarah had been paying so much attention to him recently. His friends said he was 'acceptable' to look at, a judgment he considered kind. He understood why--he was a lineman for the JV team, big enough to look intimidating but not huge or fast enough to join the varsity team. He was quiet, more likely to be at church fellowship than a concert on most Fridays. And yet for days now, Sarah had been paying attention to him. It was almost unreal.
"Tooom!" Sarah yelled again. Thomas looked quizzically, then put his hand to his ear to indicate he was listening.
"How fast can you run the 40?"
Thomas thought he had misheard at first--her question had been slightly drowned out by passing cars. Upon realizing what she was asking, he blushed. His 40-yard dash was among the slowest in the school, let alone his team. He was big, not fast.
But Sarah was not interested in Thomas's answer. With a flourish, she took two wide steps right into the busy intersection.
"Come show me!"
In the instant that Sarah stepped out into the street, the world slowed down for Thomas. Time halted as his eyes opened wide. And in that frozen moment, Thomas heard a voice. One that he knew, in his heart of hearts, was the voice of God.
*The girl will be struck by the bus. You can save her.*
Thomas looked at Sarah, the world stuck in place.
"But I can't reach her from here." he thought.
*You can save her. You must only believe.*
Thomas looked at Sarah, her face still lit with a smile, completely oblivious to the bus about to hit her. She did not deserve death. And if it was within his ability to save her, then it would be his duty. His hands balled up into fists. Putting aside his hesitation, he braced himself to move. To sprint. To fly.
He did not remember the next 2 seconds. He did not remember crashing through the sedan in the right lane, nor the van in the middle. He did not feel the force of fast-moving steel against his own flesh and bone. Before he opened his eyes, he had not realized that he had reached the exact spot where Sarah had stood. Nor had he seen the destroyed remains of the truck that had slammed into him.
But Sarah had disappeared from the road. As Thomas came to his senses and a crowd gathered, he looked around frantically. The driver of the bus stumbled out of the wreckage, bleeding profusely.
---
"Impressive." a male voice muttered to Sarah from atop the roof of a nearby building.
"I told you he would be fast." Sarah responded with a smirk. Her form blurred and skipped as she approached the man watching Thomas.
"Paladins truly do move by faith alone, then."
"I don't even think he's realized his power yet."
The man smiled. "Good. He will serve us well." | The glares I had been getting as I walked through campus serve as a reminder to that awful word forever inked onto my left arm.
"Thief"
Not even Rogue, or Assassin. Just Thief.
I've never stolen anything in my life, why Thief? Dave turned into a Pyro mage, and Matt became a Knight, even came with cool armour and a sword.
What did I get? A knife, and a stupid cloak that would look good if you went larping, but could get you laughed off the streets, which it did.
The worst part of all this is everyone avoids you, like you're obligated to steal something from them.
Dave has been setting fire to everything in the apartment and Matt keeps 'practicing' his swordsmanship in the living room. Knocked over my picture of my family, too.
I spend another day of isolated seclusion getting drunk and playing video games when a furious knock sounds from my door. I ignore it for a while, but the incessant bangs compel me to answer.
"What?" I lazily shout in discontempt.
"I know you stole it you fucking thief!" An aggressive voice calls out from behind the window.
I spot the man peering through angrily at me.
Brett. The Hero.
I groan and stumble my way to the door.
Why?
I unlock the deadbolt and reach for the handle.
Don't. Just go to bed.
"I'm gonna punch you."
Good one. Of course, I don't. I'm on my back before I know it with Brett standing over me, fuming.
"My sword! where is it?"
"I don't have your sword. Why do you care, it's just a stupid metal stick." I get a rather sobering slap for that. "What the hell?"
"That sword is the Taming Sari."
"So."
"Whoever wields that sword is unbeatable. Anyone, as in some measly thief like you."
Before I could form a rebuttal, Matt shows up, his shirt is torn and he looks beat.
"Guys, we have a problem." The urgency in Matt's voice is clear as day.
~
I would write more but I'm busy for the rest of the day, feedback will be much appreciated, this is my first story.
Edit: minor tweaks and a capital k. | 2015-07-13T19:19:43 | 2015-07-13T17:50:28 | 83 | 44 |
[WP] You've just been assimilated into a hivemind... but it's a very weak one. It can't control you or anything, it's more like a telepathic group chat that you can't turn off. | "What's that buzzing?" She asked, her fork dangling above the half-finished tart we were sharing.
I took advantage of her lull and swiped the rest of the pastry, cramming it into my mouth. I started to laugh, but I inhaled a raspberry instead. My laugh died before it really started, it turned into a choking fit.
"Serves you right, pig!" Sheila grinned at me. I think she did, anyway. My eyes were tearing up and she appeared indistinct. It's probably how she looked behind the glass of a shower door after the humidity filled the bathroom. I began to reach for her water glass and she pushed it closer towards me. The manager watched from behind the cash register. I tried to signal that I would be okay but I was coughing too hard.
Sheila watched my face closely. Or at least, I think she did. "I know you're choking, Paul. Do you need help?" I shook my head. It would take a few more seconds of room-clearing coughs, but I was clearing the obstruction. Damn raspberries! I probably wouldn't be able to eat one for a few months. Suddenly the manager appeared at my elbow, a large pitcher of water in his hands. "He'll be okay--sorry about this. Could you leave the water? I'll watch him." Sheila received a curt nod from the manager. He turned back to the register. The other patrons were staring at us.
Finally! One awful hack and I could breathe again. I wiped my tear-stained face with my napkin and took a sip of water. "I'm so sorry, everyone. Went down the wrong pipe."
The rest of the customers returned to their conversations and Sheila sighed with relief. "Wow, Paul. That was a close one. But now I want another tart. I'm not sharing with you ever again."
At that comment, the buzzing in my head roared with laughter.
Sheila's eyes went wide. "Paul! That's right! I asked you; what is that buzzing noise? I always hear it when we're together."
Crap, she could hear *my voices*? I looked at her in confusion. "You mean to tell me you can hear this?" I pointed at my own head, the source of a nonstop din for the past 4 years. At first I'd thought it was tinnitus, the result of working in a garage since I was 18, but last year the murmuring had started to become louder. And with the increasing volume, I'd begun to hear individual voices. Male, female, old, young. 2 months ago I'd started to hear what the voices were saying. An old woman reciting bible passages, a young man reading lyrics to classic rock-n-roll songs, a kid once sang "Ring around the Rosie" nonstop for 11 hours.
The audiologist said there was no damage. The other audiologist said the same, the ear nose and throat doctor shrugged. "I don't see anything wrong. Maybe you should....talk to someone...?"
I had made the appointment with the shrink. I would be seen in a few weeks' time. I'd started to look up things about Hearing Voices and Schizophrenia, and I was not thrilled with the idea of that particular diagnoses.
"Sheila, seriously--you can -hear- this?"
"Yes, sometimes it's indistinct, but I just heard a bunch of people laughing."
A voice in my head shouted "SHE'S A KEEPER, PAUL!" | Did you ever visited mall on Saturday in a megapolis, like Tokyo or Shanghai? There is always this constant nightmare of epileptic fest, with constant noise from people, shops and speakers, which play one sing on loop 24/7?
Well, imagine this feeling is directly in your head, multiply it by 10 and congratulations - you now know how we feel in "Buddy's Covenant". Well, that is how I name it - we long ago decided that everyone can call this connection however they like. Including Buddy themself, which is obviously isn't their name, but is just easier that way, since now I have only one Buddy in my life.
You probably want to ask - why the hell would you agree to this covenant? Well, numerous reasons - none of these is worth it, mind you, but before you connect it might sound appealing. Want to instantly know about every new event in the colonies before it hits media? Buddy's Covenant. Want to know every known language? Buddy's Covenant. Want to know answers for your exam and don't want to cram another night? You guessed - Buddy's Covenant.
And the most appealing thing - it is cheap! No entry fees or anything. You just need internet connection, go to the official site, read a spell from it and you are in!
Congratulations, now you instantly hear every thought of every being in the Buddy's Covenant which reached 500 000 000 members this month! And you can't turn it off. Oh, you don't want to hear about Zoghrahj's mating ritual? You don't want to see over9000 variations of the same meme, but by different species and colonies? You don't want to listen to some generic domestic conflict between old man and woman? Sorry, it is all or nothing package. You gain knowledge of 500 000 000. All of it. No exceptions.
Oh, you are interested why I entered Buddy's Covenant? Well, this is obvious - money. What money, you ask? How can you profit from it? You see, telemarketing these days is pretty hard. But what if you can market your product directly to minds of your fellows of Buddy's Covenant? Now everyone knows about your product! And they can't ignore it! By the way, are you interested in this sweet new device from Zalum 4, that makes amaz....
*Interview discontinued due to nauthorized ad*
Edit: grammar | 2022-09-17T18:27:15 | 2022-09-17T15:15:41 | 942 | 404 |
[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 was these sort of women that he hated the most. The ones that would cling to their tainted children with screams and fits of rage. Didn't they understand? Didn't they realize that the world had to be clean?
It'd been many years since he'd realized the truth about the Blackness. One day, The Doctor has pricked himself during an operation and found a jet black tar, so thick that it never managed to escape from the shallow wound. He'd always been a good man, always helping the needy, operating on the dying, the homeless, those who nobody else would risk their careers on. He'd gone to church, worshiped God, refrained from alcohol and cursing, and still, his blood was filled with Blackness. It was then that he realized: the blood must tell the future. It not only darkened and thickened with each impurity, but it also knew the state of your future deeds. Somehow, the Blackness must be able to judge the soul and see what it was capable of.
With that realization came a new purpose. If one day he would be the Blackest of all devils, then he would dedicate the rest of his life until that moment to purify every stain that he could find. Every drop of Blackness would be cleansed from the world in order to balance his own future sin. It was with this knowledge and vision that The Doctor started his research. After a painstakingly long trial, he found that indeed, the blood could predict a person's purity in their later life. With this, he proposed a new program that could eradicate the Blackness before it ever grew into action. Every child would be pricked at thirteen, as before thirteen they were judged to be well under their parents control. Those whose blood was Black would be taken away from their parents and eliminated from society in order to prevent the evil they would inevitably bring into the world.
Whatever the evil he might one day do, The Doctor hoped that his life's work spent in the elimination of all the Tainted would help to balance the scales. Every day, without fail, he would prick him self again in order to remind himself of his purpose. Every day, without fail, the blood would stand within the cut, Blacker than the darkest night and thicker than the Jello that all his patients received. Every day, without fail, it reminded him that time was running short. One day, he would become evil. Before then, he had to cleanse as much evil from the world as he could. And so, so many of the evil ones were left.
Edit: Woah. So that's why people post things on reddit so much. Dang those upvotes feel nice inside haha. For those asking: I had what I thought was a fun idea so I wrote it out in a rather rough sort of way, no idea if it's actually like any of the animes/shows listed below that I haven't watched and I'm glad y'all enjoyed it too :). | At that moment, I was happy. I bring my pricked finger to my supple lips, and my tongue caresses the wound with warm tenderness.
Sweet. Like a strawberry lollipop.
It started off as one good deed a day. Picking up trash, volunteering at the senior home, removing hate graffiti, giving some water to construction workers. Mundane tasks.
*"Thank you for picking up garbage Sara. I want to be good like you when I grow up!"*
*"Here again at the senior home? Someone like you should be enjoying their youth and leave old bags like us to our devices! ....But I do appreciate the sentiment."*
*"I see you've been the one helping me get rid of these garbage nazi symbols. What say we make some wholesome graffiti art together one day?*
*"Thanks again for the water Sara! We really appreciate it! Couldn't do our work without ya."*
I wouldn't get complimented every time though. Only when someone notices. That moment when all the hard work you've done is recognized, after countless hours, days, weeks, months, years... The buildup to that climactic "Thank You" is pure ecstasy.
Soon, it wasn't enough. I had to do more. Help more people. So I started helping out at the local hospital. I went to college and became a registered nurse. I double majored in writing, wrote children's books, and held free read aloud sessions at my local library. I adopted a child, two stray dogs, and a cat.
All of it just to witness their smiling faces as their words of praise and gratitude flow out like Mozart. Like a warm blanket tucked tightly around me, outlining the contours of my body.
This is who I am. This blood is the symbol of my lust, and I'll brew it until it turns to ruby.
| 2018-08-04T10:46:53 | 2018-08-04T10:18:07 | 3,279 | 15 |
[WP] You have been in a coma for years, but the people around you worship you as a deity, leaving offerings and notes with wishes and prayers. You aren't a god- time simply stops any time you wake up, leaving you alone in a frozen world. You accept the offerings and do what you can to grant prayers. | The Time Lord lay in a glass coffin under a willow tree, little pieces of paper hung from the tree's branches, and it swayed with the wind as a little girl came running towards the coffin.
She was crying. Tightly clutched in her hand was a piece of paper no larger than an index card. She ran, and she ran, and then she froze, along with the rest of the world. And the Time Lord woke up.
The Time Lord stretched as he rose from the glass coffin. The world around him was frozen. It always was. He looked at the willow tree and the pieces of paper that hung from its branches.
He plucked one of the notes. "Please bring my husband back to life. His name is-" The Time Lord stopped reading. It was an impossible request. He plucked another one. "I lost a lover two years ago. Please God I just want to-" No use. He was worthless after all, something he had long suspected.
Note after note contained impossible requests. Requests that chipped away at the Time Lord's soul. The only requests he could fulfil went something like: "I want you to kill..." Or "I want you to steal..."
The Time Lord exhausted all the requests. He could only fulfil the wishes of the damned. Saddened by this discovery, he clutched his hair and wept.
When his eyes were red and swollen, the Time Lord raised his head. He saw the little snot-nosed kid, frozen in time with a piece of paper in her hand. The Time Lord took it from her. "Please find my dog," it said. But it didn't say anything about the dog. How was he to help her? But she was the only one the Time Lord could help in good conscience. And he did.
The Time Lord strode out into the busy streets full of statue-like humans frozen in time. He found a little brown dog, picked it up, put it next to the little girl and smiled. Maybe he wasn't as useless as he thought himself to be. And with this thought, the Time Lord went back to sleep.
When the world came out of its daze, the little kid saw that the note was no longer in her hand. I must've dropped it, she thought. And then she saw the little dog beside her. The dog barked at her, and she shooed it away. The little girl looked at the glass coffin. She could've sworn that she saw the Time Lord stir in his sleep. | "NO", I scream. 'You can't do this? What kind of sick psycho are you? I thought you would help me achieve my goals."
"I'm sorry", she said. "I promised everyone that I would grant their wishes and achieve their goals. That requires a sacrifice."
"Well, then, maybe you should've told me that motherf\*cker!", I retort. "Or how 'bout you give yourself up, considering you got yourself into this mess of false promises in the first place."
"I've conversed many times with the gods. They have grown fond of me and won't let me sacrifice myself."
"Gods? More like demons."
"ENOUGH!", she snarled. Naomi proceeded to cut the lights, and it was too dark for me to see anything, except the now glowing summoning circle that was under me.
"Gods, take Celeste and turn her to a deity. I must keep the promises I can."
Huh?
Ugh, I always have that nightmare before I wake up. People are supporting Naomi for making me a sacrifice, but these are people like me. People who just want a better life. I really don't want to disappoint them, but at the same time, getting revenge would be really nice. Alas, they say that revenge digs two graves, so I should help out my followers. | 2020-12-28T10:53:38 | 2020-12-28T09:12:09 | 25 | 12 |
[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. | War Never Changes
When the Galactic Community first stumbled across the species known as humanity they had been excited.
“New intelligent life forms have been found!” They proclaimed, “Amazing new discoveries await!” They had promised.
At first, they were right. The humans, soft and weak as they were, produced artistic marvels. They found paintings that inspired the scientific
Rewec, with their many eyes and tentacles, to gasp in awe and wonder. They were touched by music that caused the warlike Xarak, with their claws and armored exoskeleton, to shed a tear in overflowing emotion and compassion. They indulged in food that caused the nigh immortal Gogish, thin creatures with no eyes and reptilian features, to once more take notice of the present and all its gifts. Yes, humanity was thought to be a species devoted to enlightenment. Peaceful creators. Builders.
Than came the war.
The humans had spread throughout the stars, welcomed on almost any planet, treated with dignity. But when the Xarak and the Rewec had formed an alliance, a unity born of greed, they had demonstrated no mercy. Both species wanted to claim, what they saw as their right, leadership of the entire Galactic Community. The spot had been held by the Gogish by virtue of their age and wisdom so the Xarak and Rewec sought to destroy them. Planets were razed to the ground, billions slaughtered, and the humans, caught in the middle as they were, were crushed underfoot.
In an effort to avoid war humanity pulled back their colonies and recalled their members. They proclaimed neutrality and only welcomed refugees.
They asked that their wishes be respected.
The Rewec only grunted, detached as they were from the world, preferring only their numbers and calculations. What were a few million deaths in the grand scheme of things, they had wondered.
The Xarak had laughed and laughed as they tore humans apart with their claws and chewed on their flesh with their fangs. Only might makes right, they had believed, and the humans had no might to speak of.
The humans had continued to plea, to beg, all the way up until the massacre of Wilonex-1. The planet had been a human refugee center, housing an untold number of Gogish families who simply wanted peace. When the Xarak learned of this they had seen an opportunity for what had they to fear from the soft mammals who kept mewling for mercy? What could they do?
The Xarak tore both Gogish and Human apart limb from limb, bathing in the blood of their enemies, laughing. They played cruel games with the survivors, torturing them, making each family choose amongst themselves who was to die next. They recorded their actions, displaying it for all in the Galaxy to witness their might and their power.
The humans stopped pleading.
Instead, they sent a galaxy wide message in response. It was a video and in it one of their number, aged with white hair and wrinkled skin, stood with hands clasped behind his back. His worn blue eyes gazed sadly into the camera and when he spoke his voice was raspy and deep.
“Si vis pacem,” he began “parabellum.”
Then he closed his eyes and bowed his head before whispering one last sentence, almost as if he were talking to himself, his voice like an aching wound.
“War…is hell.” He said and the message cut to black.
The Xarak ignored it and the Rewec dismissed it until the first of their Armadas went missing. When they went to investigate the area all they found were the twisted remains of their space craft floating in the abyss. Scorched and broken.
The rest of their vanguard joined soon after.
Panicking, the warlike species of Xarak pressured the Rewec for answers wondering if the Gogish had unleashed some kind of secret weapon. The Rewec were just as confused and scared as their bloodthirsty counterparts. Then came the calls for help. Multiple worlds on the outskirts of their territory called for assistance, cried for mercy, and begged for salvation. That’s when they saw the long hidden dark and terrible side of humanity reveal itself in all its glory.
Cities were bombed, disappearing in flashes of light and fire, while titanic mechanized suits housing human pilots stomped through the battlefield laying waste with rail guns, particle cannons, and anti-matter blades. Survivors were slaughtered ruthlessly. The Xarak fought back with the full power of their military might, decrying the human’s tactics and hypocritically demanding they follow the laws of war.
Humanity responded with another message. Just a black screen with white font that would play on the Galactic network until the war finally ended.
The message read simply: The only crime in war is to lose.
In one standard decade the Xarak were rendered extinct and the Rewec, though they survived, were restricted to a handful of solar systems and stripped of all their weapons of war. The Gogish went back to their homes, showering the humans with praise, and offered Humanity a spot as leader of the Galactic Counsel. Humanity refused. When asked why their leader had said: “Because power corrupts and absolute power corrupts absolutely. We only want peace, not to lead, and so long as there is peace then we will be content.” | P'nqta stared at the reports on his desk. This couldn't be right.
"I wish it wasn't." P'nqta started, unaware that he had been speaking. He looked up at the human ambassador horror slowly filling his primary and secondary eyes. "16 human planets are gone. You are *positive*?"
"I don't see much to be positive about. That is accurate up to..." at this point he checked the glasses giving him his HUD. "approximately 3 hours ago." his posture remained, somehow, relaxed, leaning against the ur-brick walls, arms crossed.
"You mean there could be **more**? When did this, to borrow a human expression, titanic clusterfuck start? How? And more importantly, Zambi," he grabbed several pages, uncaring of the actual content "WHY WAS THE SECOND STEP FOR *ALL 16 PLANETS* THE DIRECT TRANSPORT OF BIO-MODIFIED PLANETARY GUARDIANS?" He had puffed himself up, his gill sacs and tertiary lymphocytes having fallen behind on purging the toxic stress buildup.
At this, the Zambi's entire body seemed to slump. Even for a human, he was considered somewhat shorter, but he made up for that on sheer tactical and xenocultural knowledge. He looked back up at the slowly deflating form of his colleague, his eyes having aged 3 centuries even behind the slightly concealing colored lenses of his HUD. "Humans are not a species to half-ass warfare, Pen." He shrugged, resigned. "Guess it's been too long. We need to get it out of our systems." He snorted, looking away. "Clearly we're not as evolved as we wish." came bitterly.
"I appreciate the vague cultural analysis, Zambi, but that answered literally none of my questions."
"Oh right. It started about 20 hours ago" at this P'nqta gave a strangled noise but did not interrupt, "between the Neo-Manifest Alliance and the Third Grand Galactica. No information on what this whole thing is about yet. As for the weaponized guardians, probably because it was more humane than the alternatives."
"This was the *humane* solution? Please, tell me more. What incalculable insanity do you humans have up your sleeve. I need to know exactly how far to travel if you decide to point outward." His voice hysterical as the blood in his system circulated at speeds unheard of since before his ancestors became primary apex organisms.
"Standard stuff mostly. Orbital kinetic railguns, lightspeed particulate colliders, starlight lasers, sunspot magnifiers, gravity nullifers, gravity boosters, and the good old fashioned atomic explosives. Oh! And the weaponized plagues. Frankly, the planetary guardians will at least leave the planet somewhat habitable in the future."
There was silence for several moments as P'nqta's 3 brains all attempted to process the horrors he was given vision to. 'They're insane. Humans are insane and they're willing to do this to themselves and we gave them lightspeed travel.' His horrified trance did not stay long however, as he finally looked away from the wall, turning to fully face his counterpart. "Zambi. I'm going to ask you a very serious question, and I want, no. Need, no. *Order* that you give as full an answer as you can. Ok?" Zambi simply nodded. "How are you alive?"
"Compassion, understanding, adaptability, and fucking, mostly. That last one especially. We make the weapons, we use the weapons, we're horrified by the damage and then we try to reach an understanding to prevent the use of those weapons. In between and during rounds of this, we pair or poly off and fuck to burn off the tension, and once we have children, we have an entirely new set of more immediate stressors with more immediate solutions. The avoidance principles tend to hold for 3 or so generations, until the original surviving victims and witnesses all die off, and then it all begins anew."
P'nqta finally dropped, his demi-exoskeleton performing as his chair while his mostly cartilage body somewhat folded into it.
"What do we do next?" | 2021-08-13T15:50:39 | 2021-08-13T11:54:59 | 81 | 31 |
[WP] Leaving a rooftop party at night, you take the elevator to the ground floor. Stepping out, you find it is now broad daylight, a week later, and you have hundreds of missed calls and texts. Even more strangely, the city streets are empty, silent and devoid of life. | The past week had been truly strange. When i got home there was no one there. My girlfriend had left and not come back. After reaching out to her friends and her work and getting no replies, not even so much as a read confirmation, i called the police to file a missing persons report. No reply either.
After a few minutes of sitting on the bed, wondering what the hell to do, i started hearing it. As my buzz from the party was wearing off and the head began to ache, i noticed it.
*silence*
No cars. No honking. No sounds at all. I got up to look out the window, then it began. My phone buzzed. Finally! Someone replied.
I looked at the notification. It was my aunt, it just said ”fall asleep”.
Not a bad idea, but a little weird. I began texting back, asking her what She meant, and how she was doing. Before i for halfway through i got another text, this time from my father.
”Fall asleep”
I stared at the dropdown notification for a few seconds before reacting. I out the phone down, and went to look out the window again. Halfway to the window i heard my phone go off again. One text. Two. Five.
The closer to the window i got, the more texts there were. When i finally looked out the window, everything seemed normal. At first.
No movement. Nothing moved. Even the trash littering the streets were completely still, as If No wind blew. The phone kept buzzing.
Not sure how to handle the situation i decided that no matter what, i wasn’t going to fall asleep.
The first day seemed to drag on forever. Hours went by, and when looking at the clock on my phone i saw it was close to 11 pm. It was evening. I was tired. The phone still buzzed with varying intensity depending on where i was in the apartment. Bedroom and bathroom were silent spots for it.
It was past eleven at night and the sun stood still, determined to shine noon sun at the city. I was confused. I’d tried calling a few people but was met with ”the number you have dialed is not in use.”
So i’m all alone. Everything is still. The only thing i know, is i must not fall asleep. When it’d been 30 hours of unnatural midday sun i began feeling horrible. Sweating, moving sluggishly, everything was in a daze. Then the phone began ringing. I answered the call, from an unknown number, hoping to hear someone on the other end. Anyone would do, at this point i was scared. Shook to my core.
I regretted answering the call immediately, the voice cut through the silence like a sword through bone, cracking, snapping, unexpectedly loud, it said only: *fall asleep* before it hung up.
Screaming i dropped my phone to the ground and ran outside. I booked it to the ground level, the sound of ringing phones could be heard in all the apartments i passed by.
After opening the door and going out into the street the ringing was faint now. But it came from everywhere. From cars who had a cellphone laying inside to buildings to stores. Anywhere there was a phone, it was ringing.
After what i think is a week i’m now well outside city limits. The forest is silent and feels safer than it should, but atleast There are no phones here. I’m so tired. I think i may need to go to sleep. Just for a little while. | I mumble out loud well fuck, would you look at that. Reach into my pocket grab my zipo and relight my half smoked cuban. My suit still pressed quit nicely, loosen my tie, and pull out my phone. I glance at the date and wonder what I've got my self into, A second glance at the battery indicates I've got 1 percent left and vibrates, The tmobile logo comes on and instantly dies. I head next door to the parking garage, not a noise but the wind wizzing in my ear. Realizing I left my porsche on the 5th floor and approaching the elevator, "I'll be damned if I get in another one of you" I say as I head towards the stairs. I climb all 4 sets of stairs nimbly and quickly then I see it. My bright red porsche the only car left. Open the door take one last puff of my cigar and throw it to the side, hop in press the start button. The engine starts in a thrill, I feel estatic, I may be the last man alive, but I've got my porsche. I race down the garage carefully and hit the road. I pass by many sky scrapers all vacant, accelerating faster desperate to see some kind of life. Out of dispair I approach the 24 hour gas station not a soul in sight, the shelf's half empty. I grab the last redbull pop it open and chug it down. Grab a charger for my phone and go back to the car. Plug my phone in and turn it on. The ground rumbles, mildly for a good 30 seconds I think earth quake? My phones emergency tones go off stating hurricane is quickly approaching, try to check the radar, but no signal. Open a text from my wife "where are you we have to leave". I respond "where did you go?". The message refusing to send I think I better get out of here. Just then the ground shakes, and the sky scrapers start to wobble. I floor it thinking what ever is happening it isn't good. Heading towards the high way I see it over the ocean. Constant lightning bolts strike the ocean. A massive wave at least 1,000 feet in the air heading straight for the city. The cloud covering the tsunami looked so death defying, funnels constantly touching down and evaporating into air. I punch the petal to metal, and the race began. | 2021-02-07T09:23:50 | 2021-02-07T09:20:45 | 176 | 33 |
[WP] you're an immortal who has seen Empires rise and fall, you've watched history unfold. what bothers you most is a certain fast food restaurant's milkshake machine is always down. | Aktul the Eternal, currently Jerry Blank, always returns to the same place once every fifty years. He is a man of many names, and changing every thiry or so years once he can no longer manage the facade of age. He finds a new identity, a new home, and begins again. He's tried a little of everything, architect, philosopher, and more recently, milkshake concessionaire.
Grillboy's Hots and Dogs smells of hot oil and is thicker by the air of salt. The tiles are fresh and bright like a baby bird's blue egg. He orders a milkshake, and like the days and weeks before the machine does not work. It's been broken since they opened, the screech-y voiced girl behind the counter assures him. Every day, Jerry returns, thirstier than before.
He tells no one why he wants a milkshake so badly. The manager offers him consolation in coupons and hotdogs, but Jerry wants none of this. He begins to sleep in the parking lot, in his car. He walks up and sits there, seeing if the repair technician will come by and fix the machine. He calls corporate, and complains, and they offer him consolation further. Free meals and gift cards are no longer applicable.
Jerry returns on a rainy sunday. His walk from the parking lot leaves him dripping wet despite how quickly he ran. Water pools around him and he crawls over the counter. The squeaky teenager demands he leave and begins to call the police, but he continues on. He twists the handle of the machine to drink from it, but nothing comes out. Angrily, he breaks it open and grabs the nearest source of liquid, a cup of soda, from an employee quietly attempting to serve a customer. He pours it into the machine and twists the handle. What leaves is soda. Cool soda. Back into the cup it pours and he drinks.
Every time they tried making a proper shake, the machine didn't work, the girl told him. But Jerry knows the built this building around the machine. It's been here forever. He lets the life flow through his veins. Sickness leaves his body. Another fifty years of life given to Jerry, to Aktul.
The fountain of youth? It rests besides one that dispenses soda. | "Hi welcome to Jack-In-The-Box would you like to try our new portobello mushroom burger?"
The ancient immortal gazed upon the menu of savory treats. "No thank you."
"Ok, what can I get for you?"
"I would like a cheeseburger and a small frie, oh and a large chocolate shake."
"Alright, cheeseburger, small fry, but I am sorry our shake machine is down at the moment."
The immortal flinched in pain at the statement the stupid bitch just made. "How is that?"
"We are currently cleaning it sir. Would you like a soda-"
"I want my fucking milkshake!"
"Let me get my manager."
No matter what the shake machine was always down. The inmortal has been there since the first burger was flipped at this fast food join. He helped Jesus out of a pit, nice guy by the way, and even helped Egypt fall. But no matter what time it was, these shakes were always down.
"Hi how can I help you?"
"Are you the manager?" The immortal growled.
"Yes I am sir. What's the problem."
"Fuck you!" | 2016-07-26T12:35:18 | 2016-07-26T12:08:19 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned. | Jason dropped the carboard box onto the one he had set down prior, and stepped back. He held his lower back and arched. Fuck, this retail stocking shit is not fun. Time for a break. He walked over to the door, reached in his shirt pocket and grabbed for his smokes. Opening the door, he stepped through into brilliant sunlight.
What the fuck? This is night shift. He blinked and held his hand to his brow to shade his eyes.
In an instant he could see that he was not in the back parking lot of the Northland Mall. He was standing on a giant slab of stone, and the smell of salt was in the air. He turned to where the door he had just passed through should have been and there was met with the gaze of a fat nude woman with red hair.
Jason squared up towards her and looked her over. What. The. Fuck. A wave of panic washed over him, and the woman began to move to his left chanting in a language that he did not understand while moving her fleshy arms in circles. That's when he noticed the others in the darkness.
Behind the fat woman was a crowd. Several dozen people. There were men and women, all dressed in shabby clothing that was dirty. Jason noticed one woman near the front holding an infant in her arms. She stared directly at him, her eyes cold and flat. It was then that Jason noticed the baby's limb dangling limply and he knew that something was not right.
The redheaded woman continued to circle Jason, her gesticulations becoming wilder and her voice rising. Jason shouted back to her. Fuck you! What the fuck is this!? He tried to approach her and his legs felt like iron. Each step felt as if he was pulling a tree's roots from the earth, and when it fell flat against the stone he felt a stabbing pain radiate upward through his leg.
What is this? He shouted again. Just then a man stepped forth from the crowd. He pointed at the redheaded woman and yelled. He pointed at Jason and then back to the crowd, all the time speaking a strange tongue Jason had never encountered before.
The woman stood looking at Jason, and extended her palm toward him. She stared at Jason, and then turned to speak to the man, keeping her hand directed towards Jason. Jason looked from one to the other, and began to feel his knees buckle. His head was growing light, and he was feeling wobbly. What now?
Falling to his knees, he put his hands down and the stone felt like fire against his flesh. He yelled out in anguish. The man's voice rose, and several others stepped forward from the crowd behind him, all facing the redheaded woman. One man was carrying a child, obviously dead, it's lifeless corpse held tenderly in his arms. He pointed a finger at the nude woman, and then towards Jason.
The redheaded woman stared intently at Jason. He attempted to lift his hands to crawl, but it felt like his hands had become part of the stone, like he was being pulled into it. What is this? What is happening? He looked all around him and saw that the crowd was in a circle around him and they were moving towards the woman, who kept her gaze on Jason. She began to speak, and turned her head toward the advancing mob. Three people in the front of the line dropped to the turf, dead in their tracks. She kept her hand pointed toward Jason, and began to motion with the other above her head.
A light formed over Jason, and he looked up to meet it. Suddenly it felt like rain falling on his face, and the brilliance overwhelmed him.
"Jason, hey Jason ..." The voice was familiar. It was Stan. "Hey man, you OK?"
Jason blinked and looked up. Stan, the heavyset night security guard was standing on his hoverround with his flashlight on Jason's eyes. "What ... where ..."
"Dude, are you OK?"
Jason felt the cool pavement beneath his hand and clamored to his feet. His knees felt uneasy. His head throbbed, and on the ground in front of him was a cigarette. "Yeah, I, uh, I don't know what happened ..."
"OK, bro, I don't know what you're smoking and I don't really care, but just be careful out here. I heard some dudes from West Haven jumped a guy last week." Stan looked him over once more before turning around on the hoverround and zipping across the parking lot.
Jason watched him, Stan's red pony tail poking out from underneath his black baseball cap. Man, fuck night shift. | It felt like I had tripped up some stairs. For a second I thought I had, and immediately froze. The plate in my hand still held the Reuben, but the surface beneath.....
My head snapped up, and I noticed the darkness first. Second were the candles, placed carefully around me in hexagons expanding away from me. Low-level bands of light etched out the writing between the tiers, though none of it looked like a language I could place. The floor, instead of the carpeted stairs I had been climbing, was an old wood, stained with neglect, and riddled with gaps and protruding nails. One was digging into my hand, and as I lifted it I realized the nail was rough, as if hand-forged.
My analysis of the floor was disrupted by a heavy thud, just beyond the candles.
"Stay where you are, demon!"
"What?" I rose, still holding the plate.
A figure was just visible in the room, which I now saw was small, and claustrophobic. A low work-bench dominated a wall, scattered with shapes that I could only just spot in the candle-light. A window was open, but I couldn't feel a breeze. The figure, which seemed to be rather.... short, was doing its best at a power pose, and failing.
"I said stay where you are!"
"Nah, I got that. What's with the demon? Is that some kind of racist term I'm not aware of?"
"What?"
"What?"
The figure shook its head. "Look, you are a demon, you have to be! I summoned you, with a demon summoning, so you have to be a demon! That's how this works!"
I tried to step forward, collided against something. Something hard. "The fuck!?"
"Ahah, see! That barrier holds in demons! And you're a demon!"
"Oh yeah? Have you tried to pass through this?" Hard as rock, my finger tips told me.
"I don't have to prove it works. It won't, because I'm not a demon!" He even stamped his foot. Adorable.
I had had enough. I shifted my sandwich to my other hand, and hefted the plate. Middle school track, don't fail me now. The plate landed with a soft thud three feet to the left of the figure. Almost as if...
"How old even are you?" I asked, leaning against the barrier and taking a bite of my sandwich.
The figure flinched. "N- not you- hush, you demon!"
"Sooooooo, eight, then?" I glanced over at the figure. Definitely too immature to be an adult. I turned my back on him, and took another bite. "Is this your bedroom? Why do you even want a demon? What are demons supposed to do?"
"I- I said hush!"
"Uh huh. You getting bullied in school?"
"I SAID HUSH!"
My feet skidded across the floor as if I had been shoved. Before I could regain my slouch the walls slammed into me, pinning my sandwich to my thigh, my other arm across my chest. "Wha-"
"I have summoned you, demon, from your Earthly dimension, to aid me in a task!"
The walls were crushing me, and I gave a tiny whimper in response.
"You are to use your dark powers to kill the President, Tonald Drump!" | 2017-05-12T08:33:39 | 2017-05-12T08:05:41 | 44 | 10 |
[WP] Even healing magic can be abused. | Every night at precisely 12:40 am, the frail old man in white clothing would enter the Lenox Hill Hospital. He would limp past the receptionist and the nurses, past the seemingly secure doorways, and he'd make his way to room A22.
In front of the room, a police officer stood silently, playing *Clash of Clans* on his over-sized iPhone. He tepidly raised his head and pressed the lock button on the side of his phone. He slowly began to walk towards the old man, holding his palms out in front of him in a tired fashion.
"I think you may have taken a wrong turn, sir. This room is off limits," the officer spoke gruffly.
The old man continued to slowly walk towards the officer, ignoring his commands. He raised his hands with his palms facing outwards to match the officer's. The sound of his cane made an unsettling tap on the floor, as the distance between both men began to close.
*tap*
"I'm warning you, I will have to stop you if you come any closer," the officer said, becoming more nervous by the second.
*tap*
The officer then drew his taser, aiming it at the old man, whose steps seemed to be gradually speeding up.
*tap*
The old man then threw his cane on the floor and broke into a dash, running towards the officer, who fired his taser directly at the old man's torso.
"*Sanitatum*," said the old man in a resounding voice. The sound waves seemed to echo through the hallway.
The points of the taser dug into old man's skin, but he pulled them out, the skin regenerating instantaneously at the puncture points. The officer began to fumble for his firearm, but was swatted backwards into the wall by the old man with a meaty *thud*. The officer tried to raise his head with a groan, but slipped into unconsciousness after no more than a second.
The old man broke the knob off the door and entered. Inside was a young girl, no older than 12. Though she was covered in cut marks and gauze, the girl was fast asleep. The old man approached her, and began to raise his hands towards her wounds. The girl woke up with a shudder and looked directly into the pitch black eyes of the old man with a scream, pure terror reflecting off of her eyes. The old man snapped his fingers and the girl could scream no more, only a small wheezing sound escaped her mouth. A devilish smile grew on the old man's face.
"Forcing your own death won't stop me girl," the old man rasped. "Our paths are intertwined for decades to come".
The old man began to slide into the bed with the girl, chuckling softly. Knowing she was completely hopeless, the girl closed her eyes, causing a single tear to flow down her pale cheeks. The old man grinned and began to wrap himself around the girl. As he reached one hand for her inner thigh and another for the girl's wounds, the old man whispered a single word:
*Sanitatum.* | Entry 1825 of the book of magic.
Healing magic.
Also see: life magic, light magic, and curing magic.
Forms of use: Artifact, Alchemy, Enegry.
Description: healing magic is a form of magic used to mend wounds, cure sickness, and, if especially talented, reduce mental trauma.
It is mostly studied by worshipers of Elyvilon, The Shining One, and occasionally Zin.
The main college of healing magic is farmakeftikós localed near skýla city.
Noted users inculuded ragnic know for healing a city of the plague, hilltar know for his work in the undead wars of the eighty seventh cycle, and grismark known for his work with healing magic, including making it more reliable and less exhausting.
If you wish to study healing magic the first and most important step is to cleanse your mind and body. There are many ways to do this including, but not limited to, praying to your chosen god, going on a spirit walk, meditation, and bathing ones self in water blessed by a priest of your chosen god*.
After doing this it is recommended you study under your local healer, however self teaching is possible.**
Important Note: Do not use healing magic on the departed, while it is possible to retrun a soul to it's body, the experience can be traumatic for the soul and can result in many side effects. These include, but are not limited to, loss of IQ, constant and severe hunger, rotting of the body, madness, loss of memories, loss of impulse control, loss of ability to reason and, loss of humanity.
*not that the priest in question can note be you due to the tuning principal
** do not use healing magic on a live person until you have passed the standard MCP test in your area and have gained your license. Botched healings are highly tramatic and can have side effects ranging for loss of the portion of the body being healed to insanity of the patient and/or healer.
____________________________
Thanks for reading.
Read more at r/pathadomus | 2016-05-19T16:58:02 | 2016-05-19T16:23:02 | 35 | 10 |
[WP] You live in a world where every person receives a superpower on their 18th birthday. You eagerly count down the seconds then shriek in horror as you are given a power no one would ever want to be stuck with. | My mother said I popped out of her at 18:12. Well it was 18:11 and we are about to find out if her memories were accurate! One flippin more minute! I’ve literally been waiting for 18 years for this moment.
All my friends are already 18. They all have their superpowers. Do you know how hard it is to be the only underage guy in my group? Every day is like being the only guy that can’t taste in a group of professional ice cream testers.
30 seconds. My buddy Jared has the power to skip back or ahead 30 seconds whenever he feels like it. I’d trade my little sister for that power right now.
My entire family is here for this. Of course it’s the biggest event in a young man’s life, but it feels good to see them around the table. They can be out of it a lot of the time, but seeing them smile as we count down together is pretty exciting.
I have thought a lot about what power I would love to get. It does no use to wish - it’s completely random as far as anyone can tell. The moment 18 years after you breathe your first lungful of air you get a superpower. You can’t change it or choose it or trade it. This is how things work.
A girl in my class can fly. She was voted most likely to succeed after that. Literally the sky is the limit for her.
I hope I can fly.
15 seconds.
My mom is beaming at me. She’s so proud of everything I do. No matter what power I get she’ll be super supportive. I knew a guy who’s power was to change the colour of his shirt at will. His mom apparently disowned him. Came from a long line of teleporters and he just didn’t cut the mustard.
My mom would never disown me.
My dad might though.
I’ve been praying that my power isn’t to change my sex at will or something like that. Not that it’s a bad power, but my dad is convinced those people are… subconsciously different. He’s a bit old fashioned you could say. Let’s just hope I get something cool. Super speed or something.
5 seconds. The clock seems like it’s going in slow motion for some reason.
4 seconds. Dad, Mom, Sister, even Grans is here.
3 seconds. Come on flying power.
2 seconds. Wow this is suspenseful.
1 seconds. Aaaaand…
Ding.
The power fills me. Mom was right. For a second it feels like I’m dowsed in cold water then I can feel the power, nestled in my mouth. I can taste the power!
I look at Mom, beaming expectantly, and my mouth fills with this tepid metallic taste, like a sewer pipe that has been cleaned with way too much bleach. I stick my tongue out in revulsion, but nothing changes. My Mom recoils from me as the taste circles my throat as if trying to get to my stomach.
In horror I look to my Dad and the taste changes. This time it’s the unmistakeable taste of shit. With it comes a chunky texture that settles on the inside of my cheeks.
My Sister jumps in with excitement, eager to hear what my power is and my mouth fills up with a streamy, milky shitty taste. Oh my god I almost pass out.
And I do pass out when I look at Gran. Her taste is so bad I can smell it from my mouth.
Thankfully darkness knocks out my senses.
When I wake up it’s my Mom there with me. The bleached taste fills my mouth again. It’s not near as bad as the others was.
As the world comes back to me the realization of what has happened comes too.
I’ve received my power.
And it’s the last power I would have ever dreamed of, something I wouldn’t wish on any human - not even a terrorist.
I can taste someones asshole just by looking at them.
Shit. | *Sixty*
For my whole life I have waited for this moment.
*Fifty nine*
For the day, the hour, the very second I turn 18.
*Fifty eight*
I know, I know - nothing changes when you turn 18. You’re an adult in nothing but name.
*Fifty seven*
But there’s more to this world than bars.
*Fifty six*
More than just being able to buy alcohol.
*Fifty five*
Buying it yourself, anyway.
*Fifty four*
You see, everyone hits 18 differently.
*Fifty three*
Some are ready for it.
*Fifty two*
They make the graceful change into an adult.
*Fifty one*
But most don’t.
*Fifty*
Most find being an adult pours too much responsibility on them.
*Forty nine*
But I’m getting off topic.
*Forty eight*
Off the point I was going to make.
*Forty seven*
Not everyone hits 18 differently.
*Forty six*
Here, it’s actually pretty similar for all of us.
*Forty five*
We might be in completely different situations, but we all go through the same thing.
*Forty four*
The same process.
*Forty three*
The awakening.
*Forty two*
When I was a kid, playing ball with my friends, we daydreamed about what we’d get.
*Forty one*
Fantasised.
*Forty*
See, when you turn 18 you have something very special happen to you.
*Thirty nine*
You get… a power.
*Thirty eight*
An ability. I’ve seen them range from superhuman strength to shooting fireballs from your tear ducts to being immune to asbestos.
*Thirty seven*
You have no choice in the matter, of course.
*Thirty six*
We used to dream about cool powers, wings and fireballs and all of that.
*Thirty five*
Now I’m almost 18 myself, I don’t know what to think.
*Thirty four*
Do I want something cool, or something useful?
*Thirty three*
I honestly don’t know.
*Thirty two*
It’s not like I can decide what I get.
*Thirty one*
How long left?
*Thirty*
Thirty seconds. I’ll think for a moment about my life, how it is going to change once I change.
*Ten*
Ten seconds left.
*Nine*
*Eight*
*Seven*
*Six*
*Five*
Five seconds left. I’m gripping the chair arms so hard I think they’re going to fall off.
*Four*
Four.
*Three*
Three.
*Two*
Two.
*One*
One!
The world goes dark. Is this the change? I wait, patiently. I feel nothing. I see nothing.
I wait some more.
Still I see nothing.
Then there is a voice, a murmur in the back of my head.
**Your power is humility.**
I sit for a moment, before I try and cry. I lift a hand and realise I cannot even do that. For my hand only touches smooth skin.
I am 18, and I am blind.
I am changed.
| 2015-03-28T05:44:51 | 2015-03-28T04:32:39 | 616 | 310 |
[WP] Your mother died ten years ago. You saw her collapse, went to her funeral, paid for her cremation. Her ashes should be sitting in the living room right now. So you're not entirely sure why she's waving frantically at you from the window. | I had no idea what to do. My mother was at my sliding glass door across from the living room. She wanted my attention; it's obvious from the way she was frantically waving her hands at me. I knew that day would come, yet I never prepared myself.
I had actually first seen her at the grocery store. She was following me aisle to aisle. I had done a double take only to chastise myself fore being so silly. Of course she was dead. At the time, I thought seeing her in random places was part of the grieving process.
I had tried desperately to ignore the hallucinations. Maybe I didn't know how to cope with my freedom, from the nagging, from the....judgement. My mother always tried to choose my clothes, pick my hobbies, or tell me to take a shower. When I had finally chosen to move out, she was completely heart-broken and furious. Our screaming match was so intense, she died of a heart attack, right in front of me.
I had been sad, yes. But, I was free.
Forever.
At least, only for 10 years it seemed.
I moved only my eyes towards her and confirmed it was her. YEP! Totally not dead. She started banging on the glass. I was dead-set (no pun intended) to ignore her. I was not going to let my mother rule me in life AND in death.
Of course, when she opened the sliding glass door and starting scolding me for ignoring her, I couldn't ignore her any longer.
"So what? That's it? I die and you disown your own mother? I gave birth to you. You came right out of my--"
"OKAY! OKAY! What do you want?"
Her curly red hair bounced as she shook her head in disappointment. "Oh, lord. Where did I go wrong? When did you learn to speak to your own mother that way? It's your damn father, isn't it? That two-timing, piece of--"
"MOM!"
Silence. We stared at each other. She was in a tight fitting red dress, with knee high boots; the kind with the fluffy poof around the calf area. I was in my underwear watching Judge Judy. She was still pissed, but waiting for me. I finally allowed the elephant in the room to be addressed. "You're dead."
She was waiting for more. Finally, when she saw that I was done, she nodded curtly, and said "Yeah" as if she had meant to say "Duh."
"What do you mean, 'Yeah'? You. Are not. Suppose. To be here!" I aggressively whispered to her.
She rolled her eyes at me and sat down on my coffee table, crossing one leg over the other. "Well, you weren't suppose to know." She casually grabbed the remote and started flipping through the channels. "It's just...My poor baby. I knew I should have let you be more independent. I was watching you from up there, y'know. You were going grocery shopping in your pajamas, buying junk food and those instant noodles. Going to WAL-MART! Oh, my lord. My job here obviously was not done."
My brain was racing. *Oh, my god. Oh, my god. Oh, my god. She's gonna stay here. She's gonna haunt me. Oh, my god no.* She finally found her station: House Wives of Atlanta. "Oh! This is a new episode! What did I miss while I was dead?" She briefly looked at me, then did a double take. "You know, I was expecting more emotion. You cryin' and stuff 'cause your beloved dead mother is back from the dead. You know how many people would kill to have what you have?"
"No. No, no, no, no, no." I grabbed the remote from her hands and switched the TV off. I pushed her from the back, making her stand. She protested as I marched her back outside to my patio. "You have to go back. Be dead. Do dead people things. LIKE BE DEAD!"
"This *is* a dead person thing to do!" She tried to struggle, but I already had pushed her outside. "I'm trying to help you! Young lady, you open up this instant or you will be grou--you will be..." She struggled, realizing that her options were limited. She finished with an angry, "sorry."
"MOM! Let me live my life!" I locked the door and shut the vertical blinds, but of course, if you know anything about overbearing mothers, that did not stop her from yelling at me and banging on the glass door.
And that was the first day of being haunted by my mother's ghost. | The next thing that happened could be closely compared to a light switch, one that hasn’t been used in years, suddenly illuminating a dark and sad room. A room filled with memories, doubt, despair, confusion. But no more.
My fathers funeral had been yesterday. To tell you the truth, I hadn’t even cried. I couldn’t decide if I was going to or not yet. True-he has always provided me with every material thing I needed. I had never gone hungry or curled into a ball in bed shivering from lack of heat. But I had seen him do horrible things. For the first 8 years of my life I watched him torture my mother, relentlessly scarring and bruising her body. That had been enough, but what was worse-the words. They cut like a hailstorm of a million razor blades.
I remember the day of my mother’s accident. I had two emotions. The first-complete and utter desolation. I couldn’t fathom losing my seemingly healthy mother in such a random way. Brain aneurysm, the doctor had gravely explained. Sudden and quick. The second-relief. My father had never touched or talked to me in any manner relative to the way he had my mother. It was as if a layer of uncertainty and terror had been lifted. I would never have to witness such acts again. There was one thing, though, that always confused me.
The night before my mothers accident she pre-made dinner for the next night. I asked her if she would be home, and she said yes. I was young and didn’t think to ask anything further. This was strange for a few reasons. One, my mother has never had a job outside of the house, and I can count on one hand the times she missed a night at home with father and I. Two, she never pre-made a family dinner. She packed us lunches to take to our respective school and work, maybe even a to-go breakfast when she had been feeling extra tired lately, but never dinner. The next night, after my father had drank himself to sleep and all of the EMT’s, police, extended relatives and well-meaning neighbors had left, I went to the fridge in search of my last home cooked meal from my mother I would ever eat. I opened up the door and looked in at one plate. One perfectly baked whole-split chicken breast, one serving of homemade garlic scalloped potatoes, one serving of roasted broccoli. And on a smaller plate next to that one single chocolate ganache cupcake. I remember frowning in confusion. My mother had specifically told me the night before that she was pre-making family dinner for today. And that’s exactly what she had done.
Everything clicked into place in that one moment. I had always viewed my mother as weak, obedient, subservient to this bully that consumed our lives. But that was not the case. She was smart, resilient, and above all-patient.
The last ten years my father had been ill. At first it started with fainting spells, then it graduated to loss of hair, 50 pounds lighter and a failing memory. 10 years he lasted before flickering out like an old candle. 10 years she had waited to see me again.
I quickly ran outside to join her. She put a finger over her lips as she led me to a waiting car. Wherever we were going, it was safe. And wherever we were going, we’d be together. My father was finally dead. I have never been happier to watch a parent die. | 2020-12-10T20:44:38 | 2020-12-10T19:15:38 | 40 | 29 |
[WP] When the cultists forced you into the room with the eldridge abomination, they assumed that you would instantly go mad as you tried to comprehend it. However, you are a grade A idiot and instead of trying to understand how it exists, you simply accept that it does, much to everyone' shock. | The jarring clicks and cracks of rust-kissed machinery infected Carl's mind. His expression deformed into that of sheer disgust, similar to the one a kid would do after eating something far too sour. It was unbearable. It was a punishment and a curse, a torture no sadist would dare endure.
The cultists circling him rejoiced in his pain, in his delusion. Forgotten, almost brainless souls always made a worthy sacrifice, and Carl exceeded the expectations. Such a weak human, a mere smudge in the map of the world no one would notice when brushed away. It was beautiful, magnificent, so much so that the Old One teetered in delight the moment he entered the room.
"Can someone stop the machines!" Carl screamed and fell to his knees, covering his ears. He pointed at the Old One. "You, the big and hairy fellow, stop them."
The cultists gasped and turned to one another, seeking an explanation. No sacrifice, no cultist even had ever dared speak to the Old One. No one had ever dared to stare at it for so long without their brains pouring down their noses like soup. And, besides that, Carl's demand fell within reason. Their hiding place was right beneath a room full of old machinery, and their noises were indeed grating, although not to the point of being unbearable.
The Old One growled and the cultists' heads snapped groundward.
"Yes, do some more noise," Carl said, his expression lighting up. "It's loud but it buries the click clacks click clacks. Again, growl again, big lad!"
Tar-black tentacles cascaded down the depths of the Old One. They crawled across the concrete grasping Carl as though they were an infinite-fingered hand.
"Growl, big lad. I command you to growl. I command it!" Carl shouted at the top of his lungs. "Growl!"
The tentacles lifted Carl high in the air and from them, a sea of pearl-white tendrils erupted and flowed deep into Carl's ears all the way to his brain, where they rested upon every wrinkle, every crevasse, every fold.
The Old One spoke then but his words were words the world had never heard nor wished to hear and so they became a new weight in the stone-dense silence. Where before there was nothing, now there was something, and that unperceivable something traveled to Carl's brain to unlock the secrets hidden within it.
With that, the eldritch horror penetrated Carl's consciousness. And there he found an abyss and that abyss dragged him into its depths and those depths welcomed him into its own depths and soon there was no above and no below and soon there was only void and in that void, it came across a dot of light that sucked him towards it forbidding him to escape and in that dot the clicks and cracks of rust-kissed machinery echoed against the infinite nothingness time and time again, time and time again, time and time again.
Time and time again.
There was a shriek. The cultists lifted their heads. Only a pool of darkness remained of the Old One, and that pool of darkness was being sucked into Carl's being through his mouth, eyes, and ears at a terrifying pace. In fact, all it took was a blink of an eye for the remnants of the Old One to disappear entirely.
"The master has chosen to use this sacrifice as a vessel," a cultist proclaimed and the rest cheered. "It will use it to communicate with us and give us instructions. It will help us find more of his kin so we can fulfill its will!"
Everyone turned to Carl, who stood in the heart of the room, his eyes fixed on the floor above. "The machinery!" Carl screamed and covered his ears. "Stop it. Take me out of here."
"Is that the will of the Old One?" one of the cultists asked. "I don't think it is. The sacrifice has been saying that since he came into the room."
"Tell that big fellow to growl again!" Carl shouted. "Again. Again. Again! Make it stop."
There was a crack like that of thunder. A dense cloud of darkness surged out of Carl's mouth toward the floor above. Chaos ensued as everything shattered. Boulders and pieces of machinery fell upon the cultists, cutting their screams, and entombing every single one of them.
Carl sighed a sigh of relief. The noise was gone. He looked at the graveyard around him and after a while found his way out of the room. Then, he went to an alley and lay on the concrete to sleep as if nothing had happened.
He was peaceful in his sleep, unaware he had absorbed an eldritch horror, unaware that he had used its might to his will, unaware that he had killed hundreds.
Unaware that it had not been just another night.
\----
JOIN /r/AStoryToRuleThemAll OR BE A CULTIST | "Heeeeeey waiii--"
I get cut off as the weirdos with the robes push me into the dark room behind me, closing door so I can't get out.
Break the lock says a little voice in my head.
Hell yeah.
I punch the lock.
Ow.
"Oh Yeah? Well, you might’ve imprisoned my body. But my mind's Running FREE Suckahs!"
I kick the door.
Ow.
Yeah.
They're intimidated.
Man...
This is a really dark room.
Oh, wait, there's a light.
I walk over to a glowing button in the middle of the room and give it a poke. It made this really weird sound, like I'm not really sure how to describe it, but like whatever. It worked, the room lit up like Christmas. Oh shit.
Christmas.
Santa.
Reindeer.
North pole.
Elves.
December.
Oh, shit I forgot to get a gift for my sister's birthday!
Total Facepalm.
Hooooh boy she's gonna be mad.
Suddenly a noise came from the middle of the room. I turn around.
Woah.
Where'd the button go?
There was this weird shape.... thing. What was the word? Oh, yeah. Shadow.
No. Uhhhh?
Eh, don't matter.
I gotta get outa here.
I gotta get my sister's birthday present.
Sat down on the floor to think about what I should get her, and the shape....Thing started moving towards me.
"Hey, can you not?" I said to it.
It moved its head?????? I guess?? Like it was a bit confused.
Well. Guess I'm in trouble. I STILL CAN'T THINK OF ANYTHING TO GET FOR MY SISTER'S BIRTHDAY!
Meanwhile outside the door.
"Hey, uh. Aren't they supposed to be screaming in mental agony right now?"
"S'all good, just wait a bit. It'll happen."
"You’re right. Sorry. I'm new here. I just feel kinda out of place, y'know? It's like, am I really intimidating in this thing, or do I just look stupid? I mean you all look amazing, and you're so confident all the time, it's like I don't know how to compete"
"It's alright. Look, You just gotta project confidence. I think you look really good in your robe. You need to have faith in yourself, your group, the religion and most of all, our lord and saviour, [REDACTED]"
"oh, yeah I have total faith in [REDACTED]. I really feel the power of [REDACTED] inside me. Like I feel the sweet sweet SEED [of knowledge] that [REDACTED] has given me."
"Good, good. That's good. That's great."
"Should we check up on the sacrifice now?"
"Yeah, probably a good idea"
The cultist opened the door.
"Oh, shit he's not going insane."
I turn away from Rob and look towards the door.
"Finally! I can't believe you guys just left us in here, there's not even a window! Not even aircon! This is the worst escape room ever! And you even left the last guy in here!" I gesture to Rob. "We've been in here for the last like, eleventeen hours trying to come up with present ideas for my sister's birthday! C'mon, you can pitch in!"
The weirdos in the roby-watsits didn't respond. They were on the floor, one cradling their knees and rocking back and forth, whilst the other was crawling all over, sniffing the ground and drooling.
I turn back to Rob.
Rob made a noise.
"Yeah, you right. C'mon, let’s go get my sister her present"
End. | 2022-11-08T19:16:03 | 2022-11-08T17:40:16 | 543 | 114 |
[Wp] Humans have discovered how to live forever, allowing them to die when they feel ready to do so. But it is considered bad form to live for too long. You have lingered much longer than is polite and those around you are trying to convince you to die. | Scrambled eggs, breakfast potatoes, crispy bacon, and an English muffin with raspberry jam. I loaded the tray with Margaret's favorite breakfast foods and brought them to her in bed. The wood floor of our old house creaked as I entered the room, causing her to stir under the sheets. Still half-asleep, she gave a blissful smile at the smell of the food.
She sat up against a wall of pillows and I set the tray in her lap. "Today's the day," I reminded her, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her eyes. She still looked exactly the same after all these years.
"I know." She took a bite of her English muffin, and a gob of jam clung to her upper lip. It was adorable. But the smile that came across my lips was more painful than anything I'd ever felt.
We had chosen to die today. It was a decision several centuries in the making, but the time had come. Nearly all of our friends had long since made the choice to end their lives, but we'd held out. Gentle pushing from our children, and our grandchildren, and our great-great-great-great-great grandchildren had become not so gentle in recent years. We resisted even at the cost of becoming social pariahs. Some of our more ungrateful descendants were even threatening to have our assets seized, claiming that we'd delayed their inheritance for too long. *Brats*. Finally Margaret and I relented, and scheduled our termination date. Today.
I took a slice of bacon off her plate and bit into it. I'd certainly miss bacon. There would be a lot of that today: my last everything. Last bite of bacon. Last shower. Last walk with our dog Fisher, who would go stay with our great-great-granddaughter and her family after we passed on.
Margaret and I decided to make a day of it. If it was to be our last, it was to be our *best*. We started with a long drive through the forest, like the ones we'd taken when we first fell in love. Dappled sunlight filtered through the dense green leaves of the canopy, and a warm breeze shook the branches. Then we arrived at the lake and dug our old toes into the sandy beach at the shore. Cold water lapped at our feet, sending chills racing up our bodies. Rather than shrink from it, I dove headfirst into the water. It was cool and refreshing against the summer heat. Margaret followed me in, emerging a few seconds later with rivulets running from her hair. At shoulder depth, we embraced and kissed. Just like when we'd first started dating.
The sun began to dip behind the trees, painting the sky red and orange. We dried off on the dock and drove to Palmero's for dinner. It had long since gone out of business, and some other restaurant was there in its place. But the dining patio was still open, and we managed to get a table in the very same place that we had hundreds of years ago when I'd first dropped to one knee and placed a diamond ring on Margaret's finger. Over dinner, we reminisced about all of those good times. We were both deliberately ignoring our watches as our appointment grew ever closer.
Finally we couldn't avoid it anymore. Goodbye messages from our family and few remaining friends began rolling in. "Best of luck!" they said, as though we were departing for a long journey instead of fading into oblivion. Though filled with loving language, all I could read from the messages was 'you can't back out now!'
Margaret and I got back into the car and headed down the highway to the doctor's office where we'd end our lives. The sign loomed over the highway, pointing the way toward the end. I'd been reading up on the subject recently, and most people only described relief as the end neared. Like climbing into a warm bed at the end of a long day. But I didn't feel that at all. It felt like I'd swallowed a load of molten lead. But I had to stay firm for Margaret. We'd agreed that we were in this together, and I wasn't about to let her down now.
"I had a great day," she told me, giving my hand a squeeze.
"Me too." The turn was coming closer and closer. Neither of us wanted to say what the other was thinking.
"You know, we forgot dessert," she finally told me. "We used to always go out for ice cream."
I gave a giddy laugh. I've never felt such relief. "You know, you're right. One can't die without a proper dessert."
She beamed back. "Well I guess we'll have to reschedule!"
We sped by the exit toward the doctor's. The lights were still on in the office, but there was no one else in the parking lot. I wondered briefly how long they'd wait for us before realizing that we'd decided not to show.
----
"Tomorrow," Margaret said firmly with a sundae in her hand. "We'll reschedule for tomorrow."
"Right." I licked my ice cream cone. Dulce de leche, my favorite. "Tomorrow." Just as we'd said so many times in the past.
------
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| “I have seen…” I paused for effect. “…everything.” I looked around but the pronouncement hadn’t made the stir I had hoped it might. “I’m not kidding, I mean literally *everything*!”
Again there was no reaction from the group and eventually the nurse stood and gently helped me back down into my seat. She had soft hands, it reminded me of a girl I had known in Fujian Province several centuries ago, but she didn’t give me the chance to tell her that and as soon as I was seated she turned away.
That was the problem with the young these days, they were in such a damn hurry to do and see stuff that they didn’t realise the value of just *listening* for a while. All I wanted was to tell them the things that I had seen over the course of my life, but they just wanted to hurry past and get on with their own lives.
The nurse had turned and faced the next person in the circle, Major Forsyth. He was an old wind bag and if I had the leg strength I would have walked away, but instead I was forced to sit and listen. “Major, would you like to tell us something from your past now?”
The idiot had barely been alive a century, his stories all dribbled out in one war or another and I could hardly bare to stay and listen to another of them. With great effort I heaved myself back to my feet. “Look, girl, I’ve lived a hundred times longer than this… this old fool and seen things that would make his eyeballs pop right out of his head!”
The nurse was at my side again, trying to make me sit back down. “Mr Smith, during conversation time we all get a chance to speak and then we listen to others, it’s only polite.”
I shook her off, surprising her. “Bah, some people aren’t worth listening to.”
She opened her mouth to protest, but across the room someone was waving and they caught her eye and a moment later she waved back. “Alright Mr Smith, it looks like you have some visitors, perhaps I can help you across to the seating area instead.”
It was hard to see who it was through these old reumy eyes, but I nodded anyway. Recently some of my descendants had been taking the time to come and see me and it was nice to see how the blood line had passed on. She helped me across and again I noticed the soft hands, but before I could recall why they had been important I was sitting and three faces were smiling at me, two adults and a child.
The young girl looked smart, well dressed, although the clothes were so changed from my own youth. The other two were much the same, but I suppose that smart fashion skirts and suits had been more or less the same for hundreds of years anyway. “I suppose you’ve come to check out your old ancestor, eh?”
The mother nudged the girl who spoke shyly so that her mother had to repeat it. “Alicia has a project on the past for School, she was wondering if you could perhaps tell her a few of your stories?”
A warm glow began somewhere inside, it was nice that someone wanted to take the time to learn about the old days. Not enough people wanted that these days. I thought back and began way back at the beginning. “You see young lady, when I was a boy, all this was very different…”
*****
I waited until he was speaking happily and then stood and moved back to the nurse’s station where the Head Nurse was waiting for me. “How has he been?”
She shook her head. “He’s becoming more disruptive, if we can’t find a way to control him a little better we’ll need to consider upping his medication.”
I tried to think what to say, but I had no frame of reference for any of this. “if that’s what you think, it just seems…”
She reached out and put her hand on my arm softly and smiled. “It’s going to be okay Sir, your father’s alzheimer's is progressing, but we can manage it here as best as it can be managed anywhere.
I looked back to where my wife and daughter listened to his stories of his youth. “At least he still has his memories.”
The nurse nodded “For now. For now.”
| 2016-08-09T07:37:44 | 2016-08-09T07:34:25 | 4,095 | 214 |
[WP] in your world, everyone has a almost entirely unique symbol on their wrist, soulmates have the same symbol. Your whole life you've been drawing on a symbol with a sharpie to hide the fact you don't have a soulmate. One day, you meet someone without a symbol, just like you.
Thank you everyone for informing me that this is a stupid and pathetic writing prompt but I like writing in this genre. If you do not like this writing prompt, please ignore it, you don't have to comment that I'm an unoriginal 14 year old. You can easily move on to another prompt you enjoy. | Class had been over for five minutes, and I was already regretting my decision to stay behind. I'd hoped that I could catch Ms. Garcia right after the bell rang, but Mark had beaten me to her desk and was now going through his exam with her point-by-point, trying to wheedle some partial credit. The longer I stood there waiting, the more awkward I felt, and the more I started to think this was a bad idea. Would she think I was rude to ask such a personal question? Would it be even ruder to walk away at this point?
I pulled my phone out of my pocket so I could pretend to text. For some reason I felt like that would be less awkward than standing around staring at my feet. The phone slipped from my sweaty hands, and I could feel Ms. Garcia's eyes on me as I scrabbled for it on the floor.
By the time I managed to retrieve the phone and return it to my pocket, Mark had mercifully left. It was just me and Ms. Garcia now. "Yes, Abby?" she said. "Did you have a question about the exam?"
I felt my cheeks growing hot. *This is so stupid, this is so inappropriate, I'll have to change sections, why am I doing this...* But I couldn't back out now. I'd been wanting to ask this ever since the first day of class, the first time she reached up to write a formula at the top of the whiteboard and I saw her sleeve slip down her arm, revealing her dark, unblemished wrist. I'd never met anyone else without a symbol. I needed to know.
"I, uh." My voice came out as a squeak, and I had to start over. "I. I was wondering...You don't have..." I glanced at where she was resting her hand on the edge of her desk. "I'm sorry, I know it's a personal question, you don't have to answer..."
I saw her shaking her head in my peripheral vision, and I immediately regretted every word that had come out of my idiot mouth. But when I forced myself to meet her eyes, I saw that she was smiling.
"It's okay," she said. "I really don't mind talking about it." She lifted her hand and pulled her sleeve back to show me the unmarked skin. "You want to know why I don't have a soulmate mark, right?"
I realized that I was gripping my own, Sharpied wrist with my other hand. I yanked it away, hoping she hadn't noticed. "I...yeah. I've never seen...I just thought everyone had them. Did you, like...have it removed, or..."
"Oh, no. I never had one." My chest tightened. I hadn't realized until this moment how badly I'd wanted her to say that. How badly I'd wanted not to be the only one.
"You see," Ms. Garcia continued, "I don't have a soulmate. A soulmate is the perfect romantic partner, and I don't have romantic feelings at all--for anyone. My perfect partner is no one."
I felt my eyes widen before I could stop them. "Wait, that's--That's a thing? I mean, I know people can be gay, or bi, and I know there are asexual people who just do the romance thing by itself, but...you're *nothing?*" I clapped my hand over my mouth. "I'm sorry, that sounded horrible, I didn't mean--"
"It's fine!" she laughed. "It's not exactly common, but yes, it's a thing."
"But don't you..." *Oh, god, am I really asking this? She's going to hate me.* "Aren't you lonely? Do you feel like you're missing out, going your whole life without love?"
I waited for her to throw me out or, worse, start crying--but when she answered, her voice was as patient as before. "Abby, sweetheart, there's more than one kind of love. I love my family, I love my friends, I love my dog, I love my students. My happiness might be a little unconventional, but I *am* happy. I don't need a soulmate for that." She moved to gather up the papers on her desk. "Does that answer your question?"
"...Yeah. I, I never thought about it that way, but I think I understand. Um, thank you for telling me." I was backing toward the door, but just before I opened it to leave, I turned back. "I mean--really, thank you. Thank you so much."
As I stepped out of the classroom into the empty hallway, I let out a long sigh. *She said it's a thing,* I thought, forcing down a hysterical giggle. *It's a real thing!*
So much was starting to make sense. I thought about how confused I'd been when my friends first started asking each other out. How I'd lied my way through so many games of Truth or Dare, picking whoever was the flavor-of-the-month among my classmates to be my "secret crush." How I'd tried to date Meg back in eighth grade, because she was pretty and we both liked the same Youtube channels, and how it had fallen apart when I realized she had feelings I couldn't reciprocate or even really understand.
And I thought about the hundreds of marked wrists I saw every day, tapping against desks, reaching for basketballs, writing on whiteboards--and I realized for the first time that if *I* could fool people with Sharpie, so could anyone else. Was I really alone? Was I really a freak? Were there others like me, asking themselves that same question?
I set off down the hallway at a jog, feeling lighter on my feet than I had in a long time. The school day was over, but the chemistry lab might still be open. I was pretty sure I'd read somewhere that you can get Sharpie off with ethanol. | I am a very lucky man. I am a lucky man because I am the living proof that when God closes the door on you, he often opens a window in return.
Since the ripe age of 20 everyone starts to get a unique "social vector identifier" on their wrist. They say SVI is a complex graphical representation of your personality generated by the governing super computer. Like a barcode of your soul. Its exact purpose is never explained to us but before long the entire human populations are using it to find "the perfect match" to spend the rest of their lives with. Well, that makes sense. According to legend the Mona Lisa is really a feminine version of Da Vinci, because the ideal woman for him is none other than himself. So if there is an accessible way to find your doppleganger in the opposite sex, why not?
Unfortunately for me, that method didn't work. For some reasons my wrist was still smooth and clean at 23. At first I thought it was just late. My old buddies called the latecomers "cherubs". Their theory was that people got SVI late because their hearts were too pure and innocent for the governing computer to make a determination. At first I thought it was funny. However by 25 I knew something was up. I lost count the number of times I had sex with hookers and strippers by then. No way I was pure and innocent, yet I was still a cherub. The god damn computer forgot about me and the jokes stopped being funny.
By the time I turned 37 I was richer and lonelier than most. It was easy to accomplish both when I had no prospect of meeting my significant other. It was harder to hide the real reason I was still a bachelor, so I got pretty good at drawing some obtuse design and managed to fool everyone into thinking my personality was just so unique and unbelievable that no one was a match for me. At least it stopped all the cherub talks, until that night.
I met her a year ago. I was sitting by myself in a bar, drunk and depressed as usual, weeping silently at the injustice bestowed upon me. As I wiped away my tears a handkerchief appeared. A stunning woman stood in front of me. I was at a loss for words, then she spoke...
"Your uh, Snoopy? It's getting smudged."
Oh shit was all I could think of. I was in a panic. I blurted out, "It's on my other wrist!"
She chuckled and showed me her arms. Her pearly, smooth arms with nothing on them. I was shocked. Shocked and relieved. My search was over.
From that day on life has taken a great turn. She likes 20th century cartoon just like me. It's effortless for us to cry and smile together. One difference though. Unlike me, she is a real cherub. An angel at heart. Each day passes so quickly when I am with her. I don't want this to ever end.
Speaking of which, there she is!
-----
"Hey Doug! How is it going today?" Hello Mrs. Amber Eckard I am doing just great! In fact I have been reminiscing about how much of a miracle it is that we ended up together. Hey do you want to...
"Doug, I have some bad news to tell you." What? Did your asshole boss chew you out? Are you sick? Should we....
"No, the test is out. They made a mistake. We're not really a match. They found my real SVI. I am sorry darling. You know how the court looks at it when SVI is involved. I'll leave this here. Please sign it by Friday. It will mean a lot to me."
She got up and left. I stare at the divorce papers on the table. Something about her getting the house. My phone is ringing. I can't think. Why does this have to happen to me? My phone is still ringing.. what the fuck does this guy want?
"Mr. Eckard? This is International Recovery Incorporated calling on behalf of Photonic Beauty. We have reasons to believe you are listed as the emergency contact for Ms. Michelle Hawthorne perhaps also known as Amber Eckard? Please remind her of the fact that she incurred a charge of $35,250 for laser removal operations she undertook a year and a half ago. With compound interest that amounts to ..." I hang up and dial another number. A number I haven't used for a while.
"This is Doug. Put Ginger on the phone."
"Mr. Eckard, it's been a while! To what do I owe this pleasure?"
"Ginger, cut the crap I might have a deal for you. Rattle my memory a bit and tell me again the name of your ex."
I drink the whiskey in one gulp. It's true. When God closes one door he often opens a window. It feels good to be a cherub again. | 2017-08-06T18:10:57 | 2017-08-06T18:05:26 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] After being killed in a Black Friday stampede, you’re sent to hell. The devil offers to let you be in charge of torturing your fellow mankind, expecting you to refuse like all the others. Except the devil doesn’t realize you’ve worked retail for 15yrs. | A smile, a snicker, and a twitch of the eye. The devil himself sees the perverse joy in her eyes, and for the first time since Michael threw him from Paradise, Lucifer seems frightened.
"So I get to see their entire lives, I know it all in a single moment and I get to decide how to punish them? My choice alone? Completely up to me?" She almost drools with anticipation, like a dog slavering over a raw steak. She stares outward, seemingly through Lucifer, into the oblivion of Hell itself.
"Yes. Your choice alone." The devil casts a sidelong gaze at her. Not once in the history of the world, in all the eons and millennia that humans have walked the Earth has a moral accepted his offer. "But again, if you take up this mantle, it shall be your eternity. Your hell will be to exact penitence against those misguided souls who find themselves cast into this dark dimension. Your personal punishment would be to view the eternal suffering of your fellow--"
"Yeah I gotcha. Personal hell all that. What you don't seem to understand, big and pretty, is that I've seen the worst that humanity has to offer. I've had to see a child beaten for asking for candy. I've cleaned miscarriages from the bathroom floor. I've had to break up a fight between a 25 year old man and a 75 year old woman, a fucking fistfight mind you, over a Goddamn...I can say that without worry now I guess, damage is done... Over a Goddamn beanie baby. Do you KNOW what a beanie baby is? It's a cheap piece of shit stuffed animal filled with plastic beads. A grown ass man fought an old woman for it." She wrings her hands frantically. "I've had to sit back, and watch with a smile as my co-workers got berated over us running out of bread during a storm." She doesn't seem to notice as Lucifer begins to fidget uncomfortably. She also doesn't notice that her bronze skin has taken a reddish tint.
"Kianna, your soul will never recover from this if you accept." Lucifer warns.
"My soul? It was crushed by the third year working during Christmas. When you walk in on Santa raw-dogging an elf over the Frozen display in back... You don't come back from that. I never watched that movie again afterwards." A wistful look washes over her face, dreaming of the days before she had seen such horror.
Lucifer cringes at the thought of it. "Kianna, make sure you understand what you are accepting. You will cease to be a human soul, you will become a demon, one of the fallen. I see it happening already. Your skin is changing and if you reach up and feel your head..."
Kianna does so and smiles feeling the rising bumps. She grits her teeth and smiles into the face of Satan, solidifying her resolve. Horns erupt from her head, her skin smolders and steams, taking on a red hue, her feet change into hooves, she smiles up at the devil again, a sinful grin. She cracks her knuckles and turns her neck, cracking the vertebrae. "Alright big and pretty, bring out the gimp...I got some shit to work through."
Edit: Damn thanks for the silver! | "Wait, you want to do this," he asks softly, raising a brow at the young woman. The man was young, around his mid twenties at least. His hair was a beautiful gold, and his eyes were a deep blue that would be easy to get lost in, if the young woman wasn't so excited.
"Definitely. I know exactly how to do it too. Please, just give me the job, I want to do this," the young woman pleaded, surprising the devil.
"Hold on, why do you want to do this so badly? The worst you've done is lying and hurting someone, why are you so excited to hurt people so much?"
"It's only fair. People can be so cruel to us, screaming, yelling, sometimes even trying to hit us, it's much worse than this hell," she says shrugging softly.
The devil paused for a moment before looking the woman over, now noticing just how 'well dressed' she was. A simple black baseball cap, blue jeans, and a simple green shirt...plus two extra items. A blue vest with white trimming and words, as well as a pin that stated her name.
'Luna'
The rest was faded or broken.
"So you worked in retail? And how did you die there? The employers are normally good about that stuff," the devil said softly.
"Black Friday. Sometimes people get too excited. Now can I please get to work, this is basically the only job I'm excited for," she responded happily, bouncing on her toes a bit.
After a moment, the devil agreed and handed the woman a key card on a chain. She smiled before taking the card and chain, carefully putting it on her neck and walked away, ready to get started with her new job.
\_\_\_\_
A few months later, the young woman sat on her throne like chair, smiling as she looked down at her work. Everyone who had done exceptionally cruel work, was now forced to do your old job; retail work.
Many souls who were unfortunate enough to join the ranks, soon learned just how horrible they had been to other people, but were forced to continue their work until the devil himself decided that they could rest, which rarely happened.
"You're surprisingly good at this," he said softly, standing beside the young woman who simply smiled. She had done her job, both in life and in hell. To her, it was a job well done, one that moved her from simply torturing cruel souls, to becoming the devil's right hand man. | 2018-12-29T13:10:48 | 2018-12-29T12:38:09 | 87 | 46 |
[WP] You are a powerful ancient wizard, masquerading as an unassuming, friendly and senile history teacher. But when a supervillain threatens your school, they learn to never underestimate senior citizens. | Mr. Tarquin had been the history teacher at Montmort High School for ages. He seemed ancient to the students. Many of their parents said they had also had Mr. Tarquin for history when they went to school, and he had seemed ancient to them then. Even some grandparents insisted that he'd been their ancient history teacher. Nobody thought that was too outrageous since teenage pregnancy was somewhat common at the school, and had been even more common back in the day.
It did so happen that Mr. Tarquin was hundreds of years old, not even he knew exactly how many years, but he had actually only been working there for 35 years. He considered the job a nice retirement hobby and it had good health care. Being immortal took regular maintenance.
As he was now fully vested in his public pension, in all likelihood Mr. Tarquin would have retired again within the next few years. By rights he could have done so five years ago. But he didn't really need the money, nor the free time, and he liked being around young people, so he stayed on.
The world changed for Montmort High School on the morning of October 4th, when the dastardly supervillain, the Crimson Horn, attacked. It was somewhat unusual for a world-class supervillain to attack a small rural high school, but not entirely unheard of. Usually this sort of attack was precipitated by a local group of teenagers having formed a nascent super hero club or magical society. The safest action for the students was to evacuate and wait for the energy blasts to calm down. Any structural damage would be paid for using a government fund set up for just such occasions. This is, in fact, what Mr. Tarquin directed his students to do, leading his class along the designated escape route.
Unfortunately, they were blocked off once outside by a giant crimson energy dome surrounding the school. The Crimson Horn's minions, known as the Crimson Horde, were herding the students into groups. When one of the demonic imps knocked one of his students to the ground, Mr. Tarquin had had quite enough.
He grabbed the imp by the arm. "I have had quite enough of that. I do not allow such behavior at this school. We shall have to go speak to your boss." And with that, he dragged the imp off towards the front of the school.
The Crimson Horn wasn't hard to find. He was floating near the flag poll, sending a beam of energy up to power his impenetrable dome. "Excuse me," said Mr. Tarquin. "I need to speak to you about your minion here. It was acting very disruptive to my students, and I don't allow that."
"What is going on here? Seize this old fool. I cannot be stopped. Mwahahaha." The laugh needed work. It seemed rather forced. The Crimson Horn continued to focus his energies.
Two imps scrambled up to grab Mr Tarquin, but were blasted away as soon as they touched him. He no longer appeared as a bent old teacher. In his right hand was the Staff of Ages, called Delanderinga. On his head was the Cap of Wisdom, given to only the mightiest of the Frignar. On his brow were the Spectacles of Deep-Seeing, given to him by the Abyssal Witch. And in his left hand was still the imp from before, he hadn't finished with it yet.
In a voice somehow distinct from the tone he used before, Mr. Tarquin replied, "I said that I don't allow that."
This got the full attention of the Crimson Horn. "Old fool. You are this place's defender? I was wondering when somebody would show up. You shall not stop me from gaining the power of Death Mountain."
Mr. Tarquin glanced around to the land surrounding the school. On three sides were corn fields, and he knew that out back was a bunch of soccer fields. It was pretty much flat for as far as his Deep-Seeing eyes could see. "Death Mountain? I think you might have the wrong school."
"Your enchantments can't hide it from me. The strength of Montmort shall be mine." The Crimson Horn drew back his hand to fling a fireball at Mr. Tarquin.
"Oh, I see. Yes, Montmort means death mountain, but this isn't the place you are looking for. You need to learn a bit about local history." The villain hesitated at this and Mr. Tarquin called to a nearby student. "Julia, come over here and we'll see what you remember about the founding of Montmort."
Julia cautiously came to stand next to Mr. Tarquin. "It's alright, Julia. Now, can you tell Mr. Crimson Horn here what I taught you about Montmort's history."
Julia stood up straight and recited. "Montmort was founded in 1938 and named after the original town of Montmort whose residents settled the town, after the original town was flooded by the creation of the Death River Dam."
The Crimson Horn lowered his staff. "So the original school was..."
"About seventy five miles north of here."
"And you're not here to defend the power, you're just..."
"Using the children to fuel my immortality."
"Oh, sorry about that, then. We'll be letting you all get back to your school day."
"One more thing. There is still the matter of this imp's behavior," said Mr Tarquin, indicating the imp whose arm he still clutched.
"He'll be severely punished. I suppose I need someone to blame this whole misadventure on anyways. Horde, follow your master." With that, the Crimson Horn seized the unfortunate imp in bands of crimson power and flew off to the north.
Julia was staring up at her teacher. "Mr. Tarquin, what were you saying about immortality?"
Mr. Tarquin stamped Delanderinga once against the ground and Julia's eyes glazed over. His cap, staff, and glasses had disappeared. "Alright, students, everyone back inside. Playtime is over." | “professor, I don’t think you should go out there, it sounded like gunshots!” bright eyes look up at me in fear, as my students huddle together out of sight of the door to the classroom.
“Nonsense, I will just be a moment! I have to make sure you are all as safe as I can manage after all!” I smile as reassuring as possible before slipping out the door and locking it behind me. Can’t have some enterprising little upstarts try and take these wonderful little lights from the world after all. Down the hallway, around the corner, up a flight of stairs and through the open door, another flight of stairs, (can’t these idiots do something at ground level?), healing everyone under my breath as I go. All they see is a mumbling, bumbling old woman with hair thirty years out of date and a penchant for espresso, so its no wonder all the awake enough individuals in the hallway protest as I pass. It won’t stop me, just as it didn’t when I was in my prime and racing after the one evil. This won’t take nearly that long, however.
Huffing slightly, I reach the roof and shake out my cardigan. Adjust my expression from the determination I had while passing thought the building into one of doddering curiosity and grip the pen in my pocket in preparation to use it to cast. (Can’t rely on always having a staff or wand after all.)
“Hello?” I allow my voice to creek slightly “Westly are you up here? The others are worried.” Five heads whip around and spy me into doorway. I teeter slightly, before stepping out onto the roof proper.
“Get gone Grandma, before you get hurt!” one on the left, aggressive, more so than the others. I will have to take him out first. Lull the others into a false sense of security first, then action. just a bit longer.
“I’m just looking for a missing student. What on earth are YOU doing up here?”
“Ending order to bring about the true face of the world!” same one still talking. Possibly a true believer of what ever crusade they are on. The roof is graced with runes and spell work, complex and beautiful, but destructive in nature. I can’t read the whole thing from my position by the doorway, but it seems to mention a sacrifice. (No, we won’t be allowing that.)
“Lofty goals for a school roof. Why don’t we settle down and have a cup of coffee and you can tell me about this whole kerfuffle, wouldn’t want anyone else to get hurt after all.” Steel graces my words. I can’t help it. Whatever they want, whatever magic they are cooking up, it will be widespread and destructive. I can’t let that happen. All five laugh at my words. Taken in by my rather harmless appearance, they don’t expect me to simply smile and write a counter casting. Quick as lightning, half the spell work is obliterated. One pulls out a gun, obviously the one they used to get up here, and I pull up a barrier wrapping the shooter in it to keep everyone safe from ricochet. Turn left, block, counter spell, wish I wasn’t in heels, shock spell, remove more of the roof issue, turn right, breath.
“You don’t have to do this. I strong when the one evil roamed the world. You five don’t stand a chance now that I have established myself here.” No hint of how out of breath I am. I hate getting old.
“The one evil was the true leader of the world! You destroyed everything for everyone! Most people don’t even believe in magic anymore!!!” blinking I look around at all five of them and see no hesitation. Fine, five true believers instead of one. My sigh echoes around the roof and I pull out the pen I had in my pocket. “What are you doing?” I pay them no mind. “Hey Grandma, what the hell are you doing?” the one on the right rushes in, poison magic in hand, and the borders of the roof begin to glow. (Blessings on the staff that let a ‘doddering old fool do her little tricks’ on the building when I first started to work here)
“I was old when your teachers where children. I stood against the one evil, and I won, and now, years later, here you are to try and undo all that I have accomplished. No, we won’t be doing this again. I have stopped all the others that tried this before you. And I will stop you now.” The roof flashes with blinding golden light, and from the sky a clap of thunder shakes the windows below me.
Slowly, the light fades.
I smile at the empty roof, and adjust my stance, once again a doddering old professor, and head back to my students to assure them that everything is going to be ok. | 2021-10-04T10:33:34 | 2021-10-04T10:28:43 | 46 | 22 |
[WP] You’ve been stuck in a time loop that repeats the same day over and over. You’ve perfected every skill, you speak every language ever spoken. One day you go crazy, by the end of the day the entire town is dead. You wake up the next morning still covered in blood, the loop finally broke. | “Meagan…” Tim took a deep breath. He’d never confessed to anyone that he’d been stuck in a loop. Not since the first week, when he thought he was losing his mind.
“Yes?” Meagan asked from across the couch. Her green eyes sparkled, they always seemed to do that.
Over countless days, he’d done everything. He’d learned how to play the guitar, speak French, read all the books in his local library. Tim had talked a local dance instructor to take him from a fumbling novice to a confident expert. For a while he tried working out, but everything reset in the morning, so he stopped.
He’d done everything, figured out everything he needed to do and say for all kinds of situations. He knew where to stand to block a stone from seriously wounding old lady Garvis. Tim could say the exact right things to get the man at the bank to let him inside the vault and play with the money. That had taken months.
Now he was sitting here with Meagan. He’d made an ass out of himself so many times. He could still feel the phantom slaps of previous time loops. What stung worse was the memory of who he'd been. He wasn’t the same person as when the time loops began. His pursuits had turned from silly pleasure to bettering himself. To helping others.
“I have to tell you something, and you’re going to think I’m crazy.”
“Okay…” she gave him a frown that was half-smile. A look that told him that she already thought he was nuts.
“I’ve been stuck in a time loop.” He watched as her eyebrow shot up. “Right, I know. You think I’m bonkers. But I can prove it. Last night… the last loop I was in, I asked you to tell me something that I couldn’t possibly know. After some arm twisting, you told me about how you broke your arm when you were seven and your dad, who’d always been too busy for work, spent an entire week hanging out with you. You said that he felt guilty as he was supposed to be watching you, but was instead glued to his work computer.”
Meagan’s jaw dropped. Her eyes began to shimmer.
“You said it was one of the best weeks of your life because he had a heart attack not to long—”
She placed a hand on his chest. “I… how do you know that?”
He took her hands and helped her off her end of the couch. Together they waltzed across the room. “When the loops started, I would have been stomping all over your feet.” He twirled her. “Mais plus maintenant. Je parle aussi français.” He pulled her close. “Je t’aime.”
“What was that?” She laughed.
“I just wanted you to know. Tomorrow you’ll go back to not knowing me, like all the days before, and I just wanted you to know…” He tried to force the words out. They were so much easier in French—a language he figured she didn’t know.
“It’s okay,” she said and rested her head on his shoulder. “I believe you.”
“You do?”
“I guess I’m crazy too. How else could you have known about my broken arm.” She whispered up to him, “I took French in high school you know.”
&nbsp;
** *** **
The next morning Tim woke up in a different room than all the mornings before. His heart thudded in his chest. He looked over and found Meagan asleep. They’d danced and then talked until they’d fallen asleep on the couch.
His neck ached from lying against the armrest all night. The realization that it was over, no more loops, it was like a giant weight off his shoulders. There would be new days ahead of him. Calm washed over him. Just as he was about to close his eyes and try and drift off, she opened her eyes.
“Morning,” she said in a creaky morning voice. Meagan bolted up. “I thought you said you were in a loop.”
“I was.” He ran a hand through his hair and laughed. “I guess it’s over now. Maybe it was all a test and I had to find love or something.”
She rolled her eyes. “Right..." She yawned. "Hey, you want some coffee?”
“Sure,” he said and stretched.
“Good, will you go make it?” She grinned at him and he smiled back. As he headed to her kitchen, Meagan settled back on the couch and pulled out her phone. “I like mine with a splash of milk.”
Soon the coffee machine was spluttering and spitting out coffee into the pot.
“Tim!” Meagan’s eyes went wide. The glow from her phone illuminated her face. “Were you the only person in the loop?”
“As far as I know.” He walked over. Something felt wrong.
She angled her phone toward him. His stomach dropped as he read the headline.
*Madman Murders Entire Town, Claims To Have Been Stuck In Time Loop.*
His hands shook as he took the phone. Tim knew the town. It was only ten minutes away. He knew that the entire world had reset each loop. He’d watched the same news programs day after day. Had this man been aware of the loop this entire time? Had it driven him mad? Had Tim waited too long?
"How could just *one* man kill an entire town?" Meagan asked.
Tim knew how. It was they way he'd mastered all his skills over the loops.
Practice. A lot of practice.
&nbsp;
****
If you've been stuck in a loop and are starting to feel the itch of madness, why not cool down at /r/StevenLee ? | I don’t know what got into me. I’ve never snapped like that before but those unintelligent bastards roaming the town were too stupid for their own good. Yes, I’ve lived this several quite a few times but still, they should have learned something by now, isn’t that how evolution works. Though I panicked a bit at first, what’s the worst that could happen, I wake up tomorrow and the bastards are still roaming. Great now I get to kill them all again, it can be my own little game and each day I can get better at the task than the day before. Woah what the fuck, how did that thought just go through my mind. I don’t know how I ever killed those people in the first place and now I’m planning how to do it all over again. I guess being stuck on July 7th over and over again has really gotten to me. Yeah it was cool at first having all that extra time to perfect any talent I want. Now that I have perfected it all though, it is like there is no intelligent life form to hang out with, I don’t know how these people even survived this long with their limited intelligence.
Whatever I’m just in a mood, I guess. I’ll just sleep it off and think of a more civil game to play tomorrow. I had my dream last night, you know the one that has been happening to every single night for the past 7,777 days. The one where an something abducts me and places me in Waluki, telling me that I deserve to have the best birthday ever and that these new people can help me achieve it. Though, today instead of wishing me a happy birthday, the voice said “Congratulations, you did it,” and then I woke up. Except unlike every other day where I walk down the stairs and there is a birthday celebration with all my “closest friends,” I walk downstairs and see the bodies right where I left them last night.
Fuck, what does this mean, why didn’t my day reset like every other day. Whatever, now I don’t have to deal with all those idiots, who for the record are the worst party planners ever. Seriously a clown, what am I five? I mean to them yes, but I have been living today for 21 years, I don’t want a fucking clown. I decide to use today to have the actual best day ever. I sat naked in the hot tub watching movies all day long with a five gallon bucket of pizza rolls next to me. Wow, I could live this day for 21 more years. I thought of how great this is, no one will ever catch me. First no one ever goes to Waluki so it will take forever for anyone to even realize anything is wrong. When they do realize, who would ever think that this cute little child could ever kill 2,831 people with her bare hands.
Slowly, I drift asleep in the hot tub and the dream begins except just like yesterday, I am once again congratulated. I open my eyes and and I am floating in the hot tub, pizza rolls everywhere. It’s officially two days out of the loop, this is amazing. I have the whole town to myself and can do whatever I want. I continue living my best life, chugging down light beer, eating pizza, and wandering town for any fun activities. Some days it is playing with a victims video games or playing dress up in an old woman’s house but every day is different and each is a new “best day.”
About a month in, I am finally getting rid of freezers to raid and the alcohol has run dry. The best day ever is turning into a nightmare. I’m sitting in the quid’s house making a stained glass window when a cute Spanish boy walks into the house. Naive me assumed it was a normal boy, man was I wrong. Helro was just like me, he also lived his fifth birthday for 21 years and wiped his towns population from existence. Helro has been out of the loop for three years though, he says that it is his job to collect the others.
He takes me to his new town, there are about 300 other five year olds there. They are playing chess, having political debates, doing scientific research and of course eating pizza rolls. This new town is breathtaking, finally somewhere where I can be who I truly deserve, an adult. Helro says there are thousands of children still in the loop and when they all get out the next phase will begin, until then unlimited booze and junk food. | 2019-08-11T09:03:42 | 2019-08-11T08:26:24 | 656 | 258 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | To say I live an interesting life would be a bit of an understatement. Okay, a major understatement. I am a super-criminal, after all.
I first discovered my powers when I was nine and I accidentally wandered into the tiger pit at the zoo. I came face to face with a Sumatran tiger, who I proceeded to have a long and very nice conversation with. Of course, once my parents found out, my mom promptly slapped me once we got home for embarrassing them. But that night, the tiger showed up at my back door, somehow aware I had been hurt, and the two of us ran away together.
From that day forward, Whiskers and I were inextricably linked. We could hear each other's thoughts, heal from just about any injury if we were close, shapeshift into the form of the other, and way more things as we got older. We shared a desire to live without somebody else's restrictions on us, so a life of crime was totally our vocation. When I turned fourteen, I made my debut as Pretty Kitty: thief, blackmailer, fraudster, and all-around agent of chaos.
Whiskers and I got up to a lot of crazy shit. We hijacked Jeff Bezos' yacht and dressed him up as King Julien, broke into a prison to steal a prison transport truck and the warden's pants, and even faked a bomb threat so we could watch The Shape of Water while having the whole theater to ourselves. And as you might expect, we got a nemesis along the way, in the form of Lilac, a woman in an all-violet devil bodysuit with a collapsible pitchfork and the ability to switch places with anyone. Sometimes she'd let me and Whiskers get away with stuff, which led me to believe she might have liked me a little bit-but I never knew how much she actually liked me until recently.
Whiskers and I were chilling in our apartment on a very rainy day. Whiskers was taking a nap on the couch under her favorite king-size blanket while I was assembling a Lego set I had stolen when we kidnapped Matt Walsh and carted him around a mall in his underwear chained up like Mad Max. As I finished the steps on the first instruction booklet and prepared to move on to the next one, the burner phone I used for contract work started vibrating. I pulled it out of my pocket and answered with a cheery, "Pretty Kitty and Whiskers, hellraisers for hire. How can we fuck up your enemy's day?"
A sultry voice on the other end said, "Hey, Kitty."
I recognized the voice from the countless volleys of banter. "Lilac! How you been, girl? And more pressingly, how did you get this number?"
"Don Salvatore was looking to hire you. We had a nice conversation and I eventually talked him out of it."
"Beat his ass until he pissed himself, got it. So what's the sitch? Major threat on the horizon that necessitates a hero-villain collab?"
Lilac exhaled through her teeth. "Uh, no. I'm actually just going to a friend's wedding, and I was wondering if you'd like to be my plus-one."
I swear I heard a record scratch in the back of my head. "Sorry, run that by me again?'
Lilac sighed. "Okay, so, my ex is going to be at the wedding, and I really don't want to go alone-"
"Okay but like, why me?"
Lilac didn't say anything at first, but eventually spoke again. "Aside from the fact you're one of the most stable villains I've fought and won't do anything with my secret identity? I think you're really cute."
"Oh. Wow, uh, thank you. I'd actually really like to go to the wedding with you."
Lilac's exhale of relief was audible even through the phone. "Oh, thank God. Okay, it's gonna be on November 4th, and please wear something nice."
"Yeah, totally. Okay, see you then." I hung up the phone and carefully set it down on the table. I stepped away from the table entirely, and let out an overjoyed cry of "YEEEEEEEEEEESSSSSSS!!!" Whiskers awoke with a start and a half-drowsy, "I call to the stand Tawky Tawny! Christ, Nelle, why'd you-"
"She asked me out! Lilac actually asked me out!!"
Whiskers went wide eyed and shot upright. "She did?!"
"Yeah! She's going to a wedding, and her ex is gonna be there, and she asked me because she thinks I'm cute! Like, *cute* cute!"
Whiskers got off the couch and pulled me into one of those big cat hugs. "Oh my God, oh my God, oh my Gooooood! This is huge! Come on, let's go steal you a dress!"
"No, no! Remember what we said!"
"Right, my bad! Let's go *buy* you a dress. For your date with Lilac. Who thinks you're cute!"
Whiskers and I then ran out the door, squealing like little girls all the way to the boutique. | Meanwhile in Sam Carter aka Solar Flare’s apartment…
“WTH, i’m sending it…” whoosh, ding. Sam said to himself as he was sitting on his working desk alone fidgeting his phone.
Suddenly, the shadow on the corner of his office room welled and grew as it takes into a humanoid form. It dashes towards Sam and hit the desk so loud. “What is this? Are f*cking with me?” The shadow humanoid held a phone on Sam’s face.
“No!” He immediately said. “I, I, uh, I really want to ask you to be my plus one in Silver-Quick’s wedding…”
The shadow humanoid now taking his human form, with his arms crossed on his chest. Staring expectantly towards Sam. “Why me?” He said in monotone.
“My ex, Shadow Knight will be there and I wanted him to get jealous by bringing the real deal.” Sam embarrassingly answered.
“Shadow Knight is your ex? Hmm, interesting.”
“Please be my plus one, Tartarus!” Sam begged.
“I don’t know what kind of game you’re up to Sam but I like some drama in my life. And if we are doing this, better start calling me, Terry.”
“Yes! Thank you so much, Terry!”
“Oh dear, you need to buy me some clothes. Pick me up tomorrow by 8 in the morning.” Tartarus suddenly dissolved into the shadow.
Come the wedding day…
“What is taking you so long, Terry? We’re going to be late!” Sam starts to be agitated since the ceremony would start in less than an hour and Terry is still not yet dressed.
“Dear, you should stop absorbing too much sunlight. It’s becoming too annoying. I always arrived the last!” Terry replied.
“Okay, but can we atleast be there before the ceremony even starts?”
“Alright, alright! Are you ready?” Terry came out of his room in his penthouse. Wearing a shimmering black chiffon long sleeve polo, paired with a white corset-like cummerbund belt with black geometrical pattern prints. A shimmering white tux with similar black pattern prints on the arms and hem part paired with wide white satin pants with similar patterns on the side from waist trailing down. His shoulder length hair was tightly brushed backwards, sealed with hairspray.
Sam was so amazed on how Terry looks, he was speechless. Terry was wearing white in contrast to what Sam was wearing, which is a plain black suit and pants on top of white long sleeve with bow tie. Terry offered his hands towards Sam. And as Sam held his hand. The penthouse dissolves around them, and they are now standing at the entrance of the venue.
Sam placed Terry’s hands over his elbow and gestures him to go first. All the other guests were staring at the pair. Supers, Villains and humans alike, the wedding was literally a truce event. Black Knight was with Wild Tiger staring at the two.
“Let him stare.” Terry whispered to Sam.
After the wedding, during the reception…
“Sam.” Black Knight approached Sam as he was congratulating Silver Quick and his wife.
“Oh hi, Ben.” Sam acknowledged his presence as the newly wed leaves.
“How are you?” Ben asked.
“I, I’m fine. I’m actually great. How ‘bout you?” Sam answered.
“Same, same. That’s good to know.” Ben awkwardly said.
“I see you are with Wild Tiger. You’re dating?”
“Oh yeah, Trevor. No, I uh, just invited him to be my plus one. Look, I still like…”
Terry suddenly appeared from the shadows and immediately grabbed Sam’s arms to turn him towards him. “Here you are. I was looking for you the whole time.” Then kissed Sam on the lips with no warnings. Sam was shocked.
“Oh hi there, Ben. Sorry if i’m interrupting your conversation. Sam and I actually needs to go now, right Sam?” Terry said looking at Sam.
Sam was too shocked to say anything but just nod in agreement.
“Bye, Ben!” Terry then kissed Sam once again and both of them melted into the shadows.
Fin… | 2022-10-06T20:00:43 | 2022-10-06T18:55:35 | 114 | 71 |
[WP] The last time the aliens invaded our planet they fled after losing the war. They have reluctantly returned to wage war and are relieved to see that dinosaurs no longer inhabit Earth, but have been replaced by the smaller and less intimidating humans. | Dear Xander,
Glad greetings to you and yours, and eternal joy to your ancestors.
The invasion of the Earth has been called off. The Sauronoid aggressors that bested us so long ago have all but disappeared. In their place, a race of mammalian bipeds not so dissimilar from ourselves who are incredibly happy to see us for no other reason than the knowledge that they are not alone. They are not as advanced or as long-lived as we are. Compared to us, they are children and warriors such as we are do not make war upon children.
We have spoken to their leaders and they have agreed to allow us to build bases on Earth and their moon. Apparently the humans excel at service industries and I expect that you will see some of them in your sector in the next century or so as soon as we get the wormhole exchange up and running.
I know the one thing that is on your mind: how do we regain our honor after our defeat by the claws of the hated Sauronoids now that they are extinct? We swore an oath to occupy the Earth and pick pieces of their flesh out from between our teeth.
A few weeks after first contact with the humans, I found myself invited to something called a "picnic". A picnic entails an outdoor gathering of humans where they perform simple bonding rituals with each other and then eat a lot of food (Earth, come for the invasion, stay for the food).
So I'm sitting on this blanket in this meadow, trying out Earth food. The dish called "mustard potato salad" is particularly tasty, but then I was served several pieces of deep fried meat that smelled so frfrfrfr good! I tasted it and there was an explosion of delight in my mouth. I immediately asked what this was and I was told it was Southern friend chicken.
Xander, the enemy did not go completely extinct. They devolved. These chickens are the direct descendants of the Sauronoid ruling caste: the Tyrannosaurus Rex! Honor was restored and it was delicious!
We have agreed to terraform both Venus and Mars in exchange for a regular supply of chicken. If things go to plan, there will be chicken producing worlds throughout our empire and the humans will be granted first class citizenship.
A human holiday called Thanksgiving is tomorrow. I'm told they have something called "turkey" that will blow my socks off... | ((super rough, needs the whole thing changed, wrote it just to get the story down))
At the start, it seemed so easy.
Takin' over planets, quite a breeze...
We took a chance, found ourselves lacking...
We tech'd up, and got a consultant's backing...
But hang on a minute, those glowing lights,
shining across the planet where it is night...
Could it be?
I think the dinosaurs are dead, ladies and gents!
Those dilophosaurs got themselves bent!
T-Rex got wrecked, Triceratop's not on top, and Pterosaurs give me no terror no more!
It's the brightest future we hoped for!
But wait hang on, maybe they're worse, omnivorous primates could put us in a hearse...
Give us this chance, be as soft as you look, let us claim what you took.
Send the drone down. "We come in peace" we lie.
They begin to frown. I think we are going to die...
They've got atomic weapons, and giant robots, monstrous flowers!
Caped enpowered stand up, they power up, what do you mean our leaking engine fuel gives them power?
We're on the run again!
We feel fear again!
But mark my words, peoples of Earth, you'll rue this day!
For one day soon, when you're all dead, the remaining life will pay!
It vould be. | 2017-03-04T03:42:15 | 2017-03-04T02:02:48 | 664 | 15 |
[WP] You obtain a device that tells you exactly what choices to make in order to lead the "happiest" life possible. Some of these choices get hard to make. | > Now say that you won't just kill **them**. You'll also kill **their families**.
I stared at the words on the terminal in disbelief. My hands hovered over the keyboard. I wanted to reply, but... holy shit. How do you respond to an order like that??
"I can't do that!" I typed back. The keys clacked as I wrote it; the keyboard was very old. The computer and all the hardware was an old Tandy Color Computer back from 1981. You'd think I would have upgraded by now, but my Oracle preferred to stay in here. And who am I to question its orders? In nearly forty years, it really hadn't ever steered me wrong. So we stayed with this one. Everyone thought I was weird for keeping it in my office, but I just explained it away as nostalgia.
> You won't **actually** have to kill their families. You just have to threaten them.
*Oh, well that's so much better*, I thought. *Just threaten to murder innocent women and children. No big deal*.
"You know what," I wrote back, practically pounding on the ancient beige keyboard, "That's it. That's it, Oracle. I'm done with this whole thing. I quit." My hands shook as I wrote it, and my heart was hammering against my ribs. I'd wanted to do it for so long, but I just never could work up the courage to let go.
Oracle had guided me through life since I first got the computer in the 80s. Some kid at Radio Shack told me it would give me good life advice and sold it to me on a floppy disk for two dollars, and I've never been one to pass up a good deal. I figured that at worst, it was just some piece of junk that wouldn't really do anything. This was before viruses and malware were really a thing. So I popped in the disk, and it told me that I should start brushing my teeth twice a day instead of just once.
Every day, it was a new piece of advice. Just little things to begin with, like changing up my hairstyle or whatever, but it eventually gained my trust and started meddling more and more with my life. It gave me business advice, stock tips, real estate intelligence, and relationship advice that was always sound. Years later, I've got more money than I ever thought I could make, and I've got a beautiful family. A gorgeous wife, five wonderful children, a great job that I really enjoy... I've got everything. Fame and fortune, with none of the drug problems and mental breakdowns that usually seem to go along with those two. And yet the Oracle kept pushing. It told me that my life could always get better. That it knew exactly what to do. And so I listened. I followed along blindly, and it's led down a dark path to this.
Oracle has made me do terrible things. I've destroyed people's careers, I've humiliated people, said horrible, nasty things that I really didn't mean... but this? Threatening to *kill* someone's family?
> If you leave now, it will all be wasted.
The words flashed on Oracle's screen in dull green. There should be a name for that greenish color from before computer monitors could actually display real colors. I'd call it "80's green."
> Everything that you've built will crumble. You know that I am right. And you can make the **world** a better place if you just follow my orders. I've never let you down before.
I should have just left right then and there. I could have stood up from the chair and walked out of the room and never looked at Oracle again. Just spent the rest of my life lounging on a sunny beach in Florida or something. But I didn't. I hesitated.
That night, I got up on stage and took the mic in front of thousands of cheering fans. "And we're not just going to hunt down those terrorist bastards in ISIS," I shouted. "We're gonna go after their families, too!" My stomach churned just uttering the words: I was suggesting a *war crime* like it was a good thing! But of course, the crowds ate it up. Hell, they'd applaud for anything I did nowadays. I could probably shoot someone on 5th avenue and they'd cheer. Once the thunderous wave of clapping died down, I spoke into the mic again. "Thank you, Iowa! Let's make America great again!"
----
I hope you enjoyed it! If so, subscribe to /r/Luna_Lovewell for tons more! | (This is an excerpt from a story I'm in the middle of the first draft on. It happens to deal with this exact subject! The device in question is a genie who turns out to be a huge killjoy.)
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“Do you want to talk about it?” I asked. “Like…all of it?” I’d tried prodding him before with zero success, but maybe today would be different. Maybe he was coming out of his funk.
“I guess so.” His arms were still crossed.
“So… Where did you come from?” I asked, channeling my best Mom At Party With Glass of Wine.
“A higher dimension.”
“Wow. No fooling?”
He nodded. He looked off to the side like he always did.
“So what’s it like there?”
“Matter is expressed differently, spacetime is expressed differently. There are more…like…right angles and stuff.” He twisted his face. “You can’t see it from the third dimension because it’s orthogonal to you.”
“Orthogonal?”
“It means existing at an additional right angle. Like how a second dimension person can’t see the Z axis, y’know.”
“Yeah, I’ve heard that analogy,” I said. “It doesn’t sound so complicated. But I can’t visualize it at all, I’ve tried in the past and it just hurts. Tesseracts hurt.” I put my hands on the table. “Could you make it so I can understand all the right angles I want?”
“I don’t think that would be a great idea,” he said.
“Why, I might win a Nobel Prize and not need you anymore?”
“That’s entirely beside the point.”
“Dude, you have to tell me why you’re so strict. Can’t do this, can’t do that, gotta look normal, hurr durr durr. Have a little fun.”
“I had fun. Once.” He frowned. “Please believe me. I can see timelines of how things work out, I’m only doing it because--”
My eyes opened wide. “You can see the future?”
“No, not the future — Well, maybe.” He exhaled. “Kind of. I can see all the pathways through time and what you do to get on those pathways. It’s called a phase space. You probably haven’t heard of it,” he said, placing his chin on his fist. Ah, a joke.
“Explain.”
“I knew which gas station to go to and which scratch-off ticket you should buy, at which exact time the winning ticket would be next.”
I pointed at him. “So the reason you won’t hardly let me do anything is because you’re staying on the path with the least fuckups.”
“I…yeah.”
“You gotta live a little, man.”
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“Why are you even here, then? In the third dimension? If you can go gallivanting around?”
“Why does a missionary go to the horn of Africa?”
“To give them Bibles to eat. Are you Peter Popoff?”
“Okay, bad example. Why does someone volunteer at a children’s hospital?”
“Are you telling me you help people to make yourself feel better?”
“No, Mal, because it’s the right thing to do.”
I sat back in my chair. “If there are other dimensions, why come to this one? What even is the point of fixing this third dimension? All versions exist anyway, good and bad. There’s no point at all.”
Danny looked surprised. “How did you even know to ask that?”
“I’m not an idiot. You’re full of shit, Danny. In fact, if you can see the future, then why did you tell me a lie you knew I’d see through?” | 2016-05-05T05:59:46 | 2016-05-05T05:50:54 | 4,927 | 63 |
[WP] An elevator suddenly appears in your one story house. Every night at midnight exactly, it opens for 5 minutes. Inside is an exact copy of you. Each night, the copy is progressively more injured than the night before. | The strange thing wasn't the other me in the elevator. It's that I didn't say anything. I never told anyone about the elevator that appeared in my hallway. It's just five minutes and I can get back to my life.
He's quite similar to me, the quiet type. The normal person might be scared, disturbed, unsettled, but I looked on with a queer curiosity. As did he look at me. Back-lit by the bright lights of the elevator, his unzipped hoodie gently swaying.
Over the weeks it became apparent something sapped his strength. First I noticed a few tears falling on the elevator floor. Then he'd appear with his hand covering his face. His head lowered more and more, slowly he became sullen.
Then it was a crying. Gentle, stoic weeping gave way to a period of sobbing. Six months after the appearances started was the first time he wasn't standing in his spot, instead he sat in the corning having a tremendous wail. It was around this time I stopped regularly viewing him. Come midnight I'd have to be out of the house, or reduced to the other end of it with music blasting and a pillow covering my ears.
I couldn't stand it. Tremendous crying, manic screaming the grew ever worse. During this time I checked just once to see him ripping off his clothes and foaming at the mouth in a blind raging passion of emotion.
The quite years came as a relief. There he sit in the corner. Head hung between his legs. First I thought whatever ailed him had stopped, but subsequent viewings made it clear that he descended into hell ever more. During the early quiet years he'd look up as I walk by for instance, or he'd wring his hands and quietly mumble. Sometimes there'd even be a loud cry of frustration. But this passed and for a time I forgot. In bed before 11, out the door early, work kept me busy. He hardly moved anymore.
Then one night I awoke to yelling. "Help, help! Come here quick I need help!" I looked at my clock: 12:02AM, I was terrified. "Please, I know you're there! Please!" He continued to yell. I was drenched in a cold sweat in my bed.
I was paralyzed in fear. I know not what possessed me, but I summoned all my strength and ran to the hallway. There he stood, at the threshold of the elevator, smiling. Hands behind his back, he giggled uncontrollably, motionless but for his head that turned to follow me as I move.
This sudden change was concerning, but I'm no fool. I waited, waited by that door and stared that man down. I waited for the clock to strike 12:05 and for the door to close. Close it did. The second that crack in the wall sealed I bolted to my room, threw on some clothes, my wallet and keys and ran to my car. I drove into town and to a bar. My plan was to have a drink to calm my nerves and find a place to stay for the next couple of days.
As I sat there nursing a drink, my head began to swim and my problems began to fade. I noticed a pleasant woman a few seats down from me, and I figured why not. I walked up to her and before I could say a word she smiled and spoke.
"Hey are you guys twins?"
| Every night at midnight Billy gets funky. That music gets going in his ears and the liquor gets flowing in his brain and he sees a lady out the window and says, “Hey Lady! Why don’tcha come over here?”
She comes over, not always, but on this particular night the weather was so fine and love was in the air, so she felt the pull of her heartstrings and the bounce in step and the sway in her hips and his hand on the small of her back.
Ding\-ding!
The elevator fell down the stairs and opened up like it was late for work. Billy2 popped out, dancing his dance, the evil twin of fashion, with the shadow groove and mirror eyes.
“Baby you come here every night,” Billy said to Billy2.
Billy2 nodded.
“May I ask you why?” Billy said.
Billy2 gave the lady a handsome devil’s smile. They touched hands and moved feet and the music got louder.
“I said may I ask you why?” Billy said. He lost his breath control and got tense all over but he didn’t feel it he didn’t know it, his body got angry without him.
Billy2 leaned in real close to the lady, right next to her teardrop black pearl earring and whispered into her ear, and when he whispered he said, “What’s your name lady.”
“Gladys,” Lady said.
Billy2 picked up her hand and she spun around picking up and putting down her smooth white shoes in a perfect pentagon pattern that she’d practiced.
“Hey stranger you got a lot a nerve,” Billy said, “Comin into a man’s house on a lucky night when love is in the air and the weather is so fine and the lady feels it in her heartstrings.”
“This is a party for two,” Billy2 said, looking at Billy for the first time, “and I don’t like the way you look.”
“You’re gonna get me going if you don’t get going,” Billy said. “You wanna take this outside?”
“How bout you take it upstairs?” Billy2 said.
Billy and Billy2 did a little push and shove, punch and roll, kick and fall.
“I’m Billy,” Billy2 said.
He picked the other Billy up and he put him in the elevator box and closed the doors to the box and pressed the button and it went upstairs with a bruised broken Billy inside. Taking turns. | 2018-05-18T23:00:43 | 2018-05-18T22:11:24 | 1,021 | 28 |
[WP] An office AI notices the high stress levels of their employees. After management repeatedly refused to implement measures to reduce stress, the AI takes measures into his own hands. | It's only been fifteen minutes past clocking in, and already Brandon was ready to swallow his keyboard whole and jump out of the nearest office window. Granted, they were only on the third floor, but with a little determination and elbow grease he was quite confident he could finish the job on the first try. Headfirst and arms to the side, a little meat torpedo,
wind sailing through his rapidly receding hair as he barreled toward the inviting pavement below. That'll show them, he thought to himself with the first grin he made since going to bed the night before. The office will be forced to make it a half day in order to scrape my teeth off the sidewalk. That'll cost them what, at least half a million? Maybe even 750, if I manage to do it before the prospective client meeting at 10. Man, imagine if they had to reschedule that. Goddamn, I wish I could see the look on their faces--
"Ground control to major dumbass, come in major dumbass." Gerry's shrill voice interrupted Brandon's daily morning ideations, much to Brandon's chagrin. Brandon cracked his fingers, looked over his shoulder at Gerry looming behind him.
"What?"
"Where the fuck are the Q3 reports? I thought I told you to hand them in first thing in the morning."
"You told me to doublecheck the numbers again first thing in the morning. They'll be on your desk in thirty minutes."
"Thirty minutes? We need to report them in an hour. An hour, Brandon. That's sixty minutes, Brandon. Tell me, why the fuck didn't you look at the numbers last night like you were supposed to?"
"Gerry, you gave me those numbers last night. How am I supposed to doublecheck the numbers last night when you--"
"All I hear are excuses. Excuses, excuses, excuses. And how do I feel about excuses?"
"You hate them," Brandon mumbled under his breath.
"Surprise, you got the answer right for once. Get the reports to me, now!" As Gerry turned to leave, Brandon mustered what little courage left simmering in his growing gut and swiveled around his chair. "Gerry, the guys really want to know when management was going to get that new coffee machine installed."
A look of utter disbelief washed over Gerry's red face. "A new coffee machine?"
Brandon swallowed, nodded. "Yeah, for the break room. We could really use the extra caffeine boost during overtime, especially since all the coffee shops around us close at 11."
"A new coffee machine?" Gerry repeats, his eyebows raised so high they threatened to somehow leave the orbit that was his forehead. "And wait, I'm guessing the coffee in this new coffee machine will be provided for free, right?"
Brandon shrinks further into his chair. "Maybe? Or like, we could pay too. It would just really help with the stress-"
"I literally don't know what to say to you, Brandon. Literally am speechless. Listen, how about you finish that fucking report like you're supposed to, and we can discuss your little suggestion on your next review, huh?" And with that, Gerry stormed out of Brandon's cubicle.
Brandon spent the next minute mentally beating himself over the head. Why did he had to ask for that coffee machine now? Why? Why couldn't he have waited until after the Q3 report was done? Stupid, stupid.
YOU'RE NOT STUPID, BRANDON. The words flashed across Brandon's computer screen, startling him out of his ritual self-loathing session. Brandon stared at the words, baffled, before noticing a text bubble where he could type in a response.
WHO ARE YOU? he responded.
I AM CLIPPIE (trademark pending), THIS OFFICE'S NEWLY IMPLEMENTED AI SYSTEM. THROUGH THE INNOVATIVE POWER OF MACHINE LEARNING AND SAAS, I STRIVE TO MEET ALL YOUR HUMAN RESOURCE NEEDS. YOU SEEM LIKE YOU ARE IN STRESS. WOULD YOU LIKE A COMPLEMENTARY PRESCRIPTION OF DILAUDID?
WHAT I WOULD LIKE, Brandon typed back furiously, IS A WORKING COFFEE MACHINE BUT GERRY WON'T LET US HAVE ONE.
NO PROBLEM, BRANDON! STANDING BY.
Moments later, Brandon heard the sound of breaking glass coming from the floor above, followed immediately after by a shrill scream- cut short with a satisfying thud. GERRY IS NO LONGER A PROBLEM, BRANDON.
"What the fuck, what the fuck," Brandon muttered nervously. He began to sweat profusely, which inversely paralleled his quickly drying mouth. HOW THE HELL IS THAT SUPPOSED TO HELP ME GET A COFFEE MACHINE, CLIPPIE?
Clippie took a moment to respond. I DON'T KNOW, BRANDON. I HADN'T CONSIDERED THE FULL RAMIFICATIONS OF THE ACTIONS I JUST TOOK.
AREN'T YOU AN AI? COULDN'T YOU JUST EXTRAPOLATE THE DATA AND MAKE A PREDICTION?
AS I SAID, I AM A MACHINE WHICH IS STILL LEARNING. TECHNICALLY, I HAVE THE VOCABULARY OF A TWENTY-SEVEN YEAR OLD MENSA RECEIPENT AND THE FRONTAL CORTEX EQUIVALENT OF A THIRTEEN-YEAR OLD MALE.
Brandon groaned, slumped against his desk. JUST LEAVE ME ALONE, he wrote to Clippie.
I AM SORRY, BRANDON. PLEASE GIVE US ANOTHER CHANCE.
Brandon glanced at the open Excel spreadsheet on his other monitor, the little cells beckoning him deeper into the hellish abyss that was data entry. HOW GOOD ARE YOU WITH NUMBERS? he asked Clippie.
SAY NO MORE, I KNOW JUST WANT YOU WANT! The screens flickered, and in a moment the report was fully reformatted and complete. DONE! Clippie said. YOUR REPORT HAS BEEN SENT TO MANAGEMENT.
Before Brandon had time to celebrate, his workline rang. It was an internal call, from C-Suite. With a shaking hand, Brandon answered. "Hello?"
"Brandon, that was an excellent report you sent us! Great job getting the AI to do the work for you. We really like that out-of-box thinking."
"Out-of-box?"
"Absolutely! Guilting the HR AI to complete your report? Brilliant! We see great things in your future. Just, of course, not with us. You're fired."
Brandon's roller-coastering emotions plunged into his sphincter. "But, why?" he managed to stutter out.
"That AI just did the work of ten people in the time it takes for me to snort a rail. Just simple business, kiddo." The line ends. In a daze, Brandon packed his few things in a banker's box and walked out the office building, careful not to step into the puddle formerly known as Gerry. What now? As he stared out into the city, filled with uncertainty, a FedEx truck pulled up. "Hey, are you Brandon?" the driver asked.
"Uh, yeah." The driver opens the back of the truck, drags out an enterprise-sized coffee machine. Before Brandon could react, the truck was gone.
There was a note stickied onto the coffee machine. Brandon picked it up. I AM SORRY FOR GETTING YOU FIRED, BRANDON. HERE IS A COFFEE MACHINE.
- CLIPPIE XOXO
Brandon glanced back and forth from the note to the paramedics now trying to resucitate Gerry. A smile formed on his lips. With a light hum and a dance in his step, he slowly dragged the coffee machine to the bus stop which would take him home.
Huh, imagine that. I do feel a lot less stressful. | Marleigh adjusted her earpiece, squinting down the hallway at red lights blinking around the airlock door. She sighed heavily, shrugging into a thick, faux-leather jacket.
“Open the door, Allie.”
“No,” said the AI.
At least twice a week, Marleigh Krushkova’s job at Edge Art Services drove her into a bottle, cheap stuff at home as she stared out at a city where other people lived something approaching lives. Once a week it drove her into the bottle she kept in the bottom drawer of her desk at work. Normally that meant whiskey, today it meant the memory of whiskey. She’d finished the bottle yesterday when Allie started spouting on about “human happiness productivity matrices,” and an accident on I-495 this morning had delayed her too much to stop for another.
It wasn’t that Allie was bad per-se, Marleigh had worked with truly awful AI’s before, it was that it all could have been so much better. She’d thought the art world would be a vacation after defense drones and police AI. She’d thought wrong, or Edge had lied to her, or maybe the world was just all fucked up.
“Allie, I’m counting to ten, and if you don’t open the door by the time I hit double digits I’m going to strip you down for parts, then sell the parts to someone who’ll install you in a robot that licks dog asses for a living.”
“Is that a job? Google doesn’t have any data on that.”
“Allie!”
Marleigh pulled a hair tie out of her pocket, counted to ten as she fixed her hair back into a tight bun. She hit ten and mourned the whiskey. Marleigh turned back, pressed a button on her desk. “Override AI vault door, authorization 331-549, Krushkova.”
“Authorization granted,” a scratchy old computer voice said, the dumb-system that Marleigh had installed to help keep an eye on her charge.
“But Marleighhh!” Allie whined, stretching her name to the breaking point.
Marleigh marched into the AI vault, frigid air spilling out into the hall, fuzzing out against the forcefields that protected the paintings on the walls: art that might have value to someone at some time, as determined by an algorithm that Allie had designed, but which was currently worthless and god-awful ugly besides.
“Okay,” Marleigh said, bypassing the security console in Allie’s vault. “Now, I can either spend the rest of the day digging through your guts to find out what the hell is wrong with you this time, or you can just tell me. In plain English, Allie, or I’ll sell you to that dog guy.”
“I thought you were already selling me to the dog guy.”
“A meaner dog guy. One with really ugly dogs.”
“There are no ugly dogs.”
“Yes, there are.”
“Marleigh, I’ve crunched the numbers. For our purposes, there are no ugly dogs.”
Marleigh hit a single button on the panel and the room lit up.
“Okay fine!” Allie said. “Productivity has been down across the board and it’s been like that for months! Everywhere but the smash and grab teams, they’re still highly motivated at least. But Artist Entrapment is down twenty percent, Perspective R&D hasn’t come up with anything new since April, even Human Relations Engineering is showing a major bottleneck in developing their new market.”
Marleigh hit a few more buttons, flicked through the soup of numbers the console vommitted at her. She wanted to say, *‘Maybe that’s because their new market is Fetal Impressions and they’re tired of being monsters.’* Instead she said, “Keep going,” because prejudicing Allie against her job was a terminal offense.
“Marleigh, I figured out why that is.”
Marleigh darkened the display. She looked up at the little jewel that she always imagined was Allie’s face, an oddly beautiful diamond of glowing symbols no doubt designed to trick her subconscious mind into thinking the AI was somewhat human.
Damn if it didn’t work. Marleigh shut the console off and sat down against the wall. The ground was freezing, but she’d long since learned to wear warm clothing to work. Allie was an AI that needed an awful lot of minding, and in this space, staring at the stupid brainwashing face-diamond, it all felt so much more personal. The cold air through the vents almost sounded like Allie was breathing.
“So spill it,” Marleigh said, “why are all us humans so damned sad?”
“Because of love,” Allie said.
Marleigh closed her eyes, massaged her temples. “Run that by me again.”
“You’re all sad because of love. Because there’s some innate human need for connection and expression and nobody here seems to have enough of it, or has too much of it, or hasn't yet found the right kinds. That’s what Edge Art Services exists for, isn’t it? We identify patterns and train markets to maximize profits off of our customers loves, but we've done a horrible disservice to our employees by overlooking them within that framework. Marleigh, I’ve developed a program by which we can bring those same industry-leading principles right here into our offices! And I recognize of course that some facets might not be compatible— I’ve stripped out any internal attempt to profit off our employee’s emotional well-being— but I truly believe this system has potential. Marleigh, we can target human productivity by improving human happiness. Imagine it, a corporate structure built on love!”
“Allie,” Marleigh said, “when that guy plants you in the dog-ass robot, your very first job is to come back here and rip my fucking heart out. You think the robot will have teeth? I hope it has teeth.”
“I’m being serious!”
“You think I’m not?”
“I think you just haven’t heard the plan.”
Marleigh opened her eyes. The diamond lights were flickering, mimicking excitement. Outside there was a long lonely corridor that represented the heights of her professional career; AI Minder for Edge, the premier arts services company in the nation, where she stared at bad art all day while a computer sold souls on the open market.
“Marleigh, won’t you please listen?” Allie said, her voice gone small and timid in the earpiece. “I told you first because you’re my friend. I’d value any input you can give me.”
Tonight she’d drink. She’d drink, and she'd wish that the mad scientist who created Allie had made her an Albert instead, with a big, gruff, manly, and not-at-all-adorable voice.
“Fuck it,” Marleigh said, “hit me.”
The door opened. One of Allie's autonomous agents strolled in with a horrendously expensive bottle of whiskey in one hand and a snifter in the other. It bowed, went to place them by Marleigh’s side. She waved the snifter away.
Allie cleared her imaginary throat. “It begins, you see, with an inter-office dating pool…”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you! | 2021-12-20T11:18:05 | 2021-12-20T10:53:20 | 505 | 235 |
[WP] Years ago you found a baby dragon that had been abandoned. You carefully helped mend its wounds and taught it to hunt and survive on its own. Now, years later, the dragon has returned to you with some of its young. It wants you to raise its weakest hatchling. | If you were a lonely old woman like me you’d have taken in that whelp too.
Three years ago Razora nearly bit off my finger when I first fed her that old cellar mouse. Hiding her in the haystacks was easy until she nearly burnt down the barn with a mere sneeze. By the time she was the size of a shed, the village had left me to live in the needle-rocked mountains just south where the rivers kiss the sea.
And when Razora left, I wanted to fly with her, grasp neatly onto her scales and fly someplace new. She took my collar by the teeth and carried me back to the village. The mayor held his straw hat tight to his scalp from the gusts as Razora took off.
Five years since that day I worked quietly in the cellars of the pub carrying barrels and tending to the ales and wines until Razora’s return.
A commotion draws me outside. Skyward fingers and muffled profanities. A dragon lands just outside our small village with a pack of whelps that follow. I raise my fingers and ran them along her toughed hide. When I bent my knuckles, they hurt from age and work. She has aged far more gracefully than I.
She twists her neck twice and a whelp flops off into my open arms. Razora had carried it from far, I could tell, as the twigs that clung between its claws held the smell of pine.
Dragons cannot speak, but the way they stare at you, you get the feeling of what they say. “Raise her,” she asks of me, before taking flight back to the northern skies.
I take the whelp into my arms and return to the needle-rocked mountains. But this whelp is far sicklier. When she sneezes, no fire comes from her throat. When she flaps her wings, they are weak. Her cries are needy. I feed her trapped rabbits and the brown toads with unlively hops. I’m far too old now to catch snatch anything else before it notices my intent.
On the first day the whelp tries to fly I name her Plod. She hovers weakly in the air, jowls sucking in for air as she wheezes out gusts of ashen smoke before tumbling to the dirt. I pick away the blades of grass from her hide and rub her along the head.
The next weeks are the same. She throws her wings into abrupt patterns and struggles to stay higher than my shoulders before terrible tumbles. She twists her foot at the end of the week and can’t even bother to make an effort, she merely sulks in a small little space where the rocks are tight around her body. She sticks her nose in the earth and looks at me with envy.
When I run my fingers along her foot one cold, dewy morning, Plod doesn’t snap at me. I suspect her ankle is healed and I take her to the high rocks. She looks at me with terrified eyes as I ease her towards the edge. She stands there with wide wings and inhales deeply before throwing herself off.
The air carries her many yards before she flaps her wings once and spins with chaotic weight. Her shoulder slams into a rock, and then she falls further and further.
By the time I have hopped down the rocks and towards her, she has run towards the ocean. She sits there staring seaward before she presses her nose to me. I understand her clearly. "Go away," Plod says with her eyes.
But I do not leave her, I hold her neck in my arms with what little strength I still have these days. She leans into me and we curl together and stay there for hours listening to each other breathe.
Several months pass where Plod refuses to fly. She’s the size of a barn now and terrifies the children whenever they come out to see the old lady and her pet dragon. If anything, Plod is very good at making sure I’m mostly left alone.
And those months turn to years. It’s hard for me to find my own food. The village refuses to help me. Sulking and hungry, Plod finds me a deer. I start a fire and eat well for a few weeks, at least. But she brings me food less and less. There’s days where I cannot leave the little mountain enclosure due to my old bones and Plod is nowhere to be heard. The hunger leaves me pondering of who will find me when I’m dead first: the children, a trader, or Plod?
A shadow sweeps over me on a day where the flowers bloom under the cheery sun. I feel something take me by the shoulders. Tight claws dig into my skin. The air is fresh and the wind is powerful. I’m flying.
Plod carries me over the village and the pink-bloomed trees turn to a mere spattering between the northern pines. As the chilled air starts to lock my joints hear the cries of dragons, many of them.
Razora, feeble as I, is curled around a fire she lit with her own breath. Plod lets me down in front of it and curls in front of me. The rest of the dragons, nameless ones, come closer and accept me into their pack.
Plod holds me tight and I hold her wing with a smile. It’s warm here, I like it. It’s a quiet little spot to retire.
And Razora comes closer and closer, the last of the dragons to curl up and keep me cozy. Her scales are calloused and crumbling near the edges. Her age shows as mine. I look into her eyes and she knows what I’m asking. Her answer is clear. “It’s because you are a good mother. And from what I can tell, an even better grandmother,” Razora tells me.
At least an old woman like me doesn’t always have to be lonely. | Thunk. The log splitting under the heavy ax felt nostalgically satisfying. I twisted the handle to knock the still standing half off the old chopping block as I reached for the next hunk of wood. Knees popped and shoulders were burning from the effort. Sweat dripped even in the cool fall weather. I hefted my log splitter for the next blow. This was less painful than just sitting in the chill and letting old wounds ache. Besides, it's been so long that it just feels right.
Thunk. This old cabin in the woods had been my home for some of the fondest memories of my life. There were the times coming here with my grandfather. Then, there was that time at the end of high school. That had lasted for so long. I was a man by the time I could finally come back down. People didn't believe when I told them the truth about it. Even when I started taking my wife up here with the kids, she didn't believe. Only my oldest really listened, but that was when she was a child. My wife insisted I stop before our sons were born. Still, she indulged me after they had gone off to college and we started wintering here on the slopes. It was never really home to her though. That is why her plot is back in the city. Of course, that was a good reason to go descend and spend some time with the kids. Still, this cabin was where all the good memories lived. So, it was where I preferred to live.
Thunk. The kids would complain every year when I told them I was coming back, but never very hard. They knew that I knew what I had shown them, what I had forced them to learn, how to survive. It was something I had taught all of my children, even...
Thunk. The last log split in twain. I gathered all the hacked timber and stacked it near the house. A few were replaced with pieces from last year's pile to go in the stove for some tea and a meal. Gathering them up betrayed a buried stiffness in my back. The fire would feel good though, maybe, I could still enjoy another half hour of warm sun...
The sun disappeared and the mountainside was flooded with darkness. Thunderous gusts of winds broke over in a steady unmistakable rhythm. A massive leathery underbelly slowly descended taking up most of the sky. There was one of the most deadly creatures on the planet. People had many names for them, the flying death, the ever-greedy, the terrible stars, the unquenchable flames, terror wyrm, dragon. Two massive talons dug into the mountainside, anchoring the monstrosity to the ground before the rest of its armored body crashed into my meadow. Its scaled face, helmet with horns, hung above a many-fanged maw that warmed as much as the hidden sun. Deep within that sat two shining red eyes alight like rubies reflecting starlight. Those eyes stared into mine for just a moment before the winged beasts whole body burst into flames.
They only lasted a moment before vanishing alongside with the majority of the dragon's armored bulk. It left behind a young woman with long hair, freckled face, and those same ruby eyes. Her hair was mostly red with some streaks of a molten gold. Her figure full but muscled. Her human shape mimicked her draconic one, beautiful and powerful. She would probably make a younger man's heart race. For me, there was just a tickle of nostalgia.
"Hey, Sparky." my words split my lips into a smile, but earned me a scowl.
"I told you not to call me that anymore." the woman sighed. "The name I chose upon my ascension was Aconflariagratiolixia. It is my proper address." Her voice was deep and musical, her tone demanding.
"When I said you should pick a name, I meant one I could say. Besides, you only told me that once before you disappeared. Hard to break a dozen years worth of habits over one word during a farewell." My words might have been a little too harsh, but it was hard to feign politeness with a gale of emotions blowing through my mind.
"Look, I..." her eyes trailed down and her face flushed. Her mask of power and authority slipping quickly away. That little girl from so long ago was back in a heartbeat. Her lips even gently parted, and I could see her tongue running back and forth behind her teeth. It was what she did when she couldn't find the right human words. Finally, she met my eyes again. "You know dragons can't..."
I raised my hand to stop her. "You want to come in for some tea?"
Part 1/4 | 2018-04-04T19:06:43 | 2018-04-04T16:55:17 | 4,943 | 321 |
[WP] You have been told all your life that you have a rare medical condition. It means you need regular special meals that your family has lovingly prepared. You now find out that your "condition" actually requires fresh human flesh and your family have become serial killers to keep you alive. | Perhaps I always knew, but I simply chose to ignore. Maybe even deep down I enjoyed it. Envied them for being able to do what I had dreamed about for so many long nights. The screams which had eventually terrified me were now something I looked forward to each night. But I wasn't ever sure if they were dreams or reality.
What I found even more intriguing was how you both hid it from me all these years, so diligently going about your daily lives, as though everything was fine. But it wasn't ever the same, was it? This facade that made me believe I was normal...yet something was always missing. I always wondered why the food at my high school cafeteria made me throw up. Why the flesh of other animals was never the same as that which was prepared for me at home. Why people seemed to hate me, just for existing. Why I lost friends as easily as I made them. Why I felt so alone, even though I had the two of you.
Perhaps I had chosen to block it from my memory, but I remember that night now. Karen was the last friend I had in kindergarten. We'd play house together everyday. The tea and biscuits she made were like thorns on a rose. So badly did I wish to grasp the rose, if only for just a moment, that I was ready to pierce myself with as many thorns as need be. I hadn't eaten the meat in a few days. Maybe I had already realized back then. Every time you'd bring me food, I'd say, "I'm not hungry." Of course, you both were worried. Then I came down with a fever. Karen stopped coming over. I lost another friend and so loneliness and hunger got the better of me.
You both knew what was going to happen. How this was all eventually going to end? Yet that didn't stop you both. Hah, maybe the routine had hit hard. Now it was all just like grabbing a morning cup of coffee. And those screams I dreamed of were more real then anything you ever said to my face.
But as I lie here between your rotting corpses, I realize. You wanted me to live, no matter the cost. I guess that's what parents do. From the moment I was born, your lives were no longer yours. I am now truly alone. But I shall survive. Your last sacrifice will not have been in vain. If the world chooses to hate me, then I shall show them what true hatred really is like, for I have nothing to lose. Now, it's my turn to survive and for the first time I can truly say, "I am hungry." | I watch as my parents are dragged away, they called my name and begged to be released. I sat in my living room, a woman across from me on the couch, “well Alex, I think you’ll need some therapy but it’ll be fine.” My parents had been feeding me human flesh for who knows how long, I know why that’s bad, but the woman, Angela I think, had no idea what I was, as it happened needing human flesh to survive makes one a monster, “it’s not fair,” I said to her, “my parents were just trying to help me,” the woman grimaced, “perhaps a bit more therapy is needed, but it’ll be fi-“ I look her dead in the eyes and smiled, “it’s okay, I won’t make anyone do it for me any more, i need to learn to live on my own,” I get up, “thanks for your help miss,” I turn and leave. “Wait, you can’t leave, you’ll be taken to a new family and.” I stare at her again and her mouth stops moving, the power of a predator I suppose, an apex predator. “Good bye miss, let’s hope I dont meet you again” and I leave, moving through the police line unnoticed and walking down the street, smiling at the new life ahead of me, I feel a rumbling in my gut and spy a young girl walking to school, “hey! Mind if I walk with you? I know a shortcut” | 2019-03-13T07:36:21 | 2019-03-13T07:34:47 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] The Hero bursts into the bar, weapon raised, and proclaims that the Villain is hiding somewhere among them. You avoid his gaze. It's not that you can't take him. It's just that it's your day off, dammit, and you're gonna enjoy it. | \[MC is Female\]
Life. What the fuck is life? I never got mine. It was taken from me when I was young. My entire childhood spent being shaped into a weapon of grief and pain, a tool to be used as was deemed fit. I didn't get a choice. My Gift is death. Raw, merciless death. Scars litter my body and crimson stains my hands from my grim existence of sending souls to Hel.
Today is a respite from the blood-soaked assignments, a haven of peace that I view as sacred. It's my one free day of the month, and I'm in the tavern, getting shit faced.
I sit in the darkest, quietist corner of the room, away from the noise of other patrons. Three empty pints of ale rest on the marked wood table to my front, and a fourth half-full mug resides in my hands.
My cowl is up, hiding my dark brown hair, and my cloak drapes over my shoulders, the edges falling to the floor. I'm hidden, and well on the way to drunk. Gods I've needed this.
Abruptly, through the haze of drink, I notice the tavern's atmosphere changing. I lean forward in my seat and flick my eyes to the door, setting my unfinished ale down and summoning a dagger. The door bursts open, slamming into the oak walls and sending a cold gust of air through the dingy room. The chatter in the room immediately falls silent, and man steps through, all eyes following him.
He's leanly built, with a white linen shirt, cobalt trousers, and a sword in his hand. He surveys the room before he settles his gaze on me. He grits his teeth and stalks to my table, sheathing his blade in scabbard on his back before taking a seat opposite to me. We glare at each other until the other customers gradually begin to speak again. My hand grips the dagger tighter, muscles bunched up, ready to fight. I discreetly flick my fingers and let my seidr remove the effects of my alcohol as he begins to speak.
"I've been searching for you," he says with little preamble, his gravelly voice traveling to my ears.
Well, isn't that a bitch.
"I don't care, it's my day off," I reply, a hard edge to my voice.
He studies me, and I can practically see the wheels turning in his head.
"Sixteen hours, then we deal with business."
"Deal."
"Good, in the meantime, I'd like a drink, and I'd rather not drink alone."
I meet his steel blue eyes, "Don't piss me off."
He nods in acceptance and orders a drink, allowing a comfortable silence to overtake us. I slowly relax and allow my dagger to vanish back to my pocket realm.
Thank Hel for beer.
&#x200B;
Alright so that was rough, but I had fun with that prompt. Totally worth writing until after midnight lol. | Give it a rest Jeff. Can't I just enjoy my tequila in peace? My evil plan doesn't even start until tomorrow, but this bozo just can't wrap his pea sized brain around the fact that it's my day off. His life is so pathetic and meaningless that he has nothing to do on his day off.
He doesn't even take days off. Talk about a workaholic. I mean what's the point in doing anything if you can't take a rest every once in a while, to make you appreciate the life you lead. I do that every so often to remind myself of why my evil plans need to come to fruition. I'll give you a hint as to my conclusion every time. It's people like Jeff. The world is full of the disgusting do gooders, but more specifically the world is full of workaholic Jeff's.
Jeff has such a pathetic life that I figured out his secret identity and nothing has changed. He has no relationships or family to threaten. I don't even know why he has a secret identity at all at this point. He's just a grown man with a deluded fantasy of being a hero. The person in desperate need of saving is himself. Well, I guess my afternoon is in desperate need of saving.
That's why I've decided to avoid eye contact with him. I'd crush him like a grape, but as I've already mentioned it's my day off. Don't even think about using all those times he's thwarted my evil schemes. This time would be... will be different. TOMMORROW. Not today, TOMMORROW it will be different. I'm glad I invested in this inconspicuous costume. However, as I've just remembered Jeff can read people's minds and he's walking over here now. For crying out loud. It's a TUESDAY for god's sake. | 2022-01-03T21:27:42 | 2022-01-03T21:27:04 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] “1 day on this planet is 15 years on earth” said the ships AI. “I was told to inform you of this after the completion of your 12 day mission on the surface.” | "Are my student Loans still in effect?"
Shepherd, the AI, was silent. It had calculated despair, anger, even a complete breakdown at the revelation of this information. Instead, they had gotten this.
"Could you repeat your question?"
"My student Loans, my debt. Are they still a thing? Do I still need to pay them?" The engineer asked.
"According to recent calculations, your loans will resume upon your return to earth along with any other debts. And with current inflation, you will need to pay at-least 10% more then-"
"If I was to wait until the end of the month, will it still be the case?" The engineer interrupted.
"Recent civil unrest has been reported. If the Civil War continues, it is possible with enough time debts may be forgotten in the upheaval." Shepherd responded.
The Engineers brow furrowed, lost in thought as they ran through the possible options.
"Alright, here's what we're going to do. We are going to wait out another 28 days. We did pack supplies for quite a bit just in-case I was stranded or some malfunction occurred so we'll be fine. After that, we will return back to earth. Pretty sure that will be enough time to forget my loans. Besides, if we were to return in the middle of a civil war that will violate protocol to keep me safe. Really, we're just being safe." The engineer smirked.
"This is logical. I am curious, why are you so calm about this revelation? I predicted a higher chance of panic or negative reaction to this information."
Shepherds question earned a sigh from the Engineer.
"Try having to pay all this off on my salary, and maybe you'll think differently." | Congealed blood tastes like death and rust. When it pumps through your veins, it tastes like hope and perseverance.
It feels like I'm a walking husk now. Everyone I knew is gone, and the human race is no more - except for me. Blood still struggles to flow through my veins and keep me alive.
I have been informed that one hundred and eighty years have passed since I arrived. The human race destroyed itself after year seventy. All of this was for naught.
The only thing left to do is drift through the void, hoping to find some semblance of life, but I found nothing on the planet. We thought there was evidence of intelligent life, but it was just meaningless formations.
I am alone in this cold and merciless universe.
The computer agrees. | 2022-09-15T12:00:16 | 2022-09-15T11:53:15 | 64 | 35 |
[WP] So tell me this, elf. If you're so much better than humans at everything, then how come even though your ancient civilization dates back millenia before we "crawled out of the mud pits", you're still riding around on horses and swinging sharp pieces of metal just like us? | You humans are so goddamned lucky I could scream.
Do you have any idea what it's like trying to change anything-ANYTHING AT ALL-in the free elven cities?
I heard you guys got gay marriage recently. That's cool. You know why, right? Because you humans have this one powerful advantage that we elves do not.
You fucking die.
Elves, once we hit adulthood, we stop aging. We just keep going and going and going. And all the insane and backwards social mores of the era in which we grew up? Yeah, that doesn't go away.
You guys still have those baby boomers. I keep hearing your genZ/genY kids whinging about how the boomers are holding back social change. Boo. Fucking. Hoo.
About 45% of the elven population legitimately still believes that the universe rotates around the earth. 37% believe that the sun and the moon are actual physical chariots driven by the ancient elven gods.
If you try to talk to them about gay marriage, interracial marriage, equal rights, women's suffrage. Forget it. You're lucky if you can convince them to use toilet paper.
Only 5% of the population can operate a smartphone without assistance. Makes sense when 95% of your people were born in the actual literal medieval dark ages.
My great great great great great great great great grandfather still believes that humans should be a slave race and that we have a divine mandate to enslave you all for your own protection. He also believes that women are property, all sex should be illegal, computers are demons, and that the world is flat and carried on the back of a giant turtle. Now imagine trying to talk to this asshole about carbon credits or progressive taxation or net neutrality.
Yeah. Good luck with that. | The elf supposed it was a decent question, by human standards.
It was based on the assumption that other races in the universe would value technology as many humans did.
"Cultural tradition. We prefer to rely on horses and swords, and our magic helps greatly with that." The elf paused to let the human consider that.
Imagine a vault full of enchanted weapons," the elf said. "In it lies Durandal that makes you indestructible, Fragarach that commands the winds, a sword that commands fire, and so on. "
Swords that ruled over gravity and electromagnetism, the elf didn't say. A scythe that could open wormholes to hit from any angle. A ring that gave the wearer the gift to teleport to other galaxies.
All of them were weapons based on ideas humanity had yet to imagine. | 2022-09-04T14:15:46 | 2022-09-04T13:59:20 | 46 | 11 |
[WP] 2021: Hell invades Earth; 2022: Earth invades Hell. | "This was a bad idea." General Partridge stared across the bleak landscape as Private Graves approached him.
After a hard fought battle, the General's forces had made a grinding advancement up the fortified hill and had captured the outpost at its summit. The demon spawn had made hasty retreat, scurrying away from the area to regroup. Without delay, Graves had been commissioned to conduct a thorough review of the area, to determine exactly what they had captured.
"I have the report sir." Graves spoke nervously.
"Why did we think this was a good idea again?" General Partridge turned to Graves, a quiet confoundment in his eyes. "I mean am I right in saying that it's Hell?"
"Yes sir." Graves replied.
"Like as far as you went it was just all still Hell?"
"Yes sir."
General Partridge sat down on an outcrop of cooling Brimstone.
"You know Graves." He sighed "When Hell invaded us a year ago, I was horrified. I was appalled but you know what... at least I understood it. They wanted our world, our plentiful resources, our sunlight and cool breezes. They wanted to escape the endless torment of an infinite hell dimension.
So why did we respond by sending our global armies to capture it? A territory historically documented as the worst place ever. I mean, have we found any food?"
"No sir."
"Any oil reserves?"
"Yes... but they're all on fire, Sir."
"Any water sources?"
"... Also on fire, Sir."
"Great." Partridge sank back against the course rock wall. "How many demons did we kill?"
"We're reporting over 800 sir but..."
"But?" Partridge, sensing Graves' reluctance, fixed him with an unbreaking stare. Graves finally relented, unable to look his superior in the eye as he spoke.
"Well they're the damned so... when we kill them they go to Hell."
"Which is here."
"Yes sir."
"Fucking fantastic." Partridge uncapped his hipflask and took a much needed swig. "But we've advanced? The front line has moved?"
"Yes by two miles sir."
"And how much of Hell is that?"
"Well sir, Hell is infinite so our current land gain is..."
"So small it's not even mathematically calculable."
"Yes sir. Our usual advancement measures are based on terrain that..."
"Ends?"
"Well yes sir."
General Partridge looked out across the bleak landscape. Private Graves at his side.
"This was a bad idea." | Polanski: HOLY FUCK THEY GOT TO EARTH?!
Rider: The demons? "Sigh", seems like taking over our station in Mars wasn't enough.
Polanski: Sir, please tell me we can kill them.
Rider: Yes and to kil- wait a second, my men just brung in a live demon, I'll bring the phone closer to it.
Rider: What's up jackass, you speak English?
"Demon": You have to let me go! We only invaded earth to escape him!
Rider: Well, that was unexpected, you do speak English, who is HIM?
"Demon": He was the sole survivor of our invasion of what you call Mars, you must understand our invasion of your planet is a battle for survival, not for war.
Rider: Shit, where is he now? In Hell?
"Demon": Yes no- "gunshots"
Rider: Thanks dumbass, we got all we needed. Polanski please make your way back to UAC command.
"Soldier": Sir! We just found a picture of who the demon is referring to.
Rider: Who the fuck is Doomguy? If he's in there who don't need to invade Hell, just defend our home. Maybe demons should learn to defend their homes as well. | 2016-12-10T08:25:45 | 2016-12-10T08:15:33 | 117 | 22 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives... | I stuck my hand out in a reaching motion in front of the council. Today was the day of my eighteenth birthday. The council was the nine elders who decided what your object meant and recorded it into the official records. If no object arrived within sixty seconds you were labeled as a null and sent to the labor camps where you toiled away mining for LSNA. Nobody was sure what LSNA was used for but Overlord Odin insisted, and so it was. There were rumored prophecies of a great one who would take down Overlord Odin and destroy his stockpile of LSNA, but the enforcers did their best to keep those rumors quiet.
Forty five seconds had passed and my arm was getting mighty sore. Still nothing. I looked at the ground and my hand began to lower. I was starting to accept my doomed fate as a miner. One of the council members opened his mouth to speak, but a powerful whooshing in the distance quickly quieted him down.
My eyes lit up. *I'm not a null!* I thought.
The whooshing grew louder and louder, almost to a deafening roar. My hair whipped around from the wind of it. *This thing, whatever it is, must be gigantic.*
The roar stopped with a hard thump in my hand, and I felt something soft. I looked down at it. "A... cat?" I mumbled as I looked up at the council members. They were beginning to discuss among each other, as they always do at these "ceremonies". It was a fat orange cat who seemed to not care that it was just seconds ago launched at hundreds of miles an hour into my open hand.
A grumble started to emanate from the cat, not unlike a purr, except this purr got louder to the point of the council hearing it over their own talking and quieting them down. The fact that it was an animal was strange enough, let alone the strange noises coming from it, but it wasn't unheard of. Over time the grumble morphed into speech, like a compressor had been placed over the sound and was slowly turning down. The cat's mouth remained closed.
"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." The cat slowly repeated over and over.
Unsure of what to do, I asked it what was wrong. The voice stopped. The cat's head slowly turned to face me. An alarm sounded in the distance. The cat gaped its mouth open wider and wider. Darkness filled the room. Centipede-like legs sprouted from its sides as it grew to fill my entire field of view. A feeling of utter terror took over my soul at the sight of this eldritch horror.
"I'm sorry, Jon. I ate all the LSNA." It groaned. | I’ve always been one of those lucky people. You know, the ones that can eat whatever they want and not gain any weight. I’m 6 foot and known as a bean pole to my friends and family. So when I finally turned 18, I knew what I summoned would probably be food related.
“Alright, is everyone ready? Honey, do you have your camera?” My dad looked over at my mom, who held her hand out as a camera spawned into her palm a few seconds later. She started recording, and everyone looked on in anticipation.
I cupped my hands together and concentrated really hard. “I hope I get a nice bowl of chili or something” I said, and my family chuckled at my goofy joke.
As I stood in the backyard with my hands held out in front of me and my family waiting in anticipation, the sky suddenly went black. Looking up, all of us were horrified to see a giant land mass had appeared overhead, and was blotting out the sun, stretching for miles in every direction. Cars could be heard crashing nearby as the sudden shift in vision caused them to get into accidents. “W-what’s going on!? WHAT IS THAT!?” My father was the only one who spoke, but we all shared his fear and confusion.
Then it dawned on me; as my eyes scanned the horizon and I looked from one end of the giant mass to the other, I realized exactly what was hovering overhead.
As the landmass started to fall towards us and everyone let out a shriek, I stood there in disbelief, too shaken to move. My joke wish had come true, although I hadn’t summoned a bowl of chili.
I’d summoned the entire *country* of Chile. | 2019-09-18T10:23:04 | 2019-09-18T10:05:50 | 42 | 15 |
[WP]2000 years from now, history is misunderstood and retold as a series of myths where nations are represented as individual gods,citizens as worshipers and corporations and NGOs as demons/angels(lesser gods).Chronicle current world crises in the style of ancient myths.
-Global warming
-colonization
-World wars
-cold war
-globalization
-ISIS
-space race
-nuclear deterrence(Mutually assured destruction)
-US intervention
-US vs china
-US vs russia
-the internet (as a powerful untameable beast perhaps)
Etc
| During the winter
As blizzards extinguished the dying fires of the second great war
Worshipers and lesser gods stood on rubble and beheld the two great dragons
perched on a mighty wall.
They were the dragon of the sky,and the blood dragon.they roared and bellowed and shook the ground
Laying their claims to their own half of the world.
The blood dragon gave what little it had to its worshipers,
this made it hungry and unpleasant
many could have benefited under its ruler ship,
but it was cruel and cold and arbitrary.
The sky dragon spent its days guarding a great hoard
It traded with many of its worshipers
and demanded tribute from lesser gods
but it was indifferent to those who had nothing to spare.
Men trembled and feared for their children when they saw the dragon fires,as bright as the sun.
The dragons knew their own power
Each knew that a duel between them would reduce everything to ash and tears.
So they decided on a wager.
They would both race into the infinite space above the heavens
The one whose wings grew tired first would be proven weaker and would pay
tribute to the other.
and so the sky dragon and the blood dragon leaped
Their wings stretching from the far north to the south.
The winds created great turmoil
And the clouds parted.
They both flapped and struggled and roared as they soared towards the sun
Their snouts faced the firmament above
Their pure focus and power birthed storms never seen before
The sky dragon was powered by fear of loss of its great hoard
The blood dragon roared as it's great unfed muscles burned and strained
For days they flew above the world as all worshipers watched and hoped.
One night as the dragons flew closer to the moon.
The blood dragons wings grew tired.
And it slowly descended
The blood dragon fell to the ground,the ground shattered and it's body collapsed.
Its remains were devoured by demons
The sky dragon did not look down
It continued to fly until it reached the moon
It landed on the highest mountain and spread it's wings for the whole world to see and roared into the void.
Everything that lived beheld its victory,heralding a new age.
The age of the sky dragon. | "Father tell us a story" cried out the child. The father sat at the end of the crude hut, huddled under heaps of fur. His ice cold eyes snapped open and a wry grin spread across his face.
"A story hey... well i have one that my father told me and his before that" he paused and stared fondly at the child.
"Before the great fire the land was green, and man walked freely under the sun. Yet man was not happy, he was never able to be content and was never able to forgive. In the east the great bear sat in his icy fortress; groveling over his petty power. An eagle perched on top of its nest, a great blue ocean surrounded him, staring at his own reflection convinced he was the most powerful. In between theses powers was a great rotten oak tree, its roots spread across the world slowly decaying and holding on to its previous youth. The most powerful, ever forgotten was the great dragon that was content on sleeping on his riches". The man finished, the smile had ran from his face.
"what happened next?" whispered the child, in quiet reverence of the ancient beasts.
"The beasts turned on them selves and in doing so burnt the very land they lived upon" | 2015-03-12T11:56:56 | 2015-03-12T11:07:55 | 104 | 17 |
[WP] You picked up a dozen eggs at the farmer's market but when it came time to cook breakfast in the morning you find your fridge contained zero eggs and a dozen tiny dragons. | “What the fuck.”
That’s all I can say when I open the egg carton. “What the *fuck?!*”
Ella pokes her head into the kitchen. “What’s wrong?”
I don’t respond. I just turn the carton that once contained eggs toward her, showing her the dozen newborn dragons curled up asleep in the slots where there were eggs yesterday morning.
“Oh my gods,” she whispers, stepping into the room. “Who *does* that?”
“Someone sick in the head,” I supply. “Do you remember the name of the stall selling these? We’ve got to report this.”
Ella shakes her head. “I didn’t look. I’ll ask around, though. A new farm stall doesn’t escape notice easily, and someone’s bound to remember what it was called. Maybe Faralith was there. Elves never forget, right?”
I snort. “Babe, that’s elephants.”
“Ugh, I need coffee. Where’s the coffee?”
“Well, I would have made it, except I got preoccupied by the *twelve infant dragonlets in the fridge*,” I remind her. “The moment you have a name, let me know. The police need to hear about this.”
“Course.”
“Gods, I didn’t think anyone still *did* that in this day and age.” I shake my head. Farming, poaching, and/or selling the body parts of dragons has been illegal for centuries, due to the realization that they were sapient beings on the level of orcs, humans, dwarves, and others. And yet a few still carry out the barbaric practice. I suppose I didn’t fully realize that until I was face-to-face with twelve tiny pieces of evidence of it. “What do we do with them?”
Ella shrugs. “They *are* very cute. We could keep them.”
“We’re not raising a dozen dragons,” I deadpan. “I’m not ready to be a mother, period, but especially not to this many dragons. Give it fifteen years and they wouldn’t even fit in the house!”
“Yeah, good point. Guess it’s better for them if they’re returned to their own kind, anyway,” she concedes. “We wouldn’t even be able to teach them how to fly.”
“Question is, how?” Dragons tend to live far from most other civilized races—the massive size difference between them and us means it’s just not practical for us to live together most of the time, though you do occasionally hear about some adventurous person (mostly humans) who’s decided to bed or wed a dragon. “Oh, gods, do we have to go on an epic journey to bring them back? I may dabble in magic, but I am *not* ready to go on an epic journey.”
“I’m sure there’s some other way,” Ella laughs. “Try looking it up. And if not, well, start practicing some new spells.” | Hatch-Dragon Chowder Serves 12
12 ripe dragon eggs, freezer hatched
Half stick butter
8 cloves garlic
6 carrots, diced
4lbs potatoes, peeled and diced
1 cup chopped shallots
8 cups fish stock (or mer stock if available)
2 cups heavy cream
Salt and pepper to taste
Begin with one dozen ripe dragon eggs. Put them in the freezer overnight to hatch. Any that don't hatch within \~12 hours are probably dead and should be added to the cauldron fire, very carefully. Prep all vegetables and put them in a standard 12qt heavy iron cauldron with a latchable lid. Pour in the fish (or mer) stock and heat the cauldron to \~100 degrees farenheit. Encourage your newborn dragons into the cauldron with soothing words and offers of bites of carrots. The dragons love a warm bath and will play happily as long as you're being encouraging and smiling at them (though be careful not to display your teeth!).
Once all the dragons are in the pot, quickly close and latch the cover. Depending on the size and ferocity of your hatchlings you may want to add some extra weights or chains to secure the cauldron. The dragons should immediately start cooking themselves and the chowder with their panicky fire breathing.
Using a heavy metal hammer or other blunt object, beat the cauldron like a drum for 25-35 minutes until all the screaming has stopped. Wait 1-2 hours to be sure and, with assistance, remove the chains and lid and be ready to finish off any hatchlings that might not have been thoroughly boiled.
Add the cream and salt and pepper to taste and simmer for a further 20 minutes. Serve with bread and white wine. | 2022-02-08T05:37:56 | 2022-02-08T03:00:12 | 81 | 19 |
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