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] For the entirety of your life, music that only you can hear has played to inform you how to feel and warn you of upcoming events. Suddenly "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" cuts out and "Duel of the Fates" begins to play... | I opened the door to Samantha’s house. The usual smell of the flowers in her kitchen wafted over, and with them those first familiar strains of Beth Hart washed over me. *Calling California, is there anybody home?* “Babe,” I shouted down the echoing hallway, “I’m here! Only got a few left in my lunch break, though.” Somewhere upstairs, running water rang the muffled spattering of a shower and mingled with my voice. *I wanna say I love you but I’m a million miles away.*
Guess we both get a surprise today. I smiled, like she wouldn’t know to expect me, like this wasn’t her game. *I have made you suffer left you waiting in the rain.* I headed for the stairs, already pulling my shirt off, already imagining the smell of her skin and the way her soap ran through my fingers. *While I was chasing demons in the deserts of my pain.* Her bedroom door was open, and the light was on in the bathroom, spreading out across the floor and playing with the dappled sunlight coming through the shades.
*Somewheeeere-* Wait. *Ooooover the rainbow.* By the bed. “Babe?” It’s that special, that 1955 one. I haven’t heard it since I found Dad on the porch twenty years ago. My heart is racing, and my feet aren’t moving, and Judy Garland’s choking back sobs between words. I’m running now. I kick over the nightstand and the lamp I bought her at that mall hits the floor, but I keep moving. *Bluebirds fly.* And I’m there, and she’s there, but she’s not moving and- *And the dreams that you dream of.* God, there’s blood. *Dreams.* It’s all pooling behind her and getting in the carpet, and all I can do is cradle her.
The shower snaps off. *Really do come true.*
I look up, and her ex is in the bathroom doorway staring at me, the copper-smeared towel limp in his hands.
We lock eyes.
*Kor-ahhhhh.* | *Ooooh hoooooo*
It was a quiet day at work. Nothing went wrong. Everyone was in a good mood.
*Somewhere over the rainbow...*
I didn't even have to do any actual work. I automized most of the gruntwork, like digging through emails long ago.
*Way up high...*
Most of the time I just sat there and playe Minesweeper and Solitaire. But now I am looking forward to coming home.
*And the dreams that you dreamed of...*
Home...
*Once ... a .... aby*
The soothing sound of the song in my head falters. Something is wrong...
*...ere...the...ow Bl...fly...*
I can no longer even make out the melody. Instead a hectic orchestra takes its place. Like a formless shadow, growing larger behind me, looming over my head, something isn't right.
I feel a raging storm heading my way.
And just as I enter the front door to my home it hit me.
I was supposed to pick up my mother in law, at the airport three hours ago!!
_____________________
Anticlimactic I know. But I didn't want to write anything that requires a followup. | 2017-04-01T20:17:11 | 2017-04-01T19:57:09 | 121 | 57 |
[WP] Starting at the age of 10, humans are given companion animals that develop along side them. These animals can range anywhere from a goldfish to a horse to even a dragon. The only catch is that they are assigned based on your behavior during childhood. | I am a good kid.
My name is Alex Urwin, and I am a good kid. I do my best when it comes to tests, because mom promised me that if I do well, I might get a dragon. Every day, I finish my homework before I do anything, and make sure to tell my parents that I love them, but never to stay up too late to do it. Dad said if I clean the dishes every night, I might get a dragon.
All my life, I've dreamed about my 10th birthday. I've worked hard, like mom and dad do. I've applied myself as best I can. I've tried making friends with anyone that would be friends with me, being as nice as I can to them. Even the bullies. But I try to avoid them.
When lunch happens, I stay indoors most of the time. I needed to be a good kid if I want a dragon. Mom showed me a pamphlet a year ago, and when I looked through it, there are only a few animals that talk. Unicorns, dragons, parrots and some, like 2, other names I can't remember. They were special cases. Surprisingly enough, pegasi (or is it pegasuses?) don't speak.
But I needed a dragon. Or a unicorn. Or a really, really smart parrot. Risking it wasn't on my mind, and each day I grew a little closer. So I worked, and worked, and worked, and worked. Lunch breaks indoors, making sure I did as much schoolwork as possible. On Mondays I read history. On Tuesdays I read science and biology. On Wednesdays I read geography. On Thursdays and Fridays it was maths. And over the weekend, I would read up on whatever test was coming.
I needed my A's. Mom and dad both said that if I got A's on my report card, I'd get a dragon when I was ten. A dragon could speak. A unicorn could speak. Even a parrot could speak.
Did I ever bully anyone or say mean things? No. Did I ever think them? Yes. Never let myself loose though, I couldn't risk it. All my life would boil down to my tenth birthday. No uncles in the country, no aunts that would say more than, 'Happy Birthday' and 'Happy Holidays' - I had to get a dragon. Or at least a parrot.
Whenever I played sports, I made sure to follow all the rules. Other kids fouled and pushed and shoved, and although they didn't get red cards for soccer or free shots for basketball, I never did. For you see, kids are mean. Except when they've been mean to. And being picked last all the time...
There're the good kids. The bad kids. And the ugly kids.
I was an ugly girl. The ugly girl.
Braces since I can remember, but teeth too crooked and jagged for it to work before my teens. My eyes were green on one side, and blue on the other. "Ginger ninja" was once my nickname, red hair singling me out. I didn't want to get a dragon just to show them that I could.
Just... other reasons.
For the nights I spent crying, I always did it after mom had tucked me into bed. She worked so hard and she had a tiger, I shouldn't have to trouble her. I didn't trouble dad either, he worked so hard he had a stallion. A bit hard to care for, but Bucky the horse and Stripes the tiger were fun. Mom and dad, weren't. Too busy.
And on my tenth birthday, having not slept a wink the night before, I got my companion at midnight and burst into tears.
A lone wolf. One eye green. And the other a mocking blue. He lapped at my cheeks and huddled beside me, not even whimpering when I pushed and shoved him away. I sobbed and yelled at him to go away, I screamed and shouted, but my parents were away on business.
"Wh-what did I do to d-deserve you? I was a good kid!" I managed through sniffles. "I just..."
*You wanted someone to talk to, didn't you?*
My eyes went wide. My heart stopped. My throat collapsed in on itself.
*Sorry that took a while, getting used to my new voice.*
Finally, after 9 years alone, I have a friend to talk to.
****
Visit **/r/AlexUrwin** for more stories!
| Jensen was a sweet and rambunctious boy born and raised in the southern most tip of the Gilded Peninsula. Barricaded by impassable mountains and surrounded by the frigid waters of the Adelphin Sea, the insignificant village, who was largely forgotten by the rest of the world, were as tight knit as any. The summers were short there, the winters were incredibly long and strenuous, bearing temperatures that reached well below -70 degrees during peak months. Because of this, the gifted animal companion each human received at the age of 10 was so paramount to survival, children were molded into disciplinarians at a young age, feeling very little pleasure and harboring a work ethic that would surpass most adults around the world.
What this would result in is a large animal that innately absorbed the same type of mentality and the same type of desire to listen and to execute. Many of the children in the community would end up being paired with a lone wolf who would hunt on command or a fierce polar bear that dwelled on every word from their master. Given the terrain and the inevitable hardships accompanied with their way of living, anything less than a powerful animal resulted in death.
With all that being said, we now go back to Jensen. Sweet, shy and a tad bit ornery, young Jensen was the antithesis of anything disciplined. He walked clumsily around the village, often tripping on just about anything due to his lack of attention to his surroundings. In school, he would be asked to answer questions and usually ended up mumbling something inaudible because he had not been paying any attention to the lesson at hand.
His downfalls were glaring and there was not a person in the village who didn’t carry the assumption that he would soon die when he was set off at sixteen to start the great hunts for the community. Now, as you can see, all that has been described of Jensen was derived from an outsiders perspective. No one, but Jensen and the God’s who bestow the gifts of animal companions, could realize his kind heart and willing soul.
On his 10th birthday, the local villagers crowded around Jensen’s home, as they do for any child turning of age, to see the animal that would be accompanying Jensen as he walked out of his cabin to show the world of his new best friend. People were giddy with excitement to see the failure that was on the horizon. Wagers were resonating through the air and laughter ensued.
*10 pounds of whale oil that it is an arctic hare with three legs*
*15 pelts that it’s an Skua… with CLIPPED WINGS!*
The crowd continued to erupt in quick succession, almost matching the tone of the crashing waves on the jagged rocks below.
*Quiet everybody! I hear the door. He is coming out*
The crowd grew silent as Jensen turned the door knob and began to walk out of the cabin. He came out sluggishly holding his mom's hand, his feet dragging while bearing a gentle smile.
He looked to the crowd and spoke with the utmost confidence.
*A thousand pounds of gold it’s a white dragon*
He pointed to the top of the highest mountain peak off in the eastern horizon. And there it was, the highest honor for any human, the ultimate gift from the God’s. A dragon and given the terrain and where they live, Jensen had acquired the fabled Snow Dragon, an elegant beast dawning crystal blue eyes and a vibrant white an imploding star would have trouble matching.
| 2017-01-13T12:02:15 | 2017-01-13T11:57:37 | 135 | 12 |
[WP] Turns out, what gets you into Heaven is spending more time doing good things rather than bad things. That's it. When you arrive at St. Peter's Gate, he has a device that shows precisely how much time you've spent doing good, and bad. Down to the nanosecond, you're at a dead tie... | "It's not just you," the angel explained. The line lurched one step forwards; when I'd first died, the grey hills seemed to stretch off into infinity, but after God knows how long we'd finally gotten to some visible structures: a massive set of gates, flanked by a pair of angels.
"Yeah, no kidding." I looked up and down the line. There were thousands of us. "What gives?"
The angel grimaced. "Globalization."
"I beg your pardon?"
"Globalization!" The angel threw both hands in the air. "It used to be so simple, you know? Do more good stuff than bad stuff and you're set!"
"Wait, that's it?"
"It was a good system! Until you bloody humans started multiplying! Do you know how long it takes to determine whether an individual action had an overall positive or negative effect on the world when seven billion people are ping-ponging around in it? It used to be so simple: slay a monster? Good thing! Be a monster? Bad thing! But now the monsters are leading life-saving medical companies and the heroes are getting put on trial for murder and I'm not even sure that 'good' and 'bad' have meanings anymore and—"
"Hey, hey, hey, it's okay." I held out my arms, and the angel wrapped me in a stranglehold of a hug. "Oof. Okay, easy with the ribs. Do I still have ribs? Hey, if I'm dead, then why did my clothes come with—"
"Thank you." The angel sniffed and straightened up. I wasn't sure what to make of the knowledge that angel snot glowed; somehow, the question had never occurred to me to ask. "Well, you know what? Up here, things are simple again. Give an angel a shoulder to cry on? You're a good person in my book." The angel held out a hand. "Welcome to Heaven, you lucky little thing."
If you liked this story and have a quarantine-induced need for entertainment, you may want to consider heading over to r/rileywrites! | "Huh, dead tie you say?" I asked.
"Yep. Dead tie," St. Peter, the guardian, replied coldly.
"Can't it just be a tie? I don't need to be reminded that I'm dead, Mr. St. Peter!" I said and started to nudge him with my elbow while howling with laughter.
St. Peter groaned. "That's it, consider that a bad thing. Heaven doesn't need more jokes like yours. The tie has been broken, you're going to hell."
"Wait!" another angelic guardian emerged from the gate holding up his arms.
"Thank goodness you're here, I almost died back there!" I shouted, laughing once again.
"God observed the interaction and he says he enjoyed the joke. Welcome to heaven Mr. Creighton," the guardian shook my hand.
The gates opened up for me and I strolled right in.
"Smell ya later St. Peter!"
r/randallcooper | 2020-03-20T16:29:25 | 2020-03-20T16:19:59 | 281 | 177 |
[WP] You're a supevillain sitting down for a meal at your favorite restaurant. One of your henchmen comes in to rob the place. | He was cool - and that was the word for it.
Cool.
Making small talk with the people he expertly shook down, His clear voice commanding hypnotic obedience.
He robbed the diner with such a casual nonchalance.
Like he was flirting with a beautiful woman; All confidence and charm.
The gun was larger than it had to be, yet he wielded it as though weightless.
To some a firearm was power, to this man was only a prop - a means to an end.
Lazily the muzzle traced through the air, effortlessly keeping the crowd subdued. He barely needed it.
He tipped his cap and smiled genuinely at the people placing wallets into an open briefcase.
There it was again, that... poise? Charisma?
Style, that was it Style.
Thugs these days had none of it.
And then it was my turn, i took another bite of my steak.
It was an unforgivable crime to let a steak of such quality go cold.
He seems taller up close. Suit and shades and trilby.
He opened the leather suitcase on the table in front of me, stolen purses and wallets neatly stacked.
'You know...' I say between mouthfuls. 'Trilbys are out these days, but that suit... is well chosen.'
He smiles, unperturbed at my lack of obedience. I take another bite.
'Its not that they are unfashionable, its just that morbidly obese neckbeards should refrain from wearing them. Sir, your wallet, please' He responds casually, all eloquence.
I pull out my wallet, and begin taking the contents out. 'Cards, and cash you can have, i like my wallet.'
He pauses. 'Fair enough' He clicks his suitcase shut, and gestures expansively, speaking to the room. 'you have all been quite co-operative, i thank you all for not making me resort to any kinds of violence'
He heads towards the door, having cleaned out the entirety of the diner in just under four minutes.
A young woman has her phone out, filming him as he leaves. He turns on his heel, grins, pointing and clicking at the camera.
'Brazen, young man, very brazen' I murmur, the beginnings of a smile creep across my features.
The doors click, and its the only sound in the room.
The atmosphere thickens as reality catches up with fifty bewildered people. I try to enjoy the remainder of my meal in peace, but there is the usual post robbery hubbub.
Some young women cry, a man shouts at the manager, obviously an arsehole of the highest calibre.
Twenty people all speak to the police on their phones, all describe a man, in a suit, with a hat - no i didn't see how old he was officer -
They are all getting louder.
Collectively blocking an ear with their spare hand.
With my bread roll, i soak up the juice on the plate. The chef has outdone himself. I make a mental note to tell him next time.
The police have arrived, clomping about and adding more people to an already busy room.
They know who i am and let me pass through the doors unhindered.
Notoriety has its perks.
I step out into the cool evening air, and pull my phone from my pocket. Counting backward under my breath.
Three...
Two...
One...
It rings. I answer.
'Your sense of timing is exquisite'
'Thank you - i understand that you are looking for more than just the average street thug'
'You, young man, are no street thug, i'll give you that'
There's a pause, weighted thoughtfully.
'Do i have the job?'
'Consider your interview successful' I say, and hang up. I know my reputation.
In the organised crime world, i'm the man you want to work for.
Robbing the place where i'm eating? what can i say - the kids got style.
| “Put your hands where I can see them!”
The chattering stops.
I look up from the menu,only to be greeted by a peculiar sight of a chubby man holding a gun to the owner.
The owner seems terrified,trembling and looking at the to be robber,then to me.
“Excuse me for a moment my dear”. I say to my beloved,standing up from the table.
The chubby man jerks his gun to me,his hands holding tight on his gun.
“And who the fuck you think you are bitch?” He says,pointing the thing at me.
I chuckle,and I feel butterflies in my stomach as I step towards the man. Before I make it halfway across,the gun roars.
Screams fill the room,I can smell the panic in the air.
I look down at my chest,and see myself crawling out of it. They fly towards the man and chew into his skin.
Broken bone and flesh splatter to the ground as my organs slip out.
But parts of me keep walking to the tune of the writhing man’s scream,leaving a trail of blood and gore behind me.
I can see the man,my employee if I’m correct,trying to get up as the locusts start to shove themselves into his eye sockets and nostril.
I make a note to myself not to use this face for a while.
I throw my torso using my newly grown arms,and it latches onto the man’s face,my tongue licks the insides of this throat.
His screams are cut short as my hands meld with his face,and he is silent when my lower body reclaims the upper half.
The locusts return to me.
I put my ruined suit on the nearby waiter,who’s face was now white as paper,and I can see and smell a small puddle of urine under his pants. Newcomer I guess.
“Take care darling,it’s silk.” I pick up the gun,and put it on a table then turn to the owner who is now on the ground,shaking.
“And you. This is the last meal I’m having your establishment.”
“I’m sorry sir! It won’t happen again i swear..”
“It’s alright.” I said,looking down at the terrified man kneeling before me.
I put a hand on his shoulder so he can calm down.
Then make a new mouth with my rib cage,and before he can even scream,he’s gone.
I wipe my lips with the tissues on the table.
I look around,and see that everyone has gone back to their usual business. Except for the food,they are screaming and trying to run away to the door.
“A shame.” My beloved chimes in,who is now ready for dinner.
“I was bidding on that one.”
“I’m sorry my love.” I hear loud banging as the ingredients throw themselves at the metal door,locked tight.
“You can have the next owner.”
I look at her,dazzling eyes of red and gold that so perfectly fits her lovely gleaming fangs.
“Bon Appétit?”
| 2017-11-17T02:05:51 | 2017-11-16T23:56:20 | 58 | 19 |
[WP] Compared to the rest of the galaxy humanity is by far the friendliest. To many star systems they are considered "the good neighbor," and are known for their helpfulness. One day an oblivious system declares war on humanity, only to find half of the galaxy responding to humanity's plea for aid.
EDIT: Tfw this prompt gets 100+ upvotes and still no story
EDIT: Nice, we got a story.
EDIT: Wow we got a lot of stories! Thanks to all who contributed to this thread.
| "Daddy! Look! Shooting stars!"
Joseph Barker looks up at the night sky and feels a chill run down his spine. Indeed, there were shooting stars. But years of work developing some of Earth's defense systems meant he knew they weren't meteorites. He watches in terror as Earth's defense grid burns. "Yes Jacob. Shooting stars. Let's go inside."
"But I want to watch!"
"We need to go inside Champ. Let's go."
"Aww!"
A Joseph begins to reach for son, his phone rings. Taking it out of his pocket, he checks the number with increasing dread and accepts the call. "I thought you'd call, Sir. I'm watching the sky now. I assume the Last Measure failed as well?"
"I'm sorry Joseph, it did. We thought we were prepared. Your work was everything we asked for. But they were too powerful. Every fleet we sent was just brushed aside. The defense grid just pissed them off. And the Final Measure only managed to dent their fleet." The old voice on the other end of the phone seemed to age further with every statement. "It's the Elurians."
"I see." Joseph falls silent for a moment to watch his son staring up at the sky. He savors every second of childlike wonder on Jacob's face as a tear begins to make it's way down his cheek. "I see." he repeats. "Take care, Richard. Tell your family..." He stops, unable to come up with the words in the face of the crushing hopelessness.
"I will. You too." It was a lame reply, but Joseph understood. "I'm heading home. I--"
The sudden pause prompts Joseph to look up. Amongst the falling stars a new star flares into existence and then blinks out. "What was that?"
"Joseph! A fleet just dropped out of hyperspace."
"Richard, I saw the dump-flare from here. There's no way I should be able to see that flare from ground-side."
"I'm telling you the truth."
"It would have to be an enormous fleet to make a flare that large."
"Joseph, it's the Beta-Linals."
"It's can't be. A flare that big would mean they brought every ship they have in a single jump."
"Judging by the readouts I'm seeing, they did. They're transmitting, I'll play it for you."
As the translation systems make sense of the alien broadcast, a generated voice begins to speak, "Humans. When our colony on [Hera 3] faced annihilation from a falling moon, your ships helped us save our people. For that, we offer you the hearts of your enemies!"
Joseph is stunned. The Beta-Linals were evolved predators; they only shared their kills with family. Even a symbolic sharing of such an important part was unheard of. "Did I just hear what I think I did?"
"I heard it too. But against Elurians? They're throwing their lives away."
"We should tell them to turn away. We can't let them do that."
Suddenly, in the southern sky, another brilliant star is birthed and dies. "Joseph!"
"I saw it!"
Another generated voice, this time higher and clipped. "Debts owed are heavy chains. Thought they chafe when worn, they teach us greater freedom when cast off. Your people escorted the plague ships when none would give them a berth. You gave freely of your medicine and guided the lost back to their home. We thank you for the chains of debt that weighed us down that we may offer them back in your time of need and lift both our peoples higher."
"I can't believe this. The plague ship relief effort was nearly a century ago!" Joseph regarded his phone as if it were something he'd never seen before.
"Kilnans never forget a debt. The entire navies of two species against the Elurians. Maybe--"
Another brief star shines in the sky. And then another. And another. Three become five. Five become ten. Ten become twenty, and then Joseph loses count as his vision blurs from the tears filling his eyes. His phone begins to play message after message as each People declare their thanks for a past help and their intention to repay it at Humanity's hour of need. The combined navies of dozens of species would eventually be known as The Great Fleet. But now, at this moment, it was an outpouring of thanks; good deeds made manifest. And the Elurian fleet began to burn.
Joseph held his son tight, looking up at the sky as countless shooting stars streaked across the sky, and on his face was a look of childlike wonder. | When humanity took its first fledgling steps into the galaxy, the general reaction of the galactic community was "how?" followed by "what for?" followed by a general shrugging of appendages and returning to what they were doing before. The human reaction to being essentially ignored by the rest of the galaxy was very, well, human. After the initial culture shock settled down^1 humanity kept going. They were not conquerors, being laughably far behind in technology, nor were they settlers, for all the easily developed worlds of the galaxy already had been, nor were they players at the grand games of intergalactic politics, for they were simply ignored by those who were. Instead they filled in the gaps.
When it became obvious that it would be a long time, if ever, before humans would be anything other than a sideshow curiosity to the galaxy at large, and that nearly all the species of the galaxy were either staunch isolationists or rampaging conquerors^2, most human interests decided it would be best if humanity stayed in it's little corner of the galaxy and focus on internal development. However, there were groups that believed a place could be made for humans among the stars. Religious sects, charity organizations, and those who had an irrepressible pioneer spirit set out to find a place.
Again they were met with indifference. But still they persisted. Missionaries, doctors, relief workers, explorers, and many, many others went out and did the work nobody else wanted to. They aided others who were ignored by the galactic community. They brought supplies to those without. They explored the places no others saw value in going. They accepted that humanity was not prominent and most likely never would be, and decided that it was alright to not be noticed so long as they could do some good.
Then one day the Kanath brood lords turned their attention toward Earth.
Historians have often debated why nobody had tried to take the resources of the Sol system before. Many attribute it to the same reason nobody noticed that humans were even there. Others point out the economic difficulties of setting up new operations in an already populated but unexploited system. Regardless of the reasons why, the Kanath brood lords were the first to ask themselves why nobody had taken the resources of Earth and then done something about it.
The first reaction of the galactic community was again a general indifference. Then the humans who had spread out to aid the lower rungs of galactic society left and went home to help their own people. Within months governments agreed to send token forces to Earth to aid these helpful humans. None of these would have done much good on their own, but when a million patrol groups descend on the same solar system over the course of months, the situation changes. The Kanath broods were driven back and the Sol system was declared a protectorate of all who had come to it's aid. From those worlds that humanity had helped, help in return came.
As with the military aid, the relief aid that came from each world was small. But combined it became one of the largest rebuilding programs in galactic history. It was the first time that nearly the entire galaxy had come together as a whole to do something, and the effectiveness did not go unnoticed. Inspired by these events, a unified galactic body was born to help coordinate joint projects by the various beings of the galaxy. The lesson of unity was proven again and again and the current prosperity of the galaxy would not be possible without this body's presence.
How strange to think that an ignored, primitive world would change the face of galactic society and history simply by doing what none had done before: be kind to all, and help those in need.
1. See Geoff Volstok's *A Brief History of Human Post-Cradle Development* volumes 2 and 3 for an overview of the post-Contact period
2. See the Politics and Government section of P'leq thashrall-Vodur NE Krall's *Survey of the Galaxy, 4,986th Edition* for further information
*Excerpt from* The Founding of the Galactic Union | 2017-03-26T09:19:46 | 2017-03-26T08:18:48 | 74 | 41 |
[WP] Whenever someone can't sleep, it's actually because there's an enemy nearby, they just don't realise as there's no prompt like in a video game. | He stared at the ceiling. Surely there could be something he could do. He eased himself out of bed, wobbled through the flat over to the medicine cabinet, opened it, and swore. Out of Nyquil. The empty packet mocked him as ruthlessly as someone whose daughter was not named Ruth. He tried a homemade remedy, some old wive's tale. He felt more tired, but still could not sleep.
He stared at his phone, flicking through the same four apps with an ever-growing sense of ennui. *flicker* Twitter - nothing interesting. *flicker* Reddit - the same old reposts and nobody worth anything on AMA. *flicker* YouTube - nothing he'd not seen before already. *flicker* Facebook - a couple random statuses from his upstairs neighbour also complaining about insomnia. *Coincidences, huh*, he thought to himself. *What're the odds.* After two laps of no result, he put his phone back on to charge.
He stared at the alarm clock. It was already three in the morning and he hadn't gotten a single wink. He'd have to wake up in three and a half hours and go to work. Knowing his luck, he'd probably nod off as soon as it went off on him. The red lines glared at him with a phosphoric glow, demanding to know why he wasn't asleep yet.
He heard a shout from the lobby, and the building shook. He jumped out of bed, but had fallen asleep by the time the supports failed and the block of flats collapsed barely ten seconds later.
^^^^^.
r/asmo | The young man walked into the bedroom to find his wife sound asleep, facing away from the middle of the bed. He showered, put on his pajamas, brushed his teeth, and climbed in beside her.
He lay in bed with his eyes wide open, trying to fall asleep yet struggling to stay awake.
Meanwhile, his wife had a loaded .45 clutched in her fingers, hidden beneath the sheets, waiting to strike.
___________________
Sorry but that's all I got. | 2017-02-16T12:46:45 | 2017-02-16T10:35:11 | 28 | 20 |
[WP] When you kill someone, their remaining life span is added to yours. Archaeologists have just found a cavern, apparently sealed off for thousands of years, with a single person living inside. | *Tink, tink tink.*
He listened as the rhythmic pattern of digging extended to ancient ears, unused to the disturbance beyond the flittering of the dancing dust that spiralled in the darkness - waltzing in their eternal confinement to the endless tune of silence.
*Tink, tink tink. Tink, tink, tink.*
The sound got closer, faster. More urgent. A decrepit body jerked its neck up in slow, painful contortions as muscle remembered it was not, in fact, part of the rock that surrounded it. Sunken eyes opened after a millennium raised to a spot of rock where the sound seemed to be coming from. Two orbs of pitch blackness struggling against a rockface of the same hue. The sound tunnelling ever closer. He considered that he had lost his mind. His jaw shuddered and cracked as he strained to move his teeth around the dry flesh that comprised the inside of his cheek. He bit down with all his force and felt the flesh rip away. Felt the pain that should have awakened him. But he was already awake. At last.
*Tink tink tink tink, tink. Tink, tink tink.*
The caverns walls cracked, and the dust accelerated their lazy swirls to a frenzied storm as they found a new beat to move to. The man slumped against the opposite wall took a raspy, awful sigh as his lungs remembered how to take in air.
*Tink, tink. CRACK.*
The wall split. A small, sharpened point of metal protruded from the other side of the wall at the epicentre of the crack. The bodies legs cracked and groaned as the legs were reminded of their primary function and with flaking skin and cracking knees the man stood. The hair that had pooled around him followed to the best of its ability, oily and black - a reverse waterfall of oil. By the time he was stood on two unsteady, wavering legs the hair was still pooled around him like an unwashed, hideous blanket.
*CRACK.* *CRACK.* ***CRACK.***
The wall gave way and its rubble poured through to the ground of the chamber. Light, foreign and blinding presented itself to the chamber without consideration for the aeons of darkness that had settled. The man could almost feel the light pushing against him as if willing him to retreat with the darkness. But he only stared into it - those black voids he called eyes seemed unreachable by the light.
A man had stumbled into the chamber under the weight of his own swing. He hefted what resembled a pickaxe in his hands, but not as the body that now stood knew them. He was dressed in strange, beige garbs with a strange beige hat - and he seemed to wear tiny windows in front of his eyes. The body imagined they were for protection. The man coughed several times, as he was not as acquainted with the dust as the body. The dust that was as old as the body and so much, much older than the man with windows on his face. He finished his fit of coughing as several more men and women in beige approached the entrance. Some appeared to comfort the first man - the rest attempted to examine the wall they had just broken through. None saw the decrepit body in the dark side of the room yet. The body shuffled towards them, shambling, barely capable of staying upright at first. Walking would have to be re-remembered by the body that now moved.
The beige men and women all exclaimed in a foreign language on reading the writing on the wall, confused yet awed. They all clamoured for one particular beige woman who they gestured wildly to the wall at. She stared intensely at the wall, then at a stack of small pieces of parchment she held in her hand. She repeated this over and over, occasionally marking things down with a long thin object in her hand that seemed to act as a reed that never ran out of ink. She would pronounce part of the Sumerian words that lined the walls then read them again in that foreign language the rest of them spoke. By the time she finally read the words out fully in the language that he could understand the other beige people had lit magic lights that illuminated his slow advance towards them. The woman had just finished when they screamed.
"Here lies the man who stole ten thousand lifetimes for his own gain. May he live out each one only thinking of his sins. For if the world were to expose him to the light again, he would swallow it up until none was left."
One of the voices only stopped screaming when the body that walked plunged its hand into its owner's throat and ripped away a substantial amount of trachea. The flesh parted easily with the body, like he was pulling away mud from the banks of the Nile. The body now sank to the floor, blood pooling around it. The man who it once belonged to felt his life leave him, but didn't get to see it go before his being was dragged screaming into the body that had torn out his throat. The other beige people kept up their choir of pain and fear.
One by one all the other voices stopped screaming. The cavern was once again quiet. Dark. The dust continued their gentle dance as the blood seeped the sand beneath them, and no-one emerged from the cavern. Only a body. A body that would live another dozen lifetimes.
Once the body saw a camp full of the people in beige, it realised it would be living a hundred more.
Once the body saw a city of glass and metal stretching further then it could see, its ancient lips cracked and flaked as it smiled.
It would be living for a long time. | They sent me in. I did not want to go, but I had no choice. The government made use of people like me. Those who stood against the system.
I don't know how long the system has been in place, though some certainly do. Those who rule us lived when it started. A horrible system where people could take remaining life from those they killed. People gained power and kept it, becoming immortal and murdering others to keep there life.
Those like me fought. We tried to eliminate some of the monsters that have lived far to long, become far to murderous. Those who run this sad world.
I was caught, tortured, and I was to be executed. Killed by my target in a public event. My target will get the life I had to live, and the life stolen from others. For I have killed monsters and the life they stole became mine.
What a horrid system. To try and kill a monster who has lived for thousands of years only to give it more life. Not that it needed life from me, the government system support them and it would be able to live without the life I had taken from other monsters. After all villages need to send tributes. So they know their place in this world.
They found a better use for me. Sending me into this tomb. It is one that has been sealed for thousands of years. The government was scared. Terrified of what might be inside. Of how whatever was in there could be a bigger monster than them.
I was forced inside and the tomb sealed again. With nowhere to go I began to explore. "At least if I am killed it will go to something besides the government." I mutter to myself as I go deeper into the tomb. Using a light given to me.
Eventually I find the creature. The thing that has lived all this time. Residing in a large room, covered in bioluminescent plants. It turns as I enter.
An old man looks at me. People stopped aging after they take their first life and add it to there's. So either he lived for a long time without being tempted by the youth and power. Or he was around when this all started.
"Help" he manages to say. His voice ragged as if he has not used it forever. "I... I never wanted... Tthis."
Surprised by his actions I do nothing. He stumbles into me. For a moment I am alarmed. He could easily kill me, and has gotten to close. This could be a trap. "help mme... Ddie" he says.
"What?" I blurt out. He continues to speak, getting more confident all the time.
"I don't kknow how long... How long I have been here. Right before my death everything changed. I lived in a dangerous but relatively peaceful world, but in my late life the life transferring was discovered. People went mad. Over night the world was bathed in blood as people tried to secure their life. I was an architect. This tomb was my final creation. I came here, sealing myself in and waited to die of my old age, in peace."
I finally managed to untangle myself from him and listen to his story, becoming more curious about what I could learn.
"I messed up. I never would have expected this to happen." He said breaking down, looking at the ground his eyes full of sadness.
"What happened?!" I ask, curious in spite of myself.
"I made a mistake creating this tomb. I" he paused taking a deep breath. "I posoined the aquifer."
"I do not know how many have died, but I know that I will be forced to live here so long as humans walk the earth. Even with the life transferring someone has to drink water and survive until they are able to kill and take life. Or until they are fed to others."
"Please, I have lived long enough. I wanted to pass on long ago. I never wanted to become what I am. Help me rest now"
I look at him. The last one, other than the government and the monsters who run it, who know what life was like. Who know how humanity used to be.
"Can I do it? Even if it is his wish. Can I really take away that knowledge? Can I destroy possibly the only way back to a more sane world? If I take his life how do I avoid leaving and the life going to the monsters who sent me here?" These and more questions swirl in my mind.
What do I do and how do I answer... | 2020-05-16T06:16:22 | 2020-05-16T05:32:25 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] how you die and the treatment of your body determines what happens to your soul, due to the bizarre circumstances of your death you find yourself in the jurisdiction of an ancient and obscure god.
E.g. last rights and a catholic funeral would mean your soul goes to heaven, hell or limbo as per the bible. | “I can’t believe they used molten lead.” I said, suddenly finding myself by a desert river, much like the one they had done the deed next to. ISIS was a cruel group, and disposing of a reporter with the morbidly creative use of a box and molten lead was shocking to say the least.
“Didn’t see it coming did you?” A man with the a strange white crown and a green face asks as he sits down next to me.
“You’re just in the box, and the next minute everything is all light and heat.”
“At least the high temperatures prevent you from feeling much. Lead turns molten at about 327 degrees Celsius, and that kind of heat seals your nerve endings shut almost instantly.” I shudder.
“It all happened so quickly, and what did I ever do to them? I was unarmed. I kept my distance. You know they actually came and found me miles from where the fighting is happening? Who does that? They even knew I had a wife and kids!” The green faced man picks up a river stone.
“You see this stone? It is like the burdens we carry in life. As we walk through the desert to the river we choose to pick these things up and carry them with us. You now carry a great stone with you, far larger than you can carry if you are to cross this river into what lies beyond. If you should try you would fall to the riverbed and remain there.”
“How is that fair?” I protest. “I didn’t ask for what they did to me.”
“They may have inflicted evil upon you through no fault of your own, but it is you who are choosing to carry the burden of this great stone. I know you don’t feel like you have a choice. They seem to have forced the stone on you. They have made you feel as if this burden is yours to carry, but it isn’t. You need to let it go in order to cross over.” The green faced man throws the stone into the river. “Let it be as if it had never been. For when you are beyond this river such things will no longer matter.”
“How do you know all this?” I ask.
“My brother Seth did the same to me. He sunk me into this river after incasing me in a box and pouring lead down on me. I sank, both in real life and in the afterlife, and it was a long time before I learned to let go of my burden and move on to lighter places.”
“Seth? That sounds familiar, so that makes you…”
“Osiris.”
“So the egpytians were right? Should I have requested my remains to be embalmed? Wow, Osiris. That makes you one of the big gods right? Should I kneel or something? Are there prayers I should know? I totally did not expect to meet an Egyptian god when I passed on.”
Osiris shakes his head. “I am no god brother. I am just a man who, when I passed on, was fondly remembered by many. I, like many others who have been called gods were merely men that carried themselves with honor during life. It is my self-appointed task to come down here to the crossing point to escort people into the step.”
“So this isn’t heaven?” I ask.
“No brother, it lies beyond. The god, who you will soon meet, found that humans enjoy paradise the most if they first leave behind their worldly burdens. That way there is no taint or tarnish on perfection and you can be in bliss undistracted. Like a bride at a funeral all hurtful memory is left outside, only in heaven, it is never to be taken up again.”
“That sounds wonderful.” I say. Getting to be beyond painful memories forever. “But I don’t think I’m ready yet. It is no easy thing to let go of what you are asking me to let go. Can you sit with me a while longer?”
“As long as you need brother. As long as you need.” | The day started quietly, so quietly I almost wanted to sleep in. Some days a person can really use a little peace and quiet to take a nap, but today the stillness did more than bring an air of somnolence. It terrified me.
After a week alone on a raft in the North Atlantic- at least I think it was the North Atlantic, going down in flames tends to have a deleterious effect on ones thoughts- the stilled ocean quickens the pulse. The birds of the night before were absent. Not a sea or swell defied the flat surface of the gray blue water.
I sat up and yelled just to deaden the silence. My voice seemed to voyage off into the single pink cloud on the horizon and not deign to return so much as a post card. I sat for an hour listening to nothing, it was awkward and more than slightly unsettling. As the sun pulled its last tendril up from the skyline I heard a plunk. It made me jump to my feet.
The second raindrop made me laugh but within the hour I was gasping for air in the torrential downpour. A zephyr tore at the shreds of my shirt and flipped me on to my head. That's when the waves changed. The churning turned into a consistent flow. When I righted myself in the water I faced the maelstrom. I felt like an abandoned rubber duck in a draining tub.
As I reached the bottomless center a wave of heat met me and the liquid rock bottom rose; I felt my frostbitten feet melt into the half formed basalt. A barnacle sailed out of the water and into my gaping mouth, lodging itself in my throat. I saw the lightening streak down and the world went one way and I the other.
I awoke or I suppose adeadened, in a stone floored library. I saw not a single book, instead a multitude of cubbies housed snug bundles of scrolls of parchment and papyrus. I wandered for a quarter of an hour before I found the reference desk.
"I beg your, I mean, uh, er, excuse me but, I guess I'm dead and..." I trailed off as the librarian sighed in distaste and pretended to ignore me. Her name plate read Ἀνάγκη.
"Miss Avaykin?" I started. She put down her reading and knitting. Then she responded, "Ananke, I really must finish my these one day." She said it with a smile.
"Er where am I?". I tried to say but my words turned in my mouth and my tongue stayed silent. " A special part of Elysium" she responded to my mute question.
"So you are?"
"Ananke"
All I could think was that I never expected a Goddess to have a chignon and tortoise shell glasses. | 2015-01-15T06:13:25 | 2015-01-14T22:55:33 | 37 | 24 |
[WP] You're bitten by a zombie. By some strange happening, you die and become a zombie, but your ghost remains bound to this earth. Your ghost has to try and keep your zombie body out of trouble until a cure is found. | “By the power of Christ, I compel you! Leave this poor woman alone!” yelled Father Amos as he drew out a sizable cross and tapped, quite vigorously, Alisha on the forehead.
“Father, please,” pleaded Alisha as she tried to guide the frenzied priest to the sofa. “We’re fine, and there’s no need to intervene.”
“Bind your foul mouth, serpent! You will not deceive me this day!”
“She’s telling the truth, Father,” piped Alisha’s husband as he emerged from the kitchen with a tray of cookies and tea. “We already told you at church, there’s nothing to be worried about. It’s just a lil’ haunting, that’s all.”
Father Amos was apoplectic. “A little haunting? Is that what you’re calling this?” he yelled as he gestured around wildly. “There’s ectoplasm dripping off your wall, every face in every framed photo has its eyes crossed out, your entire garden is dead! And your doors are creaking NON-STOP!”
At that moment, a weak, plaintive creak from the pantry door drove home Father Amos’ point.
“You’re new to this town, Father, so we can’t blame you if you’re not aware. But this ghost, it’s actually more of a help to us, you see. It keeps watch for us, keeps us safe.”
“Help? Do you mean… you two are in bed with the devil?” said Father Amos, fingers tightening around his cross.
“Oh no, no,” offered Thomas as he proffered the cookies again. “It’s our son’s ghost, so he won’t be harming us. He’s just… homeless at the moment. Things will get better.”
Alisha noted the catatonia slowly setting in for Father Amos as he processed the information, so she hurried to retrieve a family album for him. Blowing dust off the top, she cracked open the tome and fished out a family photograph which had, thankfully, not yet been desecrated.
“This here is our Timmy. He got bitten by the zombies when the infection broke out in Clearwater, you see. The doctors said a cure is still years off, so they asked us to cremate his… body before he turned violent. But I couldn’t do that to my Timmy!”
“Good thing we hesitated too,” said Thomas. “Because the next day, Timmy’s ghost left a message for us on a mirror. He asked to please keep his body alive until a cure could be found. I mean, that was more communication I’ve had with him than when he was alive, so I was happy, in fact.”
Alisha reached out to hold Father Amos by the forearm. “Come, see for yourself.”
Father Amos, in a trance, followed the old couple to the loo.
The lights crackled to life. On the mirror, in bright red lipstick, were the following words, evidently scrawled with much difficulty – “ANY…MORE… BREAK-INS…? HUNGRY…”
“I don’t… what am I looking…”
“Oh, right, you just got in this week,” said Alisha, gently leading the priest back to the settee. “Last month we had a break-in, and two of them robbers, I think, tried to club us to death as we slept. Probably from out-of-town, needing money, you know. Anyways Timmy possessed them in time, saved us a pretty dime in medical fees.”
“Where are they now?”
“Eaten, I guess,” said Thomas. “We found out only the next morning because of all the noise coming from the basement, all the screams and such. We called Chief Wigly, but he always liked Timmy, so he said fair’s fair, a friendly ghost’s almost like a gun for self-defence, just harder to aim is all.”
“And… that’s where Timmy is now?” said Father Amos, a trembling finger pointing at the basement staircase.
“Ayup. You can see him if you want, he’s pretty slow in the day. We keep him just barely fed so he lives, but not too much or he gets excited. Kids and sugar, kids and sugar. The robbers did give him some indigestion though.”
Father Amos reached out for the doorknob, but a sudden gust of wind blew through the hall, slamming the door resolutely shut. Alisha clicked her tongue in irritation.
“Please be patient, Father. Timmy… he’s always been a bit dramatic.”
Seconds passed, then the doorknob slowly turned on its own, revealing a dark, dreary staircase. From beyond the gloom, as Father Amos’ eyes slowly adjusted, he began to make out the silhouette of a small boy, framed against the harsh light emitting from a computer screen.
“What’s, what’s he doing there?”
Thomas shrugged. “Well we had to find something for Timmy’s body to do, else he would just be scraping at the door the whole damn day. We moved his computer down here, and he’s much quieter now, he just sits and stares at the screen.”
“So… what’s he staring at? Just static?”
“This is a Christ-loving house, so none of those cheeky girl sites,” said Alisha, somewhat distastefully. “Though the Lord knows what Timmy was up to before. No, these days we just set his browser to alternate between /r/politics and /r/the_donald, there’s more than enough drama there to keep him occupied.”
Thomas nodded.
“Ayup, free, tantalizing drama for the next four years. Should be a cure by then, I reckon.”
---
[/r/rarelyfunny](https://www.reddit.com/r/rarelyfunny/) | I miss living.
A lot. Things really went to shit in the last few months but before that it was really turning around for me. I'd found a beautiful girl who really loved me, got an apartment that I could call my own, I'd even found a job that I really enjoyed going to!
Who could ask for more?
So that fateful morning when I was stopping at a vendor cart for a cup of coffee - I'd spilled mine on the train ride to the city - was a real wrench in the works of my life.
You assume it's just a homeless man. Dirty, unwashed, shambling around. It's early so you assume that they're still drunk or high from the night before...or maybe it's just how they wake up. You avoid eye contact and order your coffee while the cart vendor watches the figure for you. The unspoken rule of the city world. Vendors are thick, hairy men with loud voices and no fear.
I, on the polar opposite, am a slight man in a hoodie and jeans on his way to work behind a computer screen for eight hours.
The most vivid part of the whole experience was the bite. Obviously. He bit right through my sweater and into my forearm. It hurt like a son of a bitch. I screamed and the vendor took to striking the homeless man about the head and shoulders. When he let go I ran, sprinting away down the street.
I never made it to work.
A lot of people didn't make it to work.
I ended up in an alley, standing over a corpse that looked awful familiar.
The face was one I'd seen in the mirror and the hoodie it wore usually hung in my closet. Or off the corner of the couch.
I don't know why I was chosen to stay but I had been. While the city burned and gunfire erupted and the world descended into a Hollywood movie, I watched over a shambling little idiot.
I had wanted to find her, the girl that I loved, but I just couldn't. I had to keep myself safe and hope that one day I would see her again.
So I helped him survive.
I guided that corpse away from the fortified walls of human resistance settlements. I led him away from the mobs that were slaughtered like sheep with gentle words and sometimes a violent shove.
We would hide under bridges for days, feasting on the sewer rats. It was hard to watch at first but I had to keep him healthy. One day they'd find a cure.
One day.
"Hey," I say, stirring him from his blank staring, "someone's coming. Get into the doorway."
He murmurs and groans.
"Fucking quietly you dolt."
He lowers the volume slightly.
I shake my head at the shambling dumbass. I tried to teach him but every day it got harder to get through to him.
I peered around the edge and watched the four figures make their way under the bridge.
"I swear, I heard one of the fuckers down here!"
One of them says it and my heart races...if it could. I can feel him getting antsy, he wants to attack.
"Stay. There."
He makes a throaty *eeerrrrr* noise that I assume means he's listening.
They come closer, steps echoing in the hollow space. He's fidgeting too much. I try to grab him or force them off but this ethereal form is beyond useless.
Shit. Shit.
They step too close and he moves. I can't stop him. He lunges and forces one of them down to the ground, desperately chomping to bite the man and tear a piece of flesh off. There's shouting and screaming as they try to hold my own body back and put a bullet through his head.
"Stop!"
Her voice rings out and stops all movement. Everything is still as she kneels to look into the sunken, drawn face that once belonged to me.
It can't be.
"I know him."
She says it quietly as I reach out to touch her face. My hand doesn't make contact but that doesn't matter. I can see her. Hear her. Smell her. I've missed her for so long.
She blinks away a tear as she kneels there, holding my body with her hands. I can't breathe when she puts the pistol to my old forehead and squeezes the trigger.
I can feel the pull on my spirit as my body dies. Like someone has reached out and grabbed my chest, pulling me away from the scene with unbearable strength.
"I'm sorry," I can hear her voice in my ear as she whispers it to a lifeless body, as if she was beside me, "I love you."
Darkness takes the scene, swirling and tearing at the fabric of reality. The last thing I see is a body on the ground.
It looks an awful lot like I used to.
Then it's gone. | 2017-02-02T06:03:44 | 2017-02-02T05:39:34 | 189 | 67 |
[WP] everyone in the world has a number over their head, but nobody knows why. You have just figured if out. | We had to learn living with it. It had been years since the first ones begun to appear. I think everyone remembers when it all started. At the beginning you’d see it in the news, a couple of people from all over the world showed up in the news showing the holographic number above their heads. We thought it was a hoax.
But then it spread all over the world, out friends were getting them, our families, ourselves. We didn’t do anything, they just appeared. Everyone made theories, the scientists tried to find a real reason, but nothing happened. After a while, when no answer was found, people gave up looking for answers and moved on, the numbers weren’t doing anything anyway.
In fact, it became more of a joke. People would make fun of the ones with bigger numbers, considering that the closer to zero was considered better. Others would try to make sequences with their friends.
It was years before something happened. It was just another day when the ships arrived all over the world. Each ship had a number, and each ship would pick up the people with those numbers.
We ran for our lives, hugged our loved ones, avoided being abducted. No one wanted to give up their life. The ships were faster though, within a month they had everybody. Our numbers disappeared and we had to try to come up with a plan to escape with all these new people whom we we stuck with. Our biggest problem was the language.
We lost track on how long we’d been travelling. When it finally ended, we had arrived to an earth like planet. Who knew where in the universe were we. We never saw those who captured us, they were always covered.
Their explanation is that our planet was on the verge of exploding, that they helped us. Through studies decided in which community we would progress more, hence the numbers. so far they’ve been friendly, but we feel there’s another reason. Now all we have to do is find a way to find their breaking point to tell us the truth. | It had been years since the great accident. Millions fell. Billions rose. The world was at a chaos, until a man came to save us.
His name was Micha. He proclaimed himself as a peace-maker and chains of the world. He did just that. His negotiation skills were unmatched, countless of otherwise terrifying wars were brought into peace. What we don't believe, is how he managed to unite the world's economy.
Ever since, our lives were changed. For better or for worse, I can no longer tell. We walk in stores and exit stores no longer having to hand in paper-money. Some new tech that we all wear that allows some scanners to immediately pay for us. It's all very convenient.
Today, I had my mind awoken. I started observing tiny details.
*Why did everyone had the numbers 666 on their foreheads?* | 2014-06-04T10:30:58 | 2014-06-04T09:38:52 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] In the future Earth is fighting a desperate war against aliens. With no other option, we start to use heavy genetic engineering, effectively making most humans like nightmare monsters. After victory, the unaltered refugees on a secluded planet do not recognize us for humans anymore. | The next month would mark the 78th anniversary of the mass exodus from planet Earth. Just one year before that, they came. These beings from the corner of the Baziniel galaxy. First contact seemed genuinely peaceful as we exchanged gifts and research. Yet their captain was overthrown by a planned mutiny, and the new leader desired nothing but the rich ores our planet sheltered. Days turned bleak as they began systematically bombing our land to get closer to the rare ores near the earth's core. We tried stopping them but our measly weapons were no match for what they brought. Scientists and experts declared that the only way for survival was to leave this planet and seek refuge on Mars, at least until another solution was found. The aliens didn't care one bit about human life, and didn't blink any of their six eyes as we launched ship after ship full of humans towards Mars.
What those people aboard weren't told was that they had left a small percentage of the population behind, to stand against these intruders. We were told that ethics would be thrown out the window in our fight and that we would do anything to win and bring our people back. So our scientists spent over half a century perfecting this serum that destroyed and rebuilt our DNA piece by piece, fine tuning each and every one of our attributes by tweaking the order of the base pairs. We gained traits and abilities no man ever had before and had become less man than the very creatures we were fighting.
Once this serum was perfected, it was quick work defeating the alien invaders. We kept their ships and tools to study, but executed nearly every one of them. We kept two alive, not as prisoners, but as friends. Two who were friends with the original captain, and did not come to Earth seeking riches. However we told them, any slight misbehavior and they would end with a bullet in each brain.
It has been almost 10 years since our victory. We had tried to salvage what we could off this planet but there was little hope. We knew our time was short and had to move out. We contacted our brethren on Mars, looking for a warm welcome. The scientists there took one look and were aghast. We were not recognizable anymore. They pleaded for us to stay away, believing the true human population would think they were under attack once again if we showed up. They explained that the humans on Mars would take no chances after their last alien encounter, and the military had been ordered to shoot any foreign being on sight.
We were disheartened after hearing our fate after sacrificing everything about ourselves for the greater good. Yet we understood. We had to make a home for ourselves in some other region of this universe. The scientists had freed us from our chains that linked us to mankind. They told their children that all human life had died on that planet 78 years ago. And they were right. | We won. We finally won. At least I think it's still 'we'.. To say we made horrible mistakes during the war would be to easy. Victory had it's price and everybody had to play their part. But are we stil ourselves? During the fighting, the horrors, the bloodshed, we forgot about Eden. We sent humans to that paradise of a planet to colonize it so long ago. A place to start fresh should we finally get swept away by our own corruption and need for war. 'We' found them again. They wish we hadn't..
They were right you know. We should have left them alone. They are the real humans, the last remnent of ourselves. They don't understand why we became wat we became. They see us as monsters. They're right.
In order to win we changed. Our scientists mutated us so we could no longer feel shame or guilt. Our teeth became a sickly shiny white and took up most of our face. Such large mouths no person had ever seen. Our skin took on a strange orange shade, to resist the radiation we were told. Our hair, wat's left of it, became a golden yellow in the strangest shapes you've ever seen.
They called us monsters. They wanted to be left alone. They were right. They didn't recognize us as humans any more. Eden found a new word for us, one that suites the sickly creatures we had became. It doesn't matter though, even after this war earth wil rise again. And we wil keep the people of Eden at bay. A glorious solitude shall be our fate. We wil make earth great again. The humans on Eden can stay there. The Trumps rule earth now. And we're the best! | 2016-06-04T02:20:39 | 2016-06-04T01:24:03 | 317 | 13 |
[WP] A supervillain kidnaps a civilian and keeps them hostage, taunting on live television for the superhero to come find them. Unbeknownst to the villain, the kidnapped civilian is the superhero.
Did I butcher the title or what?
This is blowing up! All the responses have been diverse and really cool!
| I leaned back in the chair, the bluster of the babbling villain playing accompaniment to the first break I'd had in, god how long had it been? A decade, easy. Being a superhero is great and all, but its not like you can claim it on your tax returns if you want to keep your identity secret. And then you have to prove that you're actually the superhero you claim to be, and then they log all that information down and then you get visits from government agents directly to your place of residence every now and then.
So, if you wanted to get paid for the job you had to all but ditch your personal life and just BE the superhero. ALL THE TIME. So I worked a nightshift full-time job where I tried to sneak in a little sleep and then during the day I ran superhero all over town.
But this, this was perfect. There were several laws that allowed for civilians captured by super villains to retain their jobs, even get paid depending on where you lived. I was getting paid to sit down and rest. There was, of course, the problem that a large angry super villain was breathing down my neck, but it was also my archnemisis, Stratagara, meaning that technically I was keeping an eye on my biggest foe too.
And, for all of her bluster, I knew she wouldn't kill me. Well I mean, she would kill me if she knew I was the superhero she was trying to lure out, but she wouldn't kill an innocent civilian in pursuit of that goal. She had morals, more so even than some of my superhero comrades did.
And, of course, I didn't have to worry about any of them trying to save me. My dearest archnemisis had made it clear that if any of them tried they would kill me. Which was a cherry on the sundae, really. I relaxed into the chair, and without meaning to, fell asleep.
I woke up hours later, the jolting of being unbound shaking me from my dreams. I looked around, groggy for a moment, until I spotted Statagara walking away with the coil of rope that had been tied around my midsection. She set it on a far table and looked at the ground, her teeth grinding together as she went over the facts in her head. I glanced idly to the camera that she had been using to live stream the situation, it rested, turned off, where it had been before.
Which was bad.
"He didn't show up," She said, her words muffled by her locked jaws. "He always shows up. Even if he knows its a trap." She glanced at me, eyes narrow. I took the opportunity to jump out of the chair, realizing I had been unbound so she could have a fair fight with me, rather than to let an innocent civilian leave. "So if he didn't show up, that means he couldn't, and the only reason he couldn't have shown is if he was TIED UP AT THE MOMENT." She pulled her energy sword from her belt and lunged at me, I barely managed to dodge to the side as it sliced through my favorite t-shirt. Which was a rather unfortunate end to my break.
"I can't believe I'm so stupid!" she shouted, face turning red with anger. "I should've figured it out when you FELL ASLEEP IN A SUPER VILLAIN LAIR." She lunged again, but I was more prepared this time and ducked the blade easily.
"Calm down Stratagara, I promise that-" I was cut off as I was forced to put my attention to not getting my leg cut off. I sighed. "Ah fuck it." I lunged forward and, with impossible speed, delivered a series a blow to various nerve centers on her neck and head.
She stumbled backward as a sudden barrage of impossibly severe migraines rocked her to her core. I took the opportunity to make my escape. I leapt through the nearest open window and descended easily to the pavement.
As I fell through the open air I heard Stratagara yell, "I'll get you Captain Phase! You'll see! I'll kill you!" But despite the sincerity of the cry that was not what I was most worried about. Rather I was more worried that that had been the only real sleep I'd gotten in the past decade, and it would probably be a lot longer by the time I finally got another one. | **G:** Hey Dave, look! I've found us a super cool new writing prompt to do today! It's all about superheroes and supervillains and supe-
**D:** *Really Greg? Of all the pages and pages of high quality, well written submissions - we're going with this? A three-line title with half the plot of Megamind scrolled over it?*
**G:** Well I just...You know...I thought it'd be fun is all...Superheroes are kinda cool and you always do the voices really well
**D:** *Look. Fine. Whatever. Just please keep the plot on track. I'm sick to death of your "Look at me and my fourth wall" posts, sometimes it'd be nice to have a real story without any of your stupid dram-*
**?**: LET ME GO! PLEASE DONT KILL ME! I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHIN-
**D:** *WHAT THE HELL?! WHY IS THERE A MAN TIED UP IN MY KITCHEN, SCREAMING FOR HELP?! GREG?!*
**G:** What?
**D:** *THE MAN. IN MY KITCHEN. WHO IS SCREAMING FOR HELP. IN MY KITCHEN. TIED UP. IN MY GODDAMN KITCHEN....WHO IS HE AND WHY! I WANT ANSWERS NOW GREG!*
**G:** Oh him. He's our hostage - the "kidnapped citizen" of our adventure.
**D:** *The what?!*
**G:** Well, I figured if we're going to write a good story - we should really get into character. It's like method acting, but for books!
**D:** *...*
**G:** Oh, don't worry though. It's going to turn out he's a super hero - so he'll totally break free and save himself.
**?**: I'm not a super hero. I'm just an electrician. Please let me go, I won't tell anybody, I just want to live. Please don't hurt me.
**G:** Ha! Get a load of this guy right? "I'm just an electrician", "I totally don't have the ability to lightning-bolt my way out of these ropes", "Don't worry about leaving the wall sockets on, I'm totally not going to leech the power and fry you alive". Grade A joker.
**?:** Look, please. D-Dave was it? You seem like a more normal guy right? Please, I won-
**D:** *I'm a...more...normal guy? So...You don't think I'm normal then?*
**?:** N-no, I didn't say tha-
**D:** *Oh no, don't worry. That's fine. I just thought maybe it'd be a good, normal idea to untie you and let you get back to your family was all....But you know you, as you said - I guess that'd be just too much for me to manage wouldn't it?*
**?:** Oh god
**D:** *Greg, I think it's pancake time. This writing brain needs some writing food. Let's "Hop" off to IHOP, we can deal with this flapjack later*
**G:** Love it Dave. You always know what's best. PANCAKE SAATTUURRDAAAYYYYY | 2017-01-28T09:24:53 | 2017-01-28T08:01:15 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | I glanced at the button, red, shiny, like a new toy underneath the Christmas tree.
"Press it" the voice inside my head begged. My finger slid across the button, careful not to disrupt the connection enough to initiate it by mistake, I knew I had to make sure I was making this decision with an open, and clear, mind.
"Think of the benefits," the voice rang out again, adding "think of Allison."
I took a deep heavy sigh as I looked to the bed where she slept, curled in the blankets as I sat here again in front of the electronic glow. She had to work in the morning, "Come to bed soon" she said, four hours before.
"Think of Lydia," the voice continued as I looked to the crib to see my child dreaming peacefully.
My finger hovered over the button.
".... think of the bills, your marriage is failing and you can't even take care of your family."
"Shut up!" I called out, quickly looking around the room to make sure I didn't disturb my family. "Get out of my head."
"Do it"
"Do it"
"Do it"
My knuckles cracked as I stretched out my bony finger and placed it firmly against the button. I took in a deep breath before whispering "Goodbye" as I pressed the button down and awaited my fate.
My phone sounded. Alert: $5,000 has been deposited into your checking account.
"Fuck." | I looked at her as she looked back
We looked at the button, unassuming black
We kissed deeply, in the matte dark
We looked at the button, the paradigm Mark
I looked at her as she looked back
Fear and emotion and a need for no lack
We kissed as we pushed, together, in tandem
What happened next, was far from random | 2016-07-16T17:58:05 | 2016-07-16T17:08:32 | 145 | 12 |
[WP] "You shot me! I thought you were a pacifist!" "You're right about that. You're wrong if you think this means I won't put a bullet into those who try to abuse that." | The round ripped through the air, finding a neat little lane of atmosphere to glide through undisturbed. After a nearly imperceivable moment the metal jacketed ball of flame met its mark. Like a hot knife through butter, a bat through a glass vase, or some other third simile, the bullet tore through its mark and out the other side, leaving a neat hole in the front end of its target and a larger, messier one out the back.
My mark roared out in pain, clutching the fresh hole now blown through his arm. "You shot me! I thought you were a pacifist!"
"You're right about that. You're wrong if you think this means I won't put a bullet into those who try to abuse that."
He stared at me with a mixture of confusion on his face from my response and pain from the hole in his arm.
"Thats...not pacifism that's-"
"Protection? Defense? Assurance maybe?" I placed my gun back in its holster on my hip with a light snap.
"No! It's violence!", by now the wound had begun dripping red onto the concrete. He was no longer paying me any mind as he spoke, just sweating and stressing over his arm.
"If you call it that then sure. I believe war and violence are unforgivable in the world, for the world, doesn't mean for myself. Especially when it comes to assholes trying to take advantage of that fact."
Another guy burst through the warehouse doors. I drew my pistol and fired off a single round, straight and true. He fell with a thud.
"What the fuck! You didn't even let him move!"
"He had a warning shot. He didn't pay attention. His fault."
"What warning shot?!"
I gestured to his arm where he had now gained control over the bleeding, though his sleeve remained soaked. He looked blankly for a minute before his realization.
"This. This was the warning shot? You're a psychopath."
"Nah. Im a pacifist." the last words I spoke as I left the room, taking my weapon of choice, my pacifists pistol along with me. | Outside of the terrorist camp, a soldier hid in a bush, wearing a clearly visible red shirt, khakis, and a bizarre chrome helmet. Peacemaker gazed through the scope of a rifle at a lookout, and approaching from his side, a wartime journalist, also hiding, peered up at him incredulously.
"Don't you call yourself Peacemaker?" The journalist asked, looking at the rifle with with the drawn on eagle on it.
"Uh, yeah, what about it?"
"Uh, you're about to kill these guys?"
Peacemaker looked to him like he was an idiot. "I love peace. Okay? Get that clear. I love peace. I will kill anybody to protect it. Man, woman, chimpanzee, bonobo, literally any of the greater apes."
"Doesn't that sort of go against your message?" The journalist asked.
"Pfft. No. I just told you my message. I love peace, and if I have to use extreme violence to ensure it's safety and it's upheld, them I'm gonna fucking do that. Now, stop talking, I'm waiting for my signal." | 2022-09-03T23:11:13 | 2022-09-03T17:35:59 | 108 | 50 |
[WP] A man who has had no knowledge of religion meets both God and the Devil. He is the chosen one who decides whether God or the Devil inherits the Earth. The problem is, he cannot tell which is which. | "The Chosen One' - I felt like I'd stepped right out of one of those Hollywood movies. There's a chosen one for everything these days. Chosen to save the world! Chosen to bring balance to the Force! Chosen to choose! So when the two beings in front of me told me I was "The Chosen One", I must say I didn't fully grasp the gravity of the situation.
I was stood in a white room - at least I think it was a room. I couldn't see the walls or floor, though I could certainly *feel* a floor beneath my feet. Before me stood two identical men. They both opened their mouths and spoke at the same time.
"You must choose."
"Choose what? Who are you?" I asked. In my head, I knew I should be terrified. I had no memory of how I had got here. Usually when scared my palms would sweat and my right eye would twitch, but there was none of that. I felt calm and more clear headed than I had ever felt.
They spoke together again, "This is the moment of reckoning. The Cycle of Alignment has revolved and it is time again to pass inheritance of responsibility. You must choose - The order and stability of the heavens, or the debauchery and desires of the underworld."
They turned to face each other, "We represent the two - the Alpha and Omega, Yahweh and The Fallen. You know us in your language today as God and Lucifer."
“You’re kidding me right?” I asked, “You both look exactly the same. Am I on TV?”
The two beings turned to face me again. I looked at the one on the left first. He was wearing black leather shoes, a tailored navy blue suit. A white shirt with a blue tie could be seen under his jacket. Up to his face, he was clean shaven with… eyes…
I looked into his eyes and found I couldn’t look away. I was filled with wonder, curiosity, understanding. I could see to the end of the cosmos and I knew if I selected this man, mankind would advance. I could see each person, striving for their personal gain, but indirectly contributing to society as a whole. I saw mankind strip the planet of resources and leave to find a new home. I saw expansion across the stars. I saw mankind at the pinnacle of its existence.
With difficulty, I pulled my gaze away. I looked to the man on the right, identical in every way except those eyes. Once again, I felt myself drawn into another world, another universe. No one left for the stars. There was no great expansion. And yet, people were happy. The planet which I’d seen stripped bare thrived as man and nature acted as one being, helping each other, supporting each other. Mankind reached the pinnacle of civilisation by coexisting and caring.
This was my choice. Did I choose for the guidance of a being who would help us to the stars, or did I choose for a being to help us appreciate the home we had? Why was this my choice? Who was I to make this decision on behalf of the entire human race – not just those alive today, but those to come?
Yet here I was, and no one else. Here I had to make the choice. I took another look at both beings. Advancement or contentment. Personal gain, or personal sacrifice. Good and evil? No, I don’t think it was that black and white – just two routes to the same goal.
*But if the destination of happiness and contentment is the same, do we need either?*
The thought came across me. I’d never believed in fate. I’d never believed a divine will guided our hand. I’d never believed that my path was predestined. I didn’t believe it now.
“I’ve chosen,” I said.
The visions in the beings eyes faded. They looked at me with mild surprise. I’d decided quite quickly after all. They awaited my answer.
I turned around and walked away. I wouldn’t bind mankind to these creatures. Mankind would forge it’s own destiny, or die trying.
My choice was Us.
| I walked I to the room. It was neutral in paint colour and temperature. I saw 2 men before me, one with a white beard, one with a pointy black beard. They stared at me without speaking. Even in my confusion, I thought it best to address them.
'Good afternoon?' I began. 'I'm not entirely sure how I ended up here. It seems like minutes ago that I was trying to unjam that wheat thresher and now I'm in this odd room, supposedly the chosen one. I will choose one of you but on your terms, as
I have been instructed.'
'Don't worry my child,' said old man with the white beard. 'You are on your way to a truly better place if you choose me to inherit the earth. That is, of course, if my pass my test to prove you're worthy of even choosing'.
I took a moment and observed both men. 'What is this test?'
The man with the black beard spoke next. 'We ask you a series of questions and you give your valid responses. Know this. One of us is good, the other is bad. We cannot tell you which one we are, you have to tell us.'
This seemed somewhat simple and straightforward enough.
The man with the white beard spoke again. 'If a child develops Cancer, is that evil or is it proof of love via mysterious means?'
I didn't have to think twice. 'That's evil. No child deserves Cancer. That's no form of love whatsoever.'
The man with the White beard shook his head. 'That's the wrong answer. Second question. What are you views on contraception?'
I looked at the man, not sure if he was serious. 'I think it's a sensible action, whether it be used in a loving relationship or in more frivolous activity. It helps stop the spread of disease and prevents unwanted pregnancy.'
The man with the white beard shook his head once more. 'Nope, it's never acceptable. Speaking of pregnancy, here's the final question. 'Which of these sins is worse? Paedophilia or abortion?'
This question seemed to be ridiculous, almost a trick question. 'Obviously paedophilia. Those poor children, like those who get cancer, have no say in the matter and are put through life damaging experiences. Abortion is a woman's right and a decision she should be able to make without judgement.'
The man with the white beard looked almost annoyed at this point. 'NO! We can hide paedophiles and move them to a different parish. Abortion is wrong and is truly more evil.'
At this point, I thought I had worked out which of these 2 men was good and which was evil. First I had to ask a question to the man with the black beard. 'Sir, what are your views on these issues? You are surely the good person?'
'No,' he replied. 'I am the devil. I am assuredly evil. However, unlike my 'good' friend here, at least I am honest about it.' | 2015-08-06T02:14:57 | 2015-08-06T00:00:49 | 67 | 21 |
[WP] You are a vampire who needs fresh human blood to survive. There has been a sweeping zombie outbreak. | A lot of frankly melodramatic language has been used to describe me through history. Scourge, ghoul, night-bringer, despoiler, blah blah blah (blah! I vant to -- nevermind.)
100 years ago I despised the emergence of mass-market pop culture because the Bela Lugosi style hunchbacked Count is such a reductive and harmful stereotype. But then came a sort of renaissance: Anne Rice and True Blood and Twilight -- while reductive in their own ways -- at least brought with them a lot of really dumb teenagers who willingly (willingly!) fed themselves to me. I am no more the sparkly Edward Cullen of Stephanie Meyer's addled brain than I am the beclawed creeping Nosferatu of the silent era. But I would rather pretend to be the former than the latter. A wink and a little flash of fang was all it took to reel in a fresh new feed every single night.
So I was actually doing well for myself. I would never in a million years have traded that for what I've got now. I know you may have heard that I take a special sadistic pleasure in the state of the world today -- well, I don't. I was human once myself; I like human things and human culture. The destruction of society is as sad for me as anyone. And let me also be clear that every human in my stable lives there by choice. For the ones who want to leave, I allow them. I do not need to keep prisoners -- the willing chattel are not in short supply. I treat them well and I keep them fed. It's the basic tenet of reciprocity.
They come to me half-crazed and half-dead themselves, having wandered who knows how many miles through the ruin and having lost who knows how much. When they realize what I am, that I am Special, that I can walk freely in the outside world without drawing notice, that I can gather supplies for them while they remain indoors, deep underground and safe, that under my care they will never have to hide and flee and cower in makeshift bunkers and worry whether today is the day the mob finally wins -- when they understand implicitly the terms of the deal before I even have to say -- they fall to their knees and actually *beg* me to take them in. They yank down their collars and bare their grimy necks and say "look, see, you can drink all you want, just don't make me go back out *there*. Don't send me back to *them*." The truth is I don't need to take anyone anymore -- my stable has grown so large that I really *shouldn't* -- but like I said. I'm not the soulless monster of cinema. I want to help. So go figure: me, formerly one of the most hated things in God's creation, now a savior of the human race.
| "This won't hurt at all," I whispered to the woman before thrusting my fangs into her cold... neck. "Bloody hell!" I blurted out, along with the rancid blood that got into my mouth. I turned her head around, accidentally ripping it off of her body.
"Sorry, I wanted to make sure that you were *one*..." I said looking down at the disgruntled face, that was staring back at me.
I sighed and threw her head back on her body. It rolled off and hit the ground with a tiny thud. "She even looked alive..." I said to myself, saddened.
"Stay put, right there. I'm as good to you as you are to me."
Several undead humans burst through the door, my loud demeanour from earlier must've gotten their attention.
"Shit... Do you have any idea how annoying it is to fight on an empty stomach? You miserable carcasses that were once delicious... What a waste..."
One of them crawled near me and got ready to start nibbling on my foot. I kicked its head clean off and it got splattered on the wall. The other ones ran at me. One tried to bite my arm off, a hefty kick between its thighs and a stomp on its head changed his mind. I grabbed the last two by their heads and crushed them into each other, covering my clothes with gruesome crimson colours.
I felt that something was nibbling on my ankle while I was trying to clean what was salvageable of my suit. I look down to see the same pair of disgruntled eyes from earlier staring back into mine. I immediately kicked it with the back of my heel, and it rolled back into her body. I looked at the damage that was left and sighed. I really, really hoped that that stuff wasn't contagious. | 2015-08-10T10:39:32 | 2015-08-10T10:37:35 | 83 | 13 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them | The old human in a white robe closed the door behind him as he left. The hulking being known as HiveKing grabbed and threw an underling against the door. The carapace of the poor serving boy cracked and ichor spilled slowly out.
"Father, it is insufferable that they once again talk of peace. He cites old laws in languages of people we conquered many turnings ago. That he refuses honorable combat between our species is insulting. That YOU say nothing is even more so." Still breathing heavily, his outer eye shields still down he glared over at the old man.
"It is not without guilt that I speak of this to you now, I did not think you would push so far" the older being huffed, mandibles weakly clacking to indicate distress. "Sit and I would tell you the great secret of the humans Angels and Devils"
"many turnings ago I was a young ruler such as you. Battle is the life blood of our species and the weaker races are nothing but interesting diversions and ways to sharpen our claws. This was until we came across the dark sphere of Humanity."
The older being shifted, obviously uncomfortable as he continued.
"You see they had blinded the greater races to their sun by encapsulating their entire system in one giant sphere. Diverting even the heat of their sun so they were effectively missing from the galaxy. One of the servitor races accidentally crashed into this sphere which brought our attention to them, and theirs to us"
The younger interrupted, hands clenching and unclenching slowly so that he could admire the muscles under his skin move "Yes, this is known, then Humanity became the talkers and none can now make them mad enough for proper combat, They speak and speak and speak and know every law of every race and talk out of any insult. Pathetic"
"Yes, but what has been hidden from all is why we allow this. Listen, I bring truth to you now. We met the humans in the white robes who dwell on the surface of their sphere. They called themselves angels and recited the laws of many people, and sang us versus from their holy writ."
The older shifted again and shook his head
"I laughed at them, slaughtered these angels, mocked their holy Abrahamavitta with great joy. We bombed them with the weapons of power, then we used the ancient weapons just to feel their blood on us. It was a day of great joy for all the people. We took the leader, the one they called Christohammed and put him on display in our throne room"
A long sigh and several minutes went by before the older continued, his voice taking on a much different tone than the younger had ever heard.
"And then they opened the great gates and the devils, as we heard them called, emerged. Great, hulking ships the size of planets appeared out of the darkness. Each ship sent out squadrons of lesser ships, which sent out smaller until the universe seemed nothing but the devil ships of humanity. Weapons we can not even explain lashed out at our people and they disappeared, or burst into flames, or melted into puddles of protoplasm. Nothing was allowed to live..."
"Then they came, this unending horde, slicing through the worlds of all the people and slaughtered. Nothing was allowed to live, down to the grasses of the hills and the running food, all was killed. We never spoke to them, they never asked to speak to us. They killed and killed until we begged the angels of the sphere to stop them."
The younger stood, looking astounded, almost crouching in a defensive posture at the horror and pain in the older voice. "This is not what is taught" he managed after a moment. Thinking of the dead worlds he had learned of, but was taught that a great cataclysm had befallen the galaxy.
"They killed everything you see. The few angels we found and tortured called it 'the crusade' and they did not relent until they reached our throne room and took their Christohammed back. Then they stopped and turned around and left. Shortly after the angels came back as if nothing had happened. Unfazed by any insult, never angry, citing only the old laws to get out of any incidents"
"I beg of you, do not make the mistakes I have made, let them talk. For when they stop speaking everything dies" | My kind has always seen violence as a pragmatic tool to get our ends. We don't indulge in violence out of any primitive instinct; we have long since killed those. To us, whom the humans call the Amphitilians - to note that we can exist in more forms of matter than they can, "war" has a been way to resolve in unresolvable. We have known of the humans for almost 100 Terran years, a period that we understand is less than half a generation to the humans of this time. The humans we have seen across their tiny colonies and mining belts were not warriors - there seemed to be no warriors across the sectors of space they had infested. We warned them for long to not come inside the boundary that our kind has controlled for as long as we can remember, but yet little seemingly unaffiliated groups of humans kept infesting every corner they could. And before long they created a network amongst themselves, infesting tactfully and with coordination across half a sector. At first, they were little more than an eyesore but within a decade they became an inconvenience in every outer area controlled.
And so we did what we felt we must, we attacked them interplanetary ballistics and sent clean-up crews to their illegal mining colonies. At first, we crushed them without much resistance. The humans were poorly armed and had no training. But soon, we started encountering violent, out-of-control rag-tag groups and mobs. Suicide bombers, Stealth fighters, child soldiers - these are merely the surface of the horrific lengths this species was capable of. But that was just the beginning. What we didn't understand was that our infestation problem was an unauthorized migration of errant human groups and colony ships. But when their federations learned of what we were doing to exterminate humans across our sector - they did not take it kindly. "Total War" protocol was engaged by their federations against the Amphitilians across our entire sector. Their warriors were armed to the teeth, hidden inside mechanical constructions and energy weapons that were out of our league. And not to mention they outnumbered us ten to one, their warriors to our entire population. Their warriors were creatures of horror, that indulged in pain to satisfy their blood rage. Each of them proudly boasted a kill count, some even keep tokens of our kind they killed. Humans were no weak infestation. They are a threat to this entire galaxy. No, they are a threat to every type of civilized life out there. They do not negotiate, they do not honor their word, and they are not creatures of sanity.
I send this message, not in the hope that we may somehow save our species. It is too late for us. There are less than a few million of us left now, limited to just one planet and its two moons. We will not live to tell our tale for another decade. So for anyone that might receive this message, be warned of the humans. Do not underestimate them, do not let them find you. And if you find yourself invaded by this hostile species, just run. If you run, you may avoid our fate. It is better to live somewhere than die protecting mere rock and space. Let our fate be a warning and a beacon. Do not mess with the humans. Hide from them. Run from them. Lie to them. But do not engage them in violence. | 2022-08-06T00:04:24 | 2022-08-05T21:30:37 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | The lights on Ambassador Tel’s suspension tank remained static for some time. Like the rest of his species, his- *it’s* - body was a tangled web of translucent strands like a jellyfish crossed with a ball of yarn.
In their home waters, under that warm tropical sun, even a mild current had the strength to tear them in two. This was of course by necessity, forming a crucial part of their reproductive cycle, but left them totally unfit for any sort of non-aquatic travel.
So for one to undergo the invasive process of suspension, giving up months of their life to be cocooned in a steel tank filled with supportive, tear resistant gel had been my first clue to their desperation. On a hunch, I had pressed the issue and asked the Ambassador how their recent conflict had been proceeding.
The indicator lights on the Ambassador’s tank stayed static for nearly fifteen minutes. I was almost to the point of calling one of their aids to check the translation equipment when the lights began to flash and the Ambassador’s synthetic voice spoke.
“Ambassador Stewart, to put it simply, the war has been a catastrophic failure.”
I paused mid sip of my tea, then set the dish down. The directness surprised me, we were so often censored from extra solar affairs.
“Surely it’s not nearly as bad as that,” I responded, “You’re the largest of the local regional powers. You had the clout to keep us unmolested since we were still building mud huts!”
The lights flashed, “No longer, our control has shrunk to less than one hundred cubic light years. All that remains are the Home Waters, several extrasolar depots, and you.”
I felt alarm. A feeling I had not had in a long time.
The lights flashed again, “Before you respond, let me ask you something.”
“Of course.”
“Why do you think we only sponsored your colony on Alpha, as opposed to just giving you the tensor shift mechanism out right?”
The tangent caught be by surprise. I was still hung up on the thought of what type of enemy could conquer thousands of star systems in a few years time.
“When you contacted us, for the first time that is, you said it was imperative that we maintain our own path of technological development, that if we just borrowed, copied, or stole from others we would just blunt our own ability to innovate.”
The tanks lights lit up in a combination that indicated humor, “We lied.”
“Oh?”
“You’re brutal, short sighted, and violent and we wanted you controlled and suppressed so you didn’t burn across the galaxy like a cancer.”
“Oh,” was all that came out from between the surprise and shock.
“We’ve watched you for thousands of years and never once have you come anywhere near what the civilized species of this spiral arm call peace. Even now your General Adi in the South Pacific is butchering his people, and that’s only the most prolific instance of similar acts of brutality across your planet. Even your most ‘civilized’ countries wage war every other decade!”
My diplomatic training roared back to the forefront of my mind, “Ambassador, these condemnations represent a serious shift in tone from our previous meetings. While I respect that we have cultural differences-”
“It does not matter,” the Ambassador’s synthetic voice interrupted, ”I’m here to give you the tensor shift mechanism.”
Confused, and with the beginnings of anger at these shifts in the conversation, I coldly asked, “Why?”
A pause before the lights flashed again, “Because our war is about to become your war. We ask this of you. We offer the mechanisms partly because you will need it and partly in payment.”
“Payment for fighting your war?” I asked, real anger bubbling through.
“Payment for the right to beg your mercy when it’s all said and done.”
Edit: [Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4j4mt2/wp_a_peaceful_alien_race_is_besieged_by_another/d34g067) | "Finally, those damned Cetaceans and their ridiculous cylindrical vessels have decided to share the secrets of FTL travel." Admiral James T Kahn sat confidently on the bridge of the newly christened flagship of the Earth Space Superiority services.
Soon, it would be engaged in battle with Rodentia. "They think they are so smart" thought Kahn,but quickly his thoughts turned to snapping their little necks. The insidious weapons designed to suddenly trap their enemies had been designed eons ago. Now, they would be put to the ultimate test.
Of course, the humans weren't entirely without mercy, in the hold they had tons of emergency food and other supplies for their new allies. Just as predictably, the nets contained in the secondary hold would be useful for AFTER the main battle.
The Earth fleet arrived at the Cetacean home system just in time. The Rodentian forces were close to final victory. Quickly, the weapons of mouse destruction they had brought with them were deployed. Soon, the sounds of snapping necks and cries of "42" filled the air. Kahn smiled and thought to himself, "Behold, the power of cheese". The secret had been obvious all along.
He gave a nod to the load master, indicating it was time to deliver the emergency supplies in the hold. Tons of food were quickly delivered.
A short time later, the relief in the squeaks, squeals, chirps and whistles coming from the Cetaceans was obvious even if the computer translation was slow to provide the final translation. They seemed excited and happy.
Admiral Kahn, smiled. Soon the humans would reap the tasty morsels they desired from the Cetacean homeworld. That's where the nets came in. "Chicken of the Sea" would be on the menu all they way back home.
Suddenly, a shrill cry came from the Cetaceans and all the power on Kahn's ship was lost. Their weapons, their defenses all offline. What was going on. The Cetacean attack was decisive and the humans defenseless.
Kahn was stunned, if they had this kind of power, what did they need the humans for? The Cetaceans knew of course. The power source the Rodentia used were immune to their power draining weapons. They used a subclass, cousins really, of their own species. Thousands of them, running on gigantic wheels to power their ships and weapons. But all that was in the past, the humans had done their job.
The end came swiftly for Kahn. The arrogant smirk removed from his face. As his beautiful flagship burned around him, he saw the final salvo from the Cetaceans.
Suddenly, a loud beeping sound came from his right. He turned his head just before the final strike to see.
As Kahn looked toward the comm system, he saw the translation of the earlier message from the Cetaceans, "So long and thanks for all the fish". | 2016-05-13T06:44:58 | 2016-05-13T06:26:32 | 941 | 21 |
[WP] A little girl walks up to a man at a desk. She is followed by something horrifying. She points to it and says "It's lost, and we need to get it back home." | I watched in puzzlement as a young girl in a dull red frock approached my desk. She could only be six or seven and she seemed to be all alone. At *this* time of night.
"Hello," she said. There was something so odd about the way she said it. Formal - like an adult might. No smile. No nervousness. And her face was so pale that I wondered if she'd ever seen the sunlight.
"What can I do for you, little lady? Where are your parents." I asked, forcing myself to grin widely, hoping that she'd reciprocate in kind. She didn't.
"Help us," she asked, her expression unchanging. "It's lost and it wants to get home, but it can't. We *need* to take it home."
"It?"
"The creature." She pointed to something behind her - but there was nothing there. Just the exit. I was about to tell her so, when I noticed *something*. It was faint and I didn't so much see it as *feel* it: a cold chill breathing down my neck; my arm hairs rising and the sensation of a long finger nail being slowly run down my spine.
"Will you, help? It only wants to be safe." she said in that same monotone voice. I'd never met a child so void of emotion. She was more of a hollow husk of a child, and I wondered what kind of vile creature could have done this to her.
"What is *It*?" I asked, dreading her reply.
"It has many names," she answered.
"And... where does it want to go?"
"Home. I told you."
"Sure, but where's home?"
"I don't know," she said, with the first ounce of emotion I'd seen. Sadness. I bit back tears and knew I had to help her. I attempted to get up but I was pushed down by *something*. Something that wanted to stop me from leaving my chair. I tried again and this time managed to make it to my feet.
"Take my hand," I commanded. She turned her head sideways and looked at me. *Examined* me.
"It's okay. Take it," I said encouragingly.
She raised an arm and took my hand. The sleeve of her frock fell down slightly as she did so, and I saw the bruised flesh hidden beneath. A dark purple patch the size of an apple, swollen on her thin arm.
"Who did this to you?"
"..."
"It's okay. You can tell me. I'm a security guard - I'm one of the good guys."
She paused as she considered. "The creature."
I let out a long breath. "I need you to tell me where you live," I said as gently as I could manage.
"Are you going to help me?"
"I am," I promised.
---
I watched by her side as her father was taken away. He yelled and protested his innocence, said he'd never harm her, that he loved her more than anything. The same shit they all say. We watched as he was placed inside the back of the car. First she'd lost her mum - she just *didn't come home* one night. And now her dad was gone. And no matter how awful he'd been to her, he was still her dad. That must mean something to her.
I looked at Amy, thinking that perhaps I'd finally see a tear trickle down her little cheeks. But she wasn't crying. In fact, it looked as if her lips were curled up into a tiny, half repressed *smile.*
She saw me watching and looked up at me. "Am I going to come live with you now?"
I felt the long finger nail once more trace its way down my spine.
| The tiny girl in the yellow dress walked across the light, airy atrium to my desk. I recognized her from somewhere, but there are a lot of children on this space station, so I didn't know her name. Hundreds.
"Are you lost?" I asked.
No. Behind her, it slithered. A great, dripping Lovecraftian mass of black tentacles, fangs, and shards of bone dragging itself across the floor like a slug or a snail, leaving a trail of black slime behind it, exuding a terrible sulphurous stench. My eyes popped wide.
I jumped up, unbuckling my Tesla gun from my belt. These things happen from time to time. Some bizarre and terrible lifeform gets created in virtual reality, and some idiot—or, in this case, an innocent child—prints it out into real reality. Giant sandworms. Firebreathing dragons. Man-eating plants. Violent teddy bears. I've seen a lot in my time.
No problem, though. A hail of plasma and bullets and they're gone.
"I'll take care of it!" I rumbled.
The girl shook her head.
"It's lost", she said. "It's my friend. We need to get it back home." I rolled my eyes.
"Your friend?" I asked. She nodded.
"Its name is Henry. It used to be my puppy. We need to get it back home" she urged, with some grit in her voice.
"Look girl", I chided. "He's not your puppy anymore. You want a new puppy, I'll get you a new puppy." The black mass was slithering closer. It schlicked and squelched and oozed as it crossed the floor. I cocked the gun and aimed.
"Please", the girl burst into tears. "Don't hurt Henry." She ran up to me and clasped at my trouser leg, sobbing. I looked down and huffed. Maybe there is a way to contain it? Maybe the girl's mother or father would do a better job at explaining to her why the thing needed to be put down than I could? Squelch. Slurp. Bloop.
I shook my head and aimed. The thing was only three metres away, the stench was overpowering. Dizzying. I pulled the trigger.
I missed.
With a terrible roar the thing had launched itself at me, tentacles first. Schlick. I was on my back, this thing of shadow eating at my face.
"Ahhhhh!" I shrieked in agony, my head squelched and squished.
"I love you Henry" were the last words I heard before I faded away. | 2017-02-10T07:11:45 | 2017-02-10T06:36:06 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session | The room fell silent. The GM shifted for a better look, the players all staring at the centre of the table, where a d20 had come to rest over a crudely drawn map of a desert village. Above it, an outstretched hand quivered slightly.
1.
"Shit..." said Mark.
John took in a heavy breath, and began to leaf through the rulebook in front of him, searching for the section on character deaths. Luke glanced over to Matt, whose hand was still outstretched, and whose eyes were still locked onto his d20. Tapping the table uncertainly, Luke turned to the GM.
"Well you've got to give him a saving throw or something," he said.
"That *was* the saving throw," replied John, running his finger down the page.
"Yeah, but... at least one more," said Luke, "Surely?"
"You all knew the rules for disease. You chose to complete the dungeon instead of heading straight back for aid. You got the experience, you got the treasure, but that comes at a price. And this time... well..."
John trailed off for a moment and pretended to keep reading.
"Sorry Matt," he mumbled.
Matt didn't reply. He didn't look over. He just slowly brought his hand back to his side, a blank, shocked expression on his face.
"I just don't think it's fair," said Luke.
"I mean... it *is* in the rules," said Mark, shifting uncomfortably and avoiding looking at Matt, "Don't get me wrong, it sucks, but it's part of the game, y'know?"
The three fell silent again, until Matt slowly got to his feet.
"I'm going to... go get some water..." he breathed.
"Okay mate," said Mark, "Sure thing."
"Do you want me to -" started Luke, but Matt was already half-way to the door. Luke waited until he had left, and then rounded on John.
"You can't do this to him, John, come on!" he said, as urgently and quietly as he could, so Matt wouldn't overhear, "He loves Laz, it's probably his favourite character from any adventure we've ever done!"
John squirmed.
"I'm sorry, I can't just flub rules whenever you want me to," he mumbled, "If I did, why even bother rolling the dice?"
"Look, I'm not asking for you to let us win everything," said Luke, pressing in and resting a hand on the rulebook, "Did we complain when I rolled one short of a successful sneak and alerted the whole Goth camp? Or when Mark raged and then missed his attacks on every single legionary?"
John shook his head.
"And to a *disease*?" Mark added, "Come on, man, that's a shit way for a character to go. Throw him a bone here."
"Did you see his expression?" said Luke, "I think if you go through with this he might never play again."
"Okay, okay!" John threw up his hands, "Fine, I take your point. I'll... I'll come up with something."
It was four minutes later when Matt slouched back into the room, his expression still one of numb shock. As he reached the table, he looked down at his character sheet, and his lip trembled. John cleared his throat.
"As the body of your beloved party member grows cold on his bed, the two of you spot a newcomer approaching from the next village. He is shrouded in light robes, and has a long, clean beard. A band of admirers follow closely behind him."
Luke and Mark exchanged a glance.
"I... roll perception," said Mark, "Does he look like a plebeian, or is he someone powerful?"
Mark rolled the dice. 17.
"This is definitely no ordinary plebeian," said John with a smile, "This is a man of great power. In fact... it's a man you both recognise, a great adventurer not long since retired. The most powerful bard/sorcerer that the Middle East has ever seen."
Matt looked up suddenly, as Mark and Luke both shouted out with grins plastered onto their faces.
"JESUS OF NAZARETH!"
John nodded, and looked to Matt, who seemed on the verge of tears. Gently, John continued.
"The level 20 adventurer recognises his old apprentice lying dead before him. Asking nothing in return, he prepares a Wish spell, and approaches the bed of Lazarus..." | "I've got this."
The sound of dice rolling in the cup echoed around the tiny attic. The others rolled their eyes.
"You don't have this. Just stop. If you miss-"
He grinned. "I'm not going to miss."
The man sitting across the table sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Lee, just stop. You'll only have him in your sights long enough for a single shot."
"I've got this."
"You're an asshole, you know?" the woman sitting farthest from him burst out. "Do you know how long it took for us to get here? You can't just-"
"Mary. Please. Stop." Lee said, grinning as he shook the cup.
The man sitting at the head of the table waited, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. He'd been planning the campaign for a long, *long* time. He hadn't expected it to play out like *this.*
"Don't tell me to stop!" Mary snapped, sitting back in her chair. "If you take that shot, it's just going to glance off. The guards are all going to swarm the tower, and you'll be *done*. You're too far away."
"Mary. Please. I've got this," Lee said, still rolling. A bead of sweat dripped down the back of his neck. Maybe this *wasn't* such a good idea after all.
"You're not even from the right *direction*. The angle's all wrong. How's that supposed to work?"
No. He had it. He'd played everything straight - the buffs to his luck and agility *should* be enough to get him through. If they missed this chance, it would take them *forever* to get back.
If he missed, the party would do fine without him. He'd be left starting from scratch again, but that was just the game, wasn't it?
"The limousine is still rolling, Lee," the man sitting at the end of the table droned on. "What are you going to do?" He turned a page idly, smirking.
Lee grinned. "One shot, right?"
The game master sighed. "One. *One* shot."
"Lee-" Mary said, her eyes tight, but Lee was already rolling.
The dice flew from his cup.
They slammed into the table with a clatter, scattering. The group threw themselves forward, eyes locked on the tiny plastic shape.
For a long moment, there was only silence as they stared.
It was broken by the sound of Lee's laughter, strident and loud.
"Yes! Yes! Oh, *Yes!* You all owe me! You owe me *so hard*! Mary, you owe us pizza!"
She sat back, lips pursed, but there was a grin tugging at her lips.
The game master closed his book slowly, chuckling to himself. That *wasn't* how it was supposed to go. He'd had so much more planned out - so many more challenges they were supposed to face.
But it was impossible to argue with a perfect roll - no matter how implausible a situation that put him in.
"Congratulations," he said, pasting a smile onto his face. "One shot. Assassination complete."
(/r/inorai, critique always welcome!) | 2018-05-29T07:03:42 | 2018-05-29T05:54:52 | 1,678 | 813 |
[WP] Superstitions are real and everyone knows it. Thirteenth floor is off limits and you DO NOT walk under a ladder. Today you get a emergency alert on your phone two hundred black cats have been dropped in the city you live. This is equivalent to a small scale nuclear exchange. | It was the last time any other city-state attacked us.
Every screen in the city showed the enemy helicopter as it flew toward the city. Every citizen watched as it swooped over the city center and opened its cargo bay doors. And every eye was transfixed when the deadly cargo came tumbling out: hundreds of *black cats*.
We watched them fall, watched as they righted themselves and fell parachute-like toward the Earth, and then collectively gasped as each one touched the ground.
And every voice burst with joyous laughter. Our defenses had worked *perfectly.*
You see, Tycheripoli was already renowned as the luckiest place on Earth, and was considered by most to be quite impervious to most such attacks. Still, since the day years ago that our best fortune-tellers predicted this attack, we had without fanfare prepared even better defenses:
* We switched to a new calendar with six seasons in each year (Chioni, Pagos, Tixi, Vlasti, Zoi and Hypnos), five months in each season (Ena, Dyo, Tria, Tessera and Pente), and two six-day weeks in each month--eliminating all Fridays and all 13^(th)s;
* we upgraded all our highway intersections to four-way cloverleafs;
* we resurfaced all our sidewalks with continuous, *non-cracking* pavement; and
* we switched our coinage to only two denominations: little silver horseshoes (called Lucks) and two-headed pennies.
And then there was our largest employer, the ag/biotech conglomerate Tycheripoli Genetics. Over the last few years, their labs had released, among other wonders;
* a tangy, sweet-tasting garlic which quickly became a popular snack;
* a hardy variety of goldfish which thrived in our climate and soon teemed in every body of water in our city;
* a delicious, *eight-footed* breed of rabbit;
* apple trees which produced *one ripe apple a day* throughout Zoi and well into Hypnos; and
* a white clover strain that produced *only four-leafed stems*.
It was this clover that covered the public square upon which the enemy felines had met their terminal misfortune.
The moment they touched ground they exploded in clouds of golden glitter, which quickly combined into a sparkling vortex that sucked straight up into the turbine engines of the enemy helicopter. It clattered and chugged and careened away across the city, until it crashed spectacularly in the luckless badlands beyond.
And we were never threatened again. That was many years ago, and Tycheripoli has prospered wildly ever since.
There have been some troubling signs lately though--tiny cracks in our crackless sidewalks, drops in apple production, goldfish dieoffs, and even the occasional *three*-leaf clovers. Some experts say that we may be nearing "peak luck," and that our extensive use of lucky charms may be driving worldwide good fortune toward neutrality, a sort of anthropogenic global norming.
Conservation is the watchword now. If we act quickly and decisively, maybe we can guarantee a fortunate future for our grandchildren. If we don't, they might not be so lucky. | EMERGENCY ALERT: HUNDREDS OF BLACK CATS RELEASED DOWNTOWN MINNEAPOLIS. REMAIN INDOORS AND AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS.
We knew this day would come. State borders were never reinforced after the second civil war - there was never time. And after what we did to Iowa - what we've been doing - It was just a matter of when. And it all happened so quickly. As I frantically searched for my car keys I remembered the day president Trump smugly smashed a mirror while standing under a ladder just to prove a point. It was instantly clear the cosmic universe had had enough. In a flash he was gone - reduced to a smoking crater in the ground. I'd heard the rumors that forensic analysis of the meteor that struck him suggests the object was a piano that burned up in the atmosphere. Propaganda, for all I know. Fake news.
The keys are nowhere to be found. Nothing new. I check the window, scanning the street three stories below for any sign of a black feline. Darting movement, a crashed bike. Even a dropped ice cream cone. The coast seemed clear still. It's 10:45 AM. My son would still be in his morning preschool class. If I was quick I could get him and make it back before the cats had time to make it out this far. If they were dropped downtown I still had about 25 minutes before they could wander this far out. The fallout of an attack like this could go on - theoretically - forever. I'd need to stop for food and supples on the way. Water, grains, fruit. Cinnamon toast crunch. It's his favorite. He doesn't deserve a world this dangerous.
I needed to leave now if there was any hope. With no car I'll need to walk. I feel confident that there is enough time if I map out the quickest walking route. That confidence bleeds away as I count the squares between him and I. It feels like a warning - like the warnings we should have been paying attention to all this time. 13. 13 blocks between us. It was already too late. | 2018-05-14T09:38:13 | 2018-05-14T07:51:42 | 726 | 268 |
[WP] You were a young mage when you inadvertently embarrassed royalty and got a bounty on your head. At first, thousands swarmed you to take your head. Now nobody does. They know better. | It began simply enough. These things always do.
The young prince considered himself a sorcerer of some skill, and being arrogant, rich, young, and rich, arranged a contest of arcane skill to prove himself.
10,000 gold pieces to any one who could best him - to cast a enchantment that he could not break.
Of course he cheated. The rules clearly stated that all entrants must be under 10 years of age, while the prince was easily in his twentieth year. The contestant would have only one minute to cast, while the prince would have a whole hour to dispel it. And he'd adorned himself in every magical trinket money could buy, as well.
Still, despite the huge handicap, every young wizard, witch, enchantress, and would-be mage turned out to try; after all, kings had been ransomed for less than 10,000 gold!
And yet, as I watched, each youngling failed - elaborate summonses were banished, wardings were breached, and wizard's fires extinguished.
Until it was my turn.
I shuffled forward, clutching my oversized red robes about my waist so as to keep them from the dirt. I looked up as I approached the casting area, still smoldering from the remaining energy of the last failed attempt. My attention diverted, I stepped on the hem of my robe, diving face first into the dust.
This drew a roar of laughter from the assembled crowd of peasants, and the prince himself smirked in anticipation of any easy victory.
I gathered myself again, and returned to my feet. The rumble of the crowd continued, even as every eye remained on me.
Good. I may only be six winters old, but I know the value of keeping the marks distracted.
I reached the designated spot, and waited to be addressed.
The prince downed the wine in his goblet, and waved to his herald to begin as he beckoned a serving girl for a refill.
"Name, boy?" the herald called, his voice carrying over the dull roar of the crowd.
"Gar-"
"Louder, boy!" the herald interrupted. A deliberate interruption, to disrupt my concentration, right before the casting - a dirty trick, but nothing I hadn't seen before.
The best part of recognizing a trick is to play along with it, then to turn it right back on them.
"Ga-Garrick!" I sputtered, in mock disarray.
The herald grinned. "Well, GaGarrick, what school of magic will you be casting today?"
I allowed my cheeks to color with what they would all assume to be anger, as the crowd guffawed at the herald's deliberate mispronunciation of my name.
"Illusion!" I shouted in reply.
The crowd roared with laughter. I could discern snatches of their conversations; "Only a child would bring an illusion to a wizardry duel!" "Everyone knows illusions are the easiest to dispel!"
Let them laugh. It only makes the spell easier.
The herald, too, laughed openly at me. "Alright, GaGarrick," he said, "show us what you've got!"
At last. I whispered the word I'd been waiting so long to utter.
*PERCEPTIO*
A cloud of dark smoke burst forth from my tiny form. It grew and grew, until it filled the entire field, obscuring all vision. Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the smoke fled - and where once a small boy in a tattered red robe had stood, now sat a dragon, red scales gleaming in the afternoon sun. The dragon opened it's mouth and belched a thick fog of acrid black smoke.
The crowd fell instantly silent.
The prince stared, his own mouth agape.
The herald had a slightly more useful reaction, as his voice clearly rang out over the crowd: "HOLY SHIT!"
The herald's words seemed to shock the crowd back into life, and they cheered at the spectacle before them. The prince seemed also to have been spurred by the herald's words, and he began to consult the scrolls gathered on his side table.
At least I'd made him put his wine goblet down.
The herald turned the hourglass, and shouted to the crowd: "The game is on!"
---
The crowd grew restless as the sand flowed into the bottom of the glass. Occasionally, a crackle of dispelling magic would leap from the prince's hands, or one of his baubles. But invariably, they all fizzled in front of the dragon. As for the dragon, it had put it's head down and appeared to be sleeping.
Less than half the sand remained when the prince descended from the pagoda to approach me more directly. The dragon's huge head lifted to follow him as he moved.
The prince spoke, but addressing himself, rather than me. "The air... bitter. Conjuration? A hint of... Enchantment? No, Conjuration would have had a sonic component - we would have been deafened by the thunder. Smell? Brimstone - Summoning? No, Summoning would have needed a circle or pentagram. Enchantment? Perhaps, perhaps..."
I ceased listening to him prattle on to himself and returned to inspecting the dragon's toenails. "Claws" really seemed like an incorrect term, after all...
I was disturbed from my reverie on the correct taxonomy of a dragon's toenails/claws by the herald shouting: "ONE MINUTE REMAINS!"
Good! None of the others had lasted more than a few moments, let alone this close to the end of the hourglass.
The prince was desperate now; his hands blurred as he activated his magical trinkets in sequence. The crowd grew silent at the spectacle, but it was only just beginning. The string of magic he was casting became visible, trails of light following his hands and spiraling around his body. Silent lightning struck from the clear blue sky into the mystical maelstrom he had summoned; the air rushed in towards him, flapping his loosened robes. His eyes blazed as raw magic trickled from his mortal form.
His whole body began to sway with the intricate movements of his hands, then graduating to a full step; he manipulated the arcane streams with his whole body in ways a non-magic user would never fully appreciate as he began to dance the magic into new forms.
Even I was almost impressed.
Just as it seemed he must surely burst - as the last grains of sand trickled through the hourglass - the prince leapt into the air, his body aflame with scarcely contained magic. His body arched as he reached the apex of his jump, and very air burst into flame behind him. As he landed, he slammed his open palms flat on to the ground, causing a semi-circle behind and beside him to explode into flame.
In front of him, the magic exploded outwards. In front of him - was me.
The entirety of my dragon body was caught in the burst of magic, enveloped in blinding light.
For a time, there was nothing but light.
---
Once sight returned to the assembled crowd, two things quickly became clear: time was up. The last grains of sand had left the top of the hourglass. Not only that, but the prince himself lay prostrate on the field, barely conscious.
The second thing was that the dragon was still there.
The prince's men helped him up; the crowd gasped as they realized that his formerly dark hair was now marred with a silver streak. "How?" he gasped. "It's... It's not possible!"
I whispered a word, and once again, the young boy stood in the field again. "Well," I said, "that was nice. You're not bad at this, your Highness."
The gathered crowd listened on, in stunned silence.
I walked over to the prince's table and inspected the prize chest. Satisfied, a quick gesture caused the lid to fall shut. The heavy chest groaned as it lifted from the ground, and silently fell in behind me as I turned to walk away.
"You probably didn't even need to cheat," I continued. "That full-bodied Superb Dispel Magic at the end there? Impressive. The whole primal leap thing might have been overselling it, but personally? I think you pulled it off. And the light show! Wow, just wow - easy eight out of ten, maybe even a nine!"
The prince gibbered at my words, at the ease with which I had just levitated his hoard. "How?" he stammered. "How? Why could I not break your spell?"
"That's simple," I replied, now with a smirk of my own. "You cannot break a spell which is not in effect. The illusion you should have sought to break was that of the boy."
My illusion of humanity melted away as I spread my wings and flew into the night with my winnings.
---
Ever since then, "Garrick the Red, Magic Dragon" has been outlawed in all human lands.
Fortunately, magic allows me a multitude of disguises; that was by no means my last foray into human affairs. | Many have come to see Eberron, the world sage, and seek his wisdom. Some come seeking help, after their lives have devolved so far into despair they see no other path to salvation. The world sage is known as a healer of what is broken. Others come in search of advice, seeking a way to know the future, to gain some great victory or success. The world sage is known as one who can see beyond mortal sight. And some come, like the visitor today, to usurp the world sage, to find the secrets to his magic and wrest them from his grasp. Today's visitor was one of those.
*A young mage, much like I was, once,* thought Eberron as he watched the young mage warily, trying to anticipate how this one would try to steal his secrets.
The mage began his formal request, "Great sage, I came today to ask a favor. Will you\-"
Eberron noticed a slight pressure around his left temple. It was clever of the young mage not to reveal his intentions. Eberron had had many challengers. Most in the days of his youth, but still one or two each year, hoping desperately to gain his extraordinary abilities. He had destroyed them all. This one would be no different.
Eberron raised a hand, and fire began to gather on his outstretched palm. "You have thirty seconds to explain yourself before you are annihilated. Why did you attempt to gain access to my mind?"
The young mage ran. Bolting out of the caverns that the world sage called his home and back to wherever he called home. Eberron could have killed him as he ran, of course, but it was better of other people also saw the result of trying to unseat him. Humming to himself, the world sage opened a scrying spell and focused in on the young mage. The mage had begun a transport spell. After about fifteen seconds, the mage disappeared from the grassy area outside the caverns and appeared in the University.
That was interesting. The university hadn't sent a challenger in years. This one must have gone alone then, hoping beyond hope that he would be able to defeat the world sage, and move up in the university. Eberron felt a bit of sympathy for the young mage, but mercy once is a thousand challengers later, and one death was better than many. So Eberron cast his spell. A three dimensional image of the world sage appeared inside the university. The image put out a hand, straight in front of itself, and fire began to gather on it. The mage frantically began to look for a way out of the room he was in, but he found all the doors locked and the image impervious to any kind of attack, until, in a blast of flame, the mage was incinerated, and the image of the world sage disappeared.
Eberron, back in his cavern, just shook his head sadly, and, today's work complete, went to sleep.
He dreamed of younger days, and greener pastures.
*Many years ago*
Sid and Mary, best friends since they had both begun to study at the university, were discussing the merits of the various names that they could choose when they graduated.
"I think I would be a Meredith, or a Morgana," Mary said decisively.
Sid decided not to point out that this was about the seventh time Mary had changed her opinion, and based on the laws of experimental probability, she would probably do so again about every two hours.
"I'm sticking with Eberron" It had been Sid's favorite mage name ever since he had found it once in an old spellbook that had been misplaced in the library. Eberron's Guide to Magery. He was going to read it, but before he could, a librarian had rushed over to him and pulled the book out of his hands, scolding him for stealing a book from the "Graduated Mage only shelf." He hadn't, of course, but that didn't seem to matter to the librarian, who gave him a week's detention. He had never quite forgiven her for that.
"So boring," Mary complained as the two walked together to their first classes of the day, "Why don't you ever change it up?"
"I just like the name." Sid turned off into a different hallway, where he had class, while Mary continued straight.
"See ya Sid!"
"Bye Mary"
As he walked the remaining distance to class, Sid remembered something with a start. It was presentation day! Today, he would need to present some work of magic to the royal family. He had been preparing for a while, but he was still a bit nervous. What is he messed up? What if the royals didn't like him?
As he walked into class the teacher looked up from her book. "Sid. Fantastic. Well class, now that our last student is here, we can go see the royalty."
Five minutes of walking and hushed conversation about their projects with the other members of their class, the students arrived in the amphitheater. The royal family was already seated, all together in the guest box. After a short introductory speech, the teacher introduced the first student.
"Benjamin, will you come present your project please."
Benjamin slowly walked to the center of the amphitheater, bowed to the royal family, and began to draw symbols in the air with his birchwood staff. He finished about a minute later and Sid was mildly but pleasantly surprised to realize that he could understand the basic shape of the spell, and what was going to happen. It was actually a fairly complex piece of magic, but unless Sid had completely misunderstood the runes, Ben was going to turn himself invisible. This he did, and after about thirty seconds he reappeared and bowed again, taking a seat and enjoying the applause he recieved. What followed was fifteen minutes of Sid being far to nervous to truly appreciate what any of the other students had done, up until the teacher called his name. Sid, heart pounding and stomach fluttering with something so much larger than a butterfly, it could be considered a dragon, walked down to the stage and bowed for the appropriate time. Then, he began his preparations. After about a minute of drawing runes, he requested to borrow one of the royal's cups of water. The prince offered him his, and Sid caused the water to levitate out of the cup and towards the runes Sid had drawn. His plan was to transform the water into butterflies, and then back again. It was a feat of magic much more complex than anything the other students had done, as transformation was one of the most difficult magics. Sid levitated the water onto the first rune, and, in a flash of light, the water transformed into, not butterflies, but a swarm of rats, which attacked the royal family. It turned out that rats were the Queen's greatest fear, and the terrified monarch screamed and jumped out of her seat, trying to run from the oncoming rodents. In the process, one of her high heeled shoes was flung from her foot and flew directly into the king's face.
The king shouted, "Bring me that mage!"
Sid ran.
He didn't even know where he was running until he found himself, terrified and out of breath, in the library's restricted section. Maybe there was a book here that could help. Sid found himself drawn towards one particular book, Eberron's Guide to Magery. He opened it, hoping desperately to find some way to escape. Instead he found a warning: "You who would open this book, BEWARE. It holds dark secrets, demonic creatures, and dread magic within its pages. You have been warned"
Sid, reasoning that dread magic is better than being dead, opened the book to the next page. It contained a spell the likes of which Sid had never seen before in his life, labeled "For use in emergency ONLY". Knowing he had only seconds to spare, Sid read the words there, and then realized, too late, what they were. An invitation. He felt something slide from the book into his mind, and a cold, demonic voice spoke in his head, "Hello Eberron. I think we're going to get along quite well." | 2018-06-10T04:39:20 | 2018-06-10T04:19:28 | 19 | 13 |
[WP] Everybody in the world has a superpower that compliments their soulmates superpower. When together, both their powers increase in strength exponentially. You have the most useless power ever, when one day......
Edit: Wow! This has blown up.. Massive thanks for the gold, it's great to see my prompt inspiring so many great stories.
'Til next time peeps... | Figuring out your special gift is an exciting and unexpected moment in most children’s lives. My dad discovered his gift when he was three and really wanted that shiny new toy at the store. Holding your breath until you get what you want only is so effective when your lungs produce their own oxygen. He never got that toy, but that part never seems to be important when he tells the story.
For me, the moment wasn’t unexpected or exciting. My parents knew about my gift before I was even old enough to hold up my own head. When you’re born the doctor runs some tests to see if you need to visit anyone with the healing gift. All diseases and deformities are curable if caught, you just need to go to a healer. When the doctor ran my tests, he found something strange and sent me to a pediatric healer, who then sent me to a specialist healer, who then sent me to another specialist, and on and on. Eventually my parents ran out of healers to bring me to, so I became the lucky person to have the gift of super incurable cancer. The only one ever known.
I remember growing up that no one knew how to act around me. From books before the healing system was set up, we knew cancer was fatal and I probably wouldn’t survive to adulthood. No one I knew had experience with fatal illness before, since healers could cure everything else. People were really nice to me, but it’s hard to make friends when you have the aura of death about you. I kept mostly to myself, spending most of my days moping and wishing I had a gift that didn’t involve inevitable early death. That is, until the day I went to the Indian reservation and met Chief Bull’s daughter.
We could tell we were soul mates from the moment we met from the way we interacted, but what really made us a pair was the way our gifts intertwined. She has a body control gift. She can change what type of cell a certain cell is. When I met her, she was mainly using her gift as a weight loss treatment, turning fat cells into less offensive cells. Up until then she had been so limited in what she could do with cells, since people only have so many they can spare. I, on the other hand, had way more than I needed and she loved it. Cancer cells became her clay, like the burgundy clay that was beneath our feet and whose color she was named after. She molded me, giving me whatever extra limbs I desired. I always had wanted to fly, and she was more than willing to comply.
Red Bull gave me wings.
| The knife spread the condiment across the bread smoothly, covering the surface with mayo. As I absentmindedly put together the sandwich I looked around, everybody at the party with their special someone, watching the countdown to the new year, talking, eating and other New Years Party themed activities.
It was almost midnight, and I was relegated to the kitchen, making snacks for everyone else. That's my power. While others get things like super speed, enhanced strength and durability, I get the phenomenal power of being a somewhat talented sandwich maker. But here's the kicker, they say that when you find 'the one', you know, your soulmate, your power gets better. They say it gets more powerful. I laugh at them. I found my 'soulmate'. Yeah, my power increased, I could make a hell of soup on those nights when I was with him. Too bad the idea of a soulmate is a complete load.
After 3 months of dating I found out he was seeing someone else on the side, you know why? He said the sex was better with his new boyfriend. I, on the otherhand was left high and dry when he broke the news, heart broken and missing what I thought was my other half. But you know what I realized that day? The increase in power, the soulmate thing, is a load of shit. You know how I know? The soup and sandwiches have never been better. | 2015-10-10T08:36:26 | 2015-10-10T07:56:54 | 628 | 56 |
[WP] You are a princess that owns a pet dragon. You are getting tired of constantly having to defend your pet against knights attempting to "slay the dragon and rescue the princess". | “Doesn’t anybody get it!” I yelled at the confused knight standing below my tower.
“SHE IS A PET!” I barked at him. My rage getting increasingly higher as these people kept coming to kill my Grengold Dragon, Dempy.
The knight looked up at me, his eyes wide with utter confusion, and surprise.
“But..”
“NO BUTS! Honestly you people cannot take a woman’s word can you!? I have told every stinking “warrior” that comes here that Dempy is not my prison guard, SHE IS MY PET DRAGON! Don’t you people have some amazing little invention CALLED THE NEWS?!” I yelled again from my lighthouse home. The knight let the tip of his sword fall to the ground.
“But the news said you were in danger? The guy even said you were in a coma...” he mumbled, looking down at a rosebush hoping for some explanation.
“Do I look like Rapunzel? Does this look like a Princess Prison to you? AM I THE ONLY ONE WITH A PET DRAGON?!” At this point I was ready to wake Dempy, asking her to just eat him already. She was laying peacefully in my courtyard, her muzzle tucked neatly under her wing as she snoozed.
“I’m sorry to disturb you ma’am. I’ll be on my way then.” He stuttered. He gingerly turns around and begins walking away, defeated but utterly confused.
“AND TELL SOMEONE ELSE WHILE YOUR AT IT!” I called, slamming shut my window as the tin covered man slowly disappeared down the driveway, his hands making gestures of “how can I be so stupid? Its the 22nd century”
“Those idiots. Never can read a sign. Its been 15 years and people still don’t understand that dragons are friendly. Whats lunatics.” I say to myself. Dempy was still sleeping, her ear flicking as she slept soundly. I wondered over to my other window, overlooking the courtyard, watching the gentle giant curled up. Her pretty purple scales glistening in the moonlight, highlighting her horns and featuring her golden feathers on her wings.
“Thats why they call you a Grengold. Your colours are just wonderful.” I smiled softly, my rage dissipated.
The dragon slowly opened one eye, noticing me staring at her. She sleepily raised her great head, yawning at the moon.
“Hi Lucy.” She whispered, her sharp white teeth showing a grin.
“Good morning Dempy, how are you? I just rushed off another idiot. You’d think they’d learn to read by now.” I chuckled.
Dempy laughed. “Its the 22nd century Luc, they know nothing!” She smiled, finally getting up and stretching her wings out.
“You want to go for a flight?” I asked her, knowing exactly her reaction.
“YES!” She roared, flapping her wings and jumping like a dog going for a walk.
“Common then!” I yelled, climbing on my window sill and sliding onto her wing as she stretched it. I always loved the soft feel of her light blue feathers. I climbed up onto her neck, clutching the chain collar she wore, and flew off into the night with her. | Sitting quietly in her beautiful court yard Rae sat looking out over her kingdom. She watched the many marvels that happened there. The beauty of nature and woods surrounded her. A crystal water fell rushed to the forest floor not far off from her.
Rae shook her head as she saw the bright gleam of armor speeding her way.
Another of the kingdoms enemies racing my way to rescue me, she mused.
She turned and headed toward the humungous gaping hole in the side of her mountain. It was made to look like a cave but make no mistake it was a castle of the most beautiful design. As she walked through the golden hall she carefully put out each and ever torch preparing for her visitor.
When Rae reached the end of the long hallway she sat in wait watching the entrance for her rescuer.
She did not have to wait long before she heard the thundering of hooves and the click clack of armor. Soon the metal man was 'stealthily' stalking towards her.
Rae rose up, "who goes there!" She demanded.
It was silent for a long moment before the man answered in a raspy voice, "Arthur of the city of Frei, knight of graylandolf."
"And what is your buisness here?"Rae boomed back.
"To slay the dragon and rescue the princess!" Arthur said.
" And what if you find the dragon and the princess are one and the same?" She asked.
Arthur stopped frozen in shock at the question. He began mumbling out an answer but Rae interrupted him with a blast of fire.
The knight dodged, and Rae allowed a small smile to curl up her lips. Feeling the adrenalin rush through her she forces herself to be hard even down to her heart beat as the ground shook around her golden dust clouded the air. Without thought Rae turned the stone to Ice and in so doing froze Arthur eternally, still.
Lighting a torch she walked over to inspect her prize, "Oh, and Arthur," Rae spat, "I'm not the princess I'm the king. Perhaps, if you had known you wouldn't have an eternal place in my trophy room." | 2019-01-09T10:14:11 | 2019-01-09T07:32:29 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] Create a heart-warming version of the Grim Reaper | “Hi there!” said the pretty woman, walking into the room. “How are you feeling Jimmy?”
“Not too good,” replied the child, his voice weak, his skin pasty and loose, his eyes barely able to flutter open. “I haven’t felt good for a while.”
“Oh, well, I’m sorry to hear that,” said the woman as she moved to the side of the boy’s white hospital bed. “Let’s see if I can’t do something about that.”
“Are you a nurse?”
“Sort of,” said the woman, smiling sadly. “My job is to make people not feel bad anymore.”
“Are you going to give me more of that stuff?” asked the child, looking up at the morphine drip attached to his arm. “The other nurses just give me that. That stuff just makes me sleepy. But it still hurts.”
“No, no that’s not how I take away the pain, Jimmy. Here, let me show you.” The woman laid her pale hand down on the boy’s arm, felt the cold, lifeless skin underneath. A gentle cascade of warmth started where the woman’s hand rested, and slowly radiated outward, melting away everything in it's path. “Better?”
“Yeah,” said the boy, yawning. “I kind of feel tired though.”
“That’s okay. You had a pretty hard fight. It’s okay to feel a bit tired after all of that.”
“But I didn’t win though. I heard the doctor tell mommy I couldn’t win last year. I wanted to show him that he was stupid, that I could win, but I couldn’t.”
“Oh no, no don’t you worry about that. You fought like a hero Jimmy, really. But now the fight’s done, and it’s time to hang up the cape buddy, have a bit of a rest. Even superheroes have to rest up after a long day.”
“Really? They do?”
“Really.”
“Okay then,” said the boy, his eyelids drooping down further and further. “Will you stay with me? I don’t like sleeping by myself in here.”
“Oh, of course I’ll stay here with you Jimmy. I’ll stay as long as you need me to.”
“Okay then,” muttered the boy as his eyes finally closed. “Am I still going to feel…bad...later?”
“No,” whispered the woman sadly as the machines by the hospital bed started shrieking. “No, Jimmy, you’re not going feel bad ever again, I promise.”
| We had long suffered in this world, the death, the disease, the inability to rest for even a moment. Sleep is not an escape from the horrors that pound at our doors, and we find no solace in the weight of our blankets. We tell the young ones that it won't get better, but we must make it to the end.
"What's at the end?" they would always ask, and no one could resist smiling.
At the end, when your skin has been flayed by the beasts, after your blood has cooled and congealed, and your brain is nothing more than fodder for whatever cracks open your frail skull, she greets you with open arms. Oh, that sweet embrace we're all told will come to each and every one of us. Her pale skin is warm and soft, all encompassing is her touch, as she cradles your broken soul from your shattered body and leads you to lands where you can finally rest, can finally heal. She never speaks, though it is said that song is constant from her lips, and her eyes hold no malice, only... sympathy, for she will never know the mortal's debt of this land, never know the pain that wracks our dying frames.
She is what all seek, some too early and by their own hand, but in the end, she takes all in, for no one can blame another for the atrocities we commit upon one another in this gods forsaken land.
-108 | 2015-08-17T23:54:59 | 2015-08-17T22:45:27 | 72 | 16 |
[WP] You lost your sight - along with everyone else on Earth - in The Great Blinding. Two years later, without warning, your sight returns. As you look around, you realize that every available wall, floor and surface has been painted with the same message - Don't Tell Them You Can See. | I stilled dreamed of seeing.
I think that's why I initially snoozed my alarm clock instead of gasping for joy. But as I rolled back over to look at my wife lying next to me, I did gasp. Not for joy, but out of shock. On the wall behind Kathrine a message had been hastily painted on the wall.
\-DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE-
"What's wrong?" Katherine said groggily but alarmed. Her vacant stare reminding me that for the last 2 years I have been blind.
I am unable to respond as the realization of what is happening has not fully dawned on me.
"Jim?!" she now sounds more awake and even more concerned. She flails out her arms searching for me and when her hand rest on my shoulder I have regained enough composure to speak.
"N-nothing." I stammer. "Just had a nightmare."
The tension in her face eases as her hand glides up to my face and leans in for a kiss.
"you had me worried." She sighs. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No." I respond quietly, still trying to get my bearings.
I sit up and look around the room growing more confused and horrified as I do. On every available surface I can see the same message has been painted.
\-DON'T TELL THEM YOU CAN SEE-
The paint is obviously not new, as it has slightly faded from a bright red, to a more rusted maroon. I also see the guide rod we have been using to navigate the new home we were given a year after the great blinding took place. The room looked very different from how I dreamed of it. It seemed smaller and dust has settled on all the surfaces that were not regularly used. As I took in the first glimpses of the room I have spent the last year in, growing more uneasy as I read the same message over and over, I felt a hand on the small of my back. I gave a startled yelp and nearly jumped out of bed.
"Must have been a bad one." Kathrine giggled from behind me. "Sure you don't want to talk about it?"
"Maybe later." I mumbled.
I turned to face her and was overcome with emotion. In 2 years she hasn't changed much. Her chestnut hair was longer than I remembered it and was haphazardly strewn around her. Her soft smile showed a few more smiles lines around the corners of her mouth. The eyes were the biggest difference. They looked glossed over and unfocused, the rich brown covered with a grayish haze. I felt a pang of sadness and guilt wash over me as I stared at those eyes. The mixture of joy and grief became too much and I excused myself to go to the bathroom.
As I stood up to leave, I finally noticed the dark amorphous shape in the corner and stopped with my breath caught in my throat. It wavered on the edges as if it were pulsing or breathing. It seemed to be pulling in the light around it further obscuring it from my sight. I reached out to steady myself on the guide rod and as I did, the shaped slithered into the bathroom.
"Hurry up," Kathrine complained, "I need to go too." | "Oh god," is all I can think to myself as I reread the message in front of me. I glance around at the people around me, all of them shuffling around. The sound of canes tapping the concrete ring in my ears as my pulse quickens.
"What am I going to do..." I mumble under my breath before joining the crowd of people.
The hustle and bustle of everyday life when you're blind has become the norm. I got used to the routine of feeling my way to different locations by relying on my other senses. The shock of waking up and still being in the dark subsided after the first month. But...now that my sight has returned....
A loud crash is heard over the scraping of canes. I instinctively look up towards the sound and before I can stop myself, I'm staring in the direction the noise came from. A toppled trash can rolls from side to side as people bump past it. A boy stands against the wall where the trash once was makes direct eye contact with me. I gasp and look down and away. I try to keep close to the street, avoiding eye contact with the boy at all costs.
My efforts are useless, however.
The boy intercepts me and grabs my wrist, pulling me down an alleyway. I struggle against his grip, but his hold tightens the more I fight. We stop at the end of the alley and he releases my wrist.
"Why did you-" I begin to say when he shushes me.
I frown and lower my voice to a whisper as he looks at the street.
"Why did you drag me here? Who are you?" I ask.
He turns toward me and looks into my eyes. His eyes were piercing, searching mine. He lets out a breath.
"I wanted to see if anyone else regained their sight. Only the people who can't see would look up so quickly to the sound of commotion," He looks over my shoulder at the street.
"We can't stay here. Follow me and try to not call attention to yourself. They have eyes everywhere." He whispers. "We'll talk more when we are safe." | 2022-10-15T03:24:04 | 2019-08-26T10:47:57 | 52 | 12 |
[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. | “Crap,” I think, “there goes that idea.”
“How do you plead?” The judge asks.
“How can I plead anything beside what you have already decided for me?” I retort. The venom won’t help me here but I can’t help it, I’m angry. Anyone in my situation would be.
I’ve spent a lifetime building my political career. They say that honesty never gets you anywhere in politics but I never believed them. I always stuck to my principles. Apparently *they* were right. In a series of unfortunate events I found myself out of favor with my superiors and falling into the bad graces of my political rivals. I thought their disdain and political efforts would be the farthest they would go to harm my career but it wasn’t my career they were after.
A wielder appeared out of thin air and killed my wife as we both slept. He vanished and was somehow able to make the magic residue of his transference look like it came from me, and not as a transfer spell either but a death chant. How he did it, I’ll never know. I’ve never wielded before in my life. I didn’t even know you could mimic one’s aura’s afterglow.
“Very well then,” the judge says pulling me out of my rumination. “We find you guilty of murder and 9th degree unlicensed use of deadly magic. You are sentenced to death. Considering your claim to innocence and your considerable record before this incident, we grant you the right to pick the death of your choosing.”
“Great comfort there.” I mutter under my breath. I have to think fast. I want justice and this isn’t it.
“I wish to die by…” I have to get out of this somehow. “By…” I’m stalling and the judge knows it. His patience won’t last forever. I need time.
“I wish to be bound as death’s apprentice!” I quickly shout as I see the judge about to bring down the gavel. There’s a sudden burst of murmurings. One person asks, “can he do that?” “This is highly unusual,” another voice calls out.
“Do you know what you’re asking?” The judge asks. To my surprise there is a real look of concern in his face.
“Probably not.” I admit. But it’s my only chance to give he judge my death while also possibly getting justice.
“You are asking for an eternity of living death. It would be a living torment. Are you sure you want this?”
“I want justice.” I seethe. “It has been denied me. The only family I have is gone, my career has been sabotaged, and the real perpetrator has evaded justice somehow.”
There’s a glimmer of uncertainty in the judges eyes. He believes me to be guilty but my request has him second guessing if only for a moment.
“Very well.” The judge finally states after a long pause. “I grant you your request.”
The gavel falls and the change is immediate. The room fades from existence and the world goes dark and hazy. A hooded figure approaches me, reaches out a bony finger and touches me on the forehead.
“Welcome” it says in a hissing long breath. “Thou hast come to be as I have always ordained thee to become.”
There’s a gray flash that sparks on the point of contact between our two bodies and immediately I am dead. My flesh falls away and I’m robed in a shroud.
“I name thee Hades” Death says. “Deliver justice as thou has sworn. Take vengeance upon thine enemies. Bring all that liveth by evil unto Death.” | The line had been excruciatingly long, almost unbearably so. Prisoner number after prisoner number was called, each time slowly getting closer to the one that I held. We were given numbers at the start, much like we were just waiting in line at the DMV or at the doctor's office. If only this was as nice of a scenario. I listened to each prisoner list out how they wanted to go, most said something along the lines of what I had planned for, lethal injection. Fast and moderately painless was all I could hope for.
*Prisoner number 2754920, please step forward*. I was next, and I was bored, so rather than continue counting the audience members, I listened in on this guy's conversation with the judge.
"How do you wish to die today, sir?"
"I wish to die of old age."
I was floored, stunned. No one had said anything like that before. I watched as before my eyes he was turned into an old man, dying of old age just as he had asked. *Shit*, I thought. *We can wish for stuff like that?*
"Your wish has been granted. Carry on. Next is prisoner number 2754921, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
I was frozen, unable to move. What do I do now? My plan crumbled before me as I watched an old man be helped out of the courtroom.
"Prisoner number 2754921, if you do not step forward, a death will be assigned to you, and I guarantee it will be less pleasant than what you have envisioned for yourself."
I felt a guard shove his gun into my back, pushing me towards the center of the court. I moved what felt like legs of lead and feet of cement, inching closer towards the marked destination. Suddenly, an idea popped into my head, a way to cheat the system, and it was as if all the weight fell off of me at once. Everyone had chosen a realistic death, but if I were to choose something unrealistic, surely magic had it's limitations.
"How do you wish to die today, young one?"
A dream I had had since a child, being a pirate and dying a way only heard in tales. "I wish to die at sea from the beast, the Kraken," I stated, stifling a laugh.
"Your wish has been granted. Next is prisoner number 2754922, please step forward and state how you wish to die today."
*I thought there were no limitations, but I was soon to find out just how wrong I was as I was led towards a door that smelled of the sea.* | 2021-06-24T10:25:27 | 2021-06-24T03:42:17 | 432 | 66 |
[WP] You are an immortal serial killer. You were caught and sentenced to life in prison. The prison is starting to get suspicious of why you won't age. | Immortality isn't a miracle. It isn't a blessing. It's cold hard science and a severe lack of morals. The key to immortality is what scientists around the world are looking for right now. I just happened to find the fountain of youth first but it was nothing that you could go around publishing in Scientific America. The process, to be so sophisticated that it extends a life and youth indefinitely, is quite barbaric. It requires a fair amount of what the Geneva convention would define as severe torture.
I first discovered the process while working with a fellow researcher on cloning bonobos. Since they had a longer average lifespan than most of the other species that had been successfully cloned we could better focus on how to prevent the degradation of telomeres and come a step closer to creating lab grown organs that didn't succumb to failure as quickly as their predecessors.
Our work eventually led us to the discovery that increased the longevity of lab grown organs three fold if they were first treated with a solution made of neurons and cord blood. This process unfortunately left the 'donor' dead but the results justified the means. In fact we eventually discovered that more than just cloned organs could be treated in such a way and the results were nothing short of miraculous. We increased the lifespan of a common lab mouse to over fifteen years! Of course that extended life came at a cost. The procedure ended the lives of six other mice. I wanted to push our experiments and see if we could increase the lifespan of monkeys and apes but my partner was more ethical than I. I suppose having a child changes a person. But to cease our research because of the "cost to life" was just ridiculous.
Without my partner, however, our project lost nearly all of its funding. Over years fifteen years of my life and what did I have to show for it? I wasn't about to abandon my baby. So I did the only thing I could. The only logical choice. I continued my research. I was part scientist, part lab rat, and part hunter. The materials I needed were readily found in pregnant adults. Over the course of just two months I gathered the necessary materials from six subjects ranging in gestation from three to seven months. The treatment was a success. Samples taken just weeks after showed significant growth in telomere length and physically I felt a certain vigor I haven't had since my 20's.
It didn't take long for my arrest though. I'm a scientist not a hitman and I hadn't been as thorough at covering my tracks as I should have been. At the trial I was found guilty of murder in the first degree and sentenced to life without possibility for parole. At first I was devastated, my research was my life. Without it they may as well have strapped me into an electric chair and throw the switch. But as the years went by I noticed that I hadn't lost that vigor that I felt. I began checking myself in the mirror for the telltale signs of aging. I was pushing 50 yet didn't look a day over 25.
Soon I wasn't the only one to start noticing how gracefully I was aging. My cellmate, a man who's gang initiation included arson that led to five deaths and an entire apartment complex reduced to char and ash, accused me of being a vampire (he wasn't the first the media takes that honor) and later asked me if someone was smuggling in Just For Men just for me. By my 60th birthday I couldn't walk through the yard without the most superstitious inmates signing a cross at me. It was all a good laugh for me until a group of Latino gangbangers tried to kill me by staking my with a shank to the heart. Thankfully my ribs stopped the shank from going too deep and my screams alerted an officer.
Now here I lay in the medical ward. Six days since my attack and I've cultivated quite a bit of stubble that does a good job of hiding my lack of wrinkles. Footsteps echo down the hallway grow louder as someone approaches. I turn to the side as the warden strides and takes a seat next to me.
"Do you know how many wardens this prison has gone through since your incarceration?"
"You're the third," I reply.
"Correct," the corner of his mouth curls upwards" and do you know why I'm here today?"
"Haven't a clue," I lie.
I can feel his gaze burning through me, and as his smirk becomes a grin my palms begin to sweat.
"Well, I'm sure I'm not the first to tell you that for a man that's been locked up for over 50 years you look great. And I'm not saying that to be flattering I'm just stating fact." He opens a folder in his hands and shows me my mugshot of when they arrested me. "Without that scruff on your face you'd look like you were locked up here yesterday. Now I want you to tell me exactly how that is."
My heart is racing, a thousand lies run through my head- good genes, eating right, daily exercise, each one as implausible as the last.
The warden begins talking before I come up with a reply. "I've been reading through your files and the report that was made on your 'research.' Now, I may not be some hot shot scientist but it looks to me like you was searching for something to extend lives. Furthermore it looks like you found it."
My face betrays me as a look of pride flashes over it.
The warden narrows his eyes, "I've brought you here to make you an offer. You show me exactly how you made yourself stay young and I'll have you walking free before you turn a hundred. How's that sound?"
"It's not easy. I can't just show you without the right materials. And I have to... Well I need volunteers."
"Don't you worry about that. I'll make sure you have everything you need. All I need in return is your cooperation."
The opportunity to continue my research is too irresistible to pass up. My heart pumps hard, it feels too good to be true. I wouldn't even have to risk getting arrested at this point. The risks fell solely on the warden and any lackeys he had. All I had to do was be a scientist again.
The thought of continuing my research after all the years makes my voice crack as I tell him yes.
"Excellent," his face lights up,"I'll have someone stop by tomorrow I want you to hand him a list of all necessary materials and volunteers you'll need."
"This type of work requires more space than just a prison cell, I'll need an operating room as well."
"Like I said, write down *everything* you need and leave me to take care of the rest." And with that he left, leaving a notebook and pencil on my lap.
Within a year everything was in order. I found myself in a sealed off portion of the medical room built exactly to my specifications and before me lay one of the men who tried to pull a Van Helsing and kill me with a stake. The extraction procedure from the nervous system was barbaric, yes, but that didn't mean it didn't require a certain finesse. I needed the practice, truly, after all it had been almost two decades since I last held a scalpel.
Edit- Fixed some continuity errors and added a bit more to the story.
| Greg trod along the white, sterilized corridor, his feet making massive thumps that were audible to the guard standing at attention roughly one hundred feet away, besides the ‘Dangerous Persons’ sign in front of a dull grey metal door. The door looked like iron, very old iron. Several of his twenty or so guards were visibly sweating, fingering their guns idly, watching him like you watched a lion on safari. Greg licked his lips, smirking.
The warden followed behind, courageous in the line of duty, as ever. His jowls hung heavy, but his eyes were heavier still. Greg Kerr was only 5 foot 9, yet had killed almost fifteen cops in one of the most brutal shootouts in modern history. Over the robbery of a popular donut store for off-duty police, no less, which Greg apparently decided was the perfect target.
Heavily muscled, supposedly he’d never used steroids, he was quickly dubbed by the media as ‘White Luke Cage’. Obviously, they caught him using security cam footage, and hit him with almost 5 Tasers simultaneously after tracking him down. It barely did the job. Life imprisonment took a record-low time of deliberation for the judge.
Now, he was the warden’s problem, and like all good ass-coverers, he decided to put him in the best place possible: The ‘FunMax’ as it was dubbed, the sealed area of the prison where nobody except the crazy, deluded or occasional jihadist resided. People went in, nobody came out, and the government didn’t ask any questions. Neither did the warden. The people here were problems the government didn’t want to deal with.
The guard ahead opened the metal door. The warden blinked in surprise. There was nobody in view. The visible bunk beds were empty, dust practically blanketing them. The whole place looked…eerie, almost seeming to have a dreamlike quality. Then again, considering the thing he thought lived there, he truly pitied the souls of the men he sent here. Greg laughed.
“I didn’t realize I was getting a whole section of the prison to myself, does anybody want to join me?” he winked at one of the more attractive female guards. She glared back, and gave him the finger. Greg started laughing harder, wiping tears from his eyes. “Seriously man, if I thought you’d be this nice to me I would have done this a long, long time ago.”
The warden didn’t smile. He hadn’t for twenty years, after hearing the screams of the first few prisoners he’d sent down here. He indicated to the line of iron embedded below the door into the floor.
“Cross that line, Greg, and this ward is your playground. If you survive in here for three months, you are a free man” the warden intoned, eyes pleading with Greg to refuse, to ask to be sent upstairs. Greg, sadly not known for his abundance of brains, was oblivious to the warden’s hints.
“Nah man, fuck that shit, I got everything I need right here” he practically sang as he skipped over the iron line. The warden winced, turning away. The government would have its wish.
“Close the door” he instructed the guard. The door closed with an ominous thud. Greg grinned. Suckers. Three months? Hell, he’d dealt with ten years of school, hadn’t he? He turned around, only now noticing, with a fearful glance around, that nobody was in the ward.
“Hello? Is anyone there?” he shouted, hands cupped around his mouth. His breathing started to come faster. This place wasn’t…right. It didn’t feel like it was on this planet. “Nah, I’m the baddest motherfucker there is, hell I can take fifteen pigs down without a single scratch” he boasted, mostly to himself. He walked through the rows of bunkbeds, searching for any signs of life, newly confident. His footsteps echoed through the ward.
The row of bunkbeds ended, and the area was connected to the rest of the ward by a long, well-lit corridor. Greg started to walk along it. One of the lights flickered. Greg stopped. “He-hello? Seriously guys stop fucking with me” he shouted into the corridor. He could hear his voice echoing through the hall, as if he was shouting into a vast canyon. Greg shivered. He kept walking, towards the food preparation section. The door to it was locked. He swore.
“Ok you asshole, you’d better stop this shit or you’ll be sorry” his voice quivered at the end. This place was seriously creepy. The light behind him, closest to the iron door he’d exited from, flickered. This time it turned off completely. Greg swore again, and slammed his foot down on the handle. If he smashed it open fast enough, he could break through. If anyone was strong enough, it was him.
The light right after the switched off light flickered, and then switched off. Greg’s swearing was coming faster and more high-pitched now. Greg’s kicks increased in intensity. The next light along flickered and turned off, and the next after that. The handle finally broke, and Greg almost sobbed in relief. The door swung open. Greg rushed in and slammed the door behind him. For a moment, there was only the sound of Greg’s heavy breathing.
Then, Greg made the fatal mistake of looking around. A strangled scream tore its way out of his throat. There were several cocoons of white silk scattered around the kitchen. Several cocoons also swung from the ceiling. The atmosphere in the kitchen was almost suffocating. Greg controlled himself, barely. He went over to inspect one, forgetting the door. He pulled apart some of the silke covering the figure. It was a skeleton, its jaw opened in a silent scream.
“Fuckfuckfuckohfuckjesushelp” he practically screamed, jumping away from the skeleton. Panicking, he dashed for one of the corners of the room. The light flickered. Greg curled up into a ball, whimpering. The light went out.
“Do you like games, mortal?” crooned a soft voice in his ear. Greg screamed.
| 2016-10-15T10:12:12 | 2016-10-15T07:48:02 | 709 | 172 |
[WP] NASA has detected an Earth-like rogue planet that would pass by within Earth's orbit, before leaving our solar system forever in a tour around the Milky Way. They find that, even without a parent sun as an energy source, it's dynamic geothermal activity means the planet can be colonized. | At first we thought it was just an elaborate April fools joke that all the major news networks were collaborating. It was so far fetched noone took it seriously.
That was until amateur astronomers started to post evidence of it on eddit. When it started passing Pluto nearly everyone Internet savvy started to believe it as fact there was an earth like planet entering our solar system.
Over the next year as it drew closer it's all anone talked about. It was such a rare event that most every company and private organization invested bookoo bucks into exploring this celestial nomad.
The world economy completely changed in a matter of months, it started to be known as a modern gold rush as stories of possible mining prospects circulated around the globe. All efforts to create as many rockets as possible to visit this world were employed in full force. Visit, mine and profit was the plan of all the major conglomerates
Most scientist saw this as a golden opportunity to replenish our planet with resources from this visitor until we started to realize the devastating effects this planet would have on our homeworld.
The gravitational pull from the visitor would have devastating effects on the tidal pull of our oceans as it passed. Not to mention that was on its first pass around the sun. On its way back would finish the job forever changing the face of our planet as we knew it.
It would throw off our rotation just enough to possibly make our planet nearly inhospitable.
As it drifted closer into our solar system and planet in the following months plans abruptly changed from utilizing this opportunity for a brighter future to having any future at all.
The same conglomerates that once seeked investment opportunities on our homeworld used the same rockets to ensure those opportunities on the traveling doombringer.
Treaties were signed and plans were set in motion to use all means of space travel to bring the highest bidders to the new world so our race can continue on. Something the dinosaurs lacked I suppose.
Those days have come and gone and this is to be my last entry.
Soon the days will become too long and my location is all but void of any water source tomorrow instead of documenting the events that happened leading to the rest of us being stuck on the planet that birthed us I will enjoy my final days drinking the finest of wines courteously left behind by our fellow man.
This is Theon signing off from this world on the floating naval base in the last remaining hospitable zone of the Atlantic. Godspeed and may you rediscover your roots on your return to our homeworld.
edit: I don't write usually one of my first times taking a crack at it. I have lots of good ideas and no real skill at converting them to a form I want them portrayed. | The ancient Greeks named the planets plánēs aster, meaning ‘wandering star’, because they knew that these moved through the night sky whereas the other stars stayed fixed in their location. Through time we learned the planets did not truly wander any more than our own planet did, simply revolved around the sun. Now with the discovery of planet Icarus, we have found a true celestial wanderer.
The planet was first detected flying past Jupiter. At first it caused widespread panic, a body the size of the Earth, on what seemed to be a direct collision course with us. After the media frenzy it was revealed that Icarus was going to just about miss us, slingshot around the sun and miraculously just miss us again on the way out of the solar system.
Every scientist on the planet was fascinated, nothing like this had ever been recorded. By the time it flew by Earth every government’s space agency and dozens of private companies had various probes and missions to send to Icarus. The fateful day came and the sky lit up with the fire of rocketships. 90% of the ships landed successfully and started to search the surface of the planet.
From various rock samples they determined that Icarus was created in the heart of a nebula over ten million years ago, and had been travelling ever since. Most amazing was the heat on the planet, the robots reported a constant temperature of 30 degrees Celsius. There was enough geothermal energy to keep the planet constantly warm, even in the cold of space. Some scientists even theorized that colonization of Icarus was possible.
| 2016-04-03T10:35:17 | 2016-04-03T09:44:37 | 115 | 85 |
[WP] Your little daughter have imaginary friends. One day, she asked if her friends can sleep in her room. You jokingly told her that they can stay as long as they want, as long as they help with the rent. The next morning, you found a hand wearing a Rolex and a roll of cash by the sink. | “Cassy, it’s time for bed!”
“Ok Daddy, I just have to pick up!”
Crashing and thumping proceeded to radiate up the stairs, soon followed by Cassy colliding up the stairs.
“Well that was fast. How’d you manage it? You had quite a mess down there.”
“Oh Daddy,” she smiled like the answer was obvious. “Clyde and Clara helped me. They’re great picker-uppers.”
Ah, the imaginary friends, of course. “Well, if they keep that up, I may just have to hire them on to keep this place clean,” I laughed. “Now, do you think they could help you brush your teeth and get you pajamas on?”
“Yeah, ok Daddy,” she squealed, continuing her flight up the stairs.
It was funny, I felt like a breeze brushed past me as she did. Probably just left a window open downstairs.
…
Within minutes, Cassy was tucked in tight and I was about to turn off the lights. “Goodni…”
“Daddy, can Clyde and Clara sleep in my room?”
She seemed tense when she blurted it out, but she was probably worried she wouldn’t get a chance. “Sure sweetheart, but I expect them to help with the rent. Are they ok with that?”
Turned her head as if listening, then replied, “They say that they can accept those terms.”
Wow, so businesslike tonight. “Alright then I don’t see why not. Goodnight honey,” I say as I lean and give her forehead a kiss.
“Daddy, you forgot to say goodnight to Clyde and Clara.”
“Oh, how silly of me. Goodnight Clyde. Goodnight Clara.”
It was strange, because as I was stepping out and closing her door, I thought I heard someone whisper a goodnight back.
…
*Beep* *Beep* *Beep*
Groggily slapping the clock, I sit up and spread out my hands across the bed. My hand bumps something cold and wet.
With a shock, I recoil and tumble out of bed. “What the hell!”
Sitting on the sheets, near the edge of the bed, was a severed human hand. It seemed fairly fresh, though there wasn’t much blood. Around the wrist lay a Rolex, and gripped tightly in the palm was a roll of cash.
“What the hell,” I repeated in shock. How the hell did it get there?
“Daddy?!?” Shit, my repeated outbursts and the crash must have woke her up.
“Cassy, sweetheart, we need to go now.”
Hastily throwing on some clothes, I wander out to the hall, finding her standing there rubbing the sleep from her eyes.
“Where are we going Daddy?”
“Um,” and an idea dawned on me, “I need to drop you off with your mother. It’s her turn this week, remember? I need you to pack your bag and get dressed ok? I’ll get you breakfast at the drive through, your pick.
At that she smiled,”Ok Daddy. I want pancakes!”
“Then that’s what we’ll get, but I need you to go get ready ok? Hurry sweetheart.”
Whipping back into my room and shutting the door, all I could do was stare at the arm.
“What am I going to do?” I slid down, back to the door. “What am I going to do?”
“Oh, Daddy?”
“Yeah, Sweetheart?”
“Clyde said to say he hoped he was able to cover this week’s rent. He also said he could get more if he needed to. Is that ok Daddy?”
“What are you talking about Sweetheart?”
“The rent, Daddy. You said Clyde and Clara had to pay rent. He said he dropped it off in the night. He says he hopes it’s enough.”
My eyes wander back to the arm. Stumbling to my feet, I wander over to it. The watch looks brand new, minus the dried blood of course, and the wad of bills looked impressive.
I turn my gaze to the door. How, how could this be happening? What has my daughter been talking to?
“Nothing of consequence,” a voice whispered in my ear. I thought I heard a laugh, followed by a woman’s giggle. |
A hand. Really? They couldn’t have at least left it in a zip lock bag or rolled up in a handkerchief? Well, beggars and all. At least it wasn’t dirty. Rather clean actually. And was it…cauterized? Whoever did it, did a good job. No blood stains, thank goodness. Those would have taken some serious effort to get out of the counter tops. Like she needed more to add to her chore list today.
“Alyssa! Can I talk to you, honey?” Her voice echoes through the kitchen and up to her child’s room. Got to love acoustics.
“Be down in a bit mommy!” Moments pass and then a little red headed, sweet face angel in a blue jumper comes dashing down the stairs. She’s told her before not to run down them. Kids will be kids.
“What is it mommy?” Cute, with a bit of cheek. Just like her mother. She shows the girl the hand, to which she leans back, mildly disturbed. “Eeeww. It’s so hairy!”
“Yes honey. Very hairy. With a Rolex I might add. Did your friends leave this?”
She nodded, happy to move onto another subject. “uh-huh. You said they could stay if they paid rent.” Her voice rises in mind panic, afraid her mother will change her mind.
With a sigh, she slaps the hand down onto the counter and washes her own hands. “Alright honey. I just needed to know. Next month, can you please have them do mommy a big favor and remove the items off of the bodies? I don’t care if they kill them, just don’t go bringing limbs home. You know how squeamish your father gets around blood and loose parts.”
Alyssa nodded, reaching her hand back for a stray cookie hanging out of the jar. Without turning, her mom playfully spoke, “And how we feel about you having sweets before breakfast.” This was met with a squeak.
Setting the drying towel on top of the hand, she handed a sack lunch and thermos to her daughter. “Now, finish getting ready. The bus will be here soon. You know the rules.”
The girl nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. Don’t tell anyone about the “guests” in the house. Not even my teacher”
“Especially your teacher.”
“Ignore all strange sounds I may hear while riding the bus. Don’t dance in mushroom rings. And..and” her face scrunched in concentration.
“And don’t follow or talk to fae. You don’t know what deals they’ll try to make or what food they’ll offer you. It’s better to leave them be. Now give mommy a kiss.”
She bent down as her daughter leaned in to kiss her cheek and receive a hug.
“There’s a good girl. Have a good day at school honey.”
“I will mommy.”
She turned back to the money, the door closing sounding in the background. Flipping through the bills, she softly counted. Five grand. This would be more than enough for the month. She would have to write up an official contract later and have her friends sign it. Didn’t need anyone reneging on their agreements now. Else, more than a hand would be lost. | 2019-10-06T14:24:01 | 2019-10-06T13:44:39 | 1,268 | 261 |
[WP]Just because one of your chicken eggs hatched a fire breathing dragon people think you’re evil. But you’re still just a regular farmer trying to make a living while dealing with an overprotective dragon, heroes that want to kill you and fanatics who want to worship you as the new Demon Lord. | People never visit my town anymore. It’s because of her.
She flew higher and faster than the strongest hawks, and she was sweeter than the nicest dog. Her fiery red scales danced in the sky every new year for us. She would play with the children. Made fireworks over the lake.
She killed parasites. A pack of coyotes killed a young boy who lived down the road—and his dog. The very same night, she razed their den to the ground and drove them out. Seems the world responds well to her, too. The pests never stay and the crops are always pretty good. I hadn’t seen a blight since she was born here.
Word traveled fast that we had a dragon. First came rubber necks, enthralled with the sight. Then came fortune tellers. Witches and mystics. Doctors. Government officials. Then soldiers.
They never stayed for long, though few left out of fear so much as they did for the loss of luster. When something becomes real, the myth and magic fades away, and the enthralled become the bored.
She was mine, loyal to me and my village. She stood vigilant once before, and she’d so it again. After an intimidating light show one new year, the soldiers saw what she was capable of. But they stopped worrying when they saw the children: the children only played and crafted gold and red tributes to her, after her scales and burning breath.
A foolish man and a crusader of one appeared once in heavy, ornate armor. He said he’d traveled far and wide to slay this beast, the tyrant who terrorized us.
It was a hot day. The air smelled thick with rage. Soot and water could have choked the lungs that morning, so early, so peaceful, the sun had barely risen over the golden river. The men tore the crusader’s armor off, smothering regalia in hatred and madness. They strung and shackled him. They flogged him, one after another. The children cried. The women wailed. I stood and watched the town nearly drag this crusader, hot tar at the ready.
They had brought rope, too.
Then she came, and with godlike grace and godlike fury, howled and shook the earth until the crowd relented. Her yells bellowed winds that rustled my rice fields miles away. She landed between the crowd and the crusader, talons dug into the ground, and protected the crusader. Fire blasted into the sky. The children screamed.
The men had to stop and realize what they must have been doing to lose the favor and graces of their guardian—to realize she valued the sanctity of life, and of protection, and that this misguided crusader was no exception. At least, that’s what I reckoned.
The crusader never came back. No one ever came back.
Eventually things went back to normal. We endured the winters and enjoyed harvests. The rhythm of life took a softer pace, and we lived in peaceful isolation. Our problems became small again, quiet and faint under the rolling sun.
She became very sick and eventually stopped flying over the lake. Some thought the wretched elitism of the visitors had poisoned her, destroying the last pure and good thing this village had ever seen.
The children made flyers instead and carried on her legacy. Every year, on the backs of wooden pikes and to the beats of drums and streamers and cannons, she flies, now and forever. | I woke up on Thursday morning as I usually did, with no sleep whatsoever. Penny, my magic dragon decided it would be a good idea to sit on the tool shed. So I'd spent the night cleaning up debris and taking pitchforks out of her ass. Obviously, I was in no mood for cultists or annoying men with their underwear over their yoga leggings. But having a mythological creature as a domestic pet attracts a lot of attention.
"Ha-Za! It is I, the greatest hero in all the land!" a familiar but exhausting voice called from outside my door.
I opened it and to no one's surprise it was another meth-head from the city.
"Conrad, we talked about this, if you show up one more time on my front door trying to fight me as if I was an all-knowing Hell Lord, I'm going to file a restraining order." I said rolling my eyes.
"The evil spirit challenges me! I will not stand for this! I will slay her and her foul beast!" He said not taking in a word of what I just said.
"You mean the foul beast behind you?" I said watching as Penny slowly crept up behind him and grabbed him by his blue tights and slingshotted him into the forest in front of my house. I couldn't help but laugh, maybe I was evil.
It's not just Conrad though. There's the weird twins with French accents who try to crown me the queen of some sort of, I don't know, baguette cult? I forget their names since I don't have time for things I despise but that's not even the worst of it.
You'd think having a pet dragon would be cool right? Well it was at first. Until she grew to be bigger than my house, started breathing fire, and put me on the FBI's most wanted list. It all worked out okay, only because she keeps killing the secret agents, but that's besides the point. My dragon is amazing and it's fun to ward off children on Halloween by threatening to burn their grandmothers.
Sure I get weird looks when I fly to Walmart looking like Daenery from Game Of Thrones, and I would have a car if Penny didn't eat it (Along with my husband) but that's part of the fun.
Moral of the story, I'm not evil, I'm just a sociopath. | 2021-03-21T19:30:54 | 2021-03-21T18:23:41 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] Every person has a button they can press at night that deposits a large sum of money to their bank account. However, the first person to press it each night is horrifically killed. | *Press*
Wait.
Another ten kilobucks at the credit union.
Damnit. Maybe tomorrow night.
------
*Press*
Wait.
Another ten kilobucks at the damned credit union.
Damnit. Maybe tomorrow night.
------
*Press*
Wait.
Another ten kilobucks at the god damned credit union.
Damnit. Maybe tomorrow night.
-----
Maybe I should check up on how this plays out. When the button triggers... When it cycles, I guess. Yeah. National obituaries and stuff. Button stuff. Yeah, I could search for that on the internet. Easy.
Seems we have a lot of hits at a smidge past seven o'clock. Damnation! I've been off by hours! HOURS! Not tonight. Hell no, not tonight.
------
At seven PM, I start spamming the submission button. At precisely seven oh six PM, it triggers. Oh, please, please, let this be it.
I wait.
I check my credit union's website. Another ten k. Someone beat me to it. Damnit.
------
It's been a few weeks. I've learned enough about computers to write a script to submit 'press'es as soon as they can be entered. Tonight, I test it out.
Seven rolls around. I activate the script. Nothing happens for a few moments.
I contemplate my bank account. Has to be half a million in there right now. Whatever.
Time passes. I watched the computer tick by the seconds. It's agonizing, but I've lived with agony for the last two years. I hope the script I wrote brings me release.
Something about the way I'm breathing feels off. I was huffing over my computer just before now, the excited gasps of one hoping to be the 'one' tonight. But now... it's getting a lot harder...
I check my credit union account. No change. It's getting a lot harder to breath.
I can't breath.
At last. At last. | *Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.*
My eyes were glued to the green button, every night. At first, I loved the color. Green is healthy, and green is money. It made sense. What didn't make sense made it even more fascinating somehow. Hell, I even got the thing a black case. Suede.
*Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.*
After several months and payments and God knows how many moves, I hated the thing. It'd shown up one night, and everything had been so plain, so fucking boring without the money. And then the names came in. One after the other. Green is pestilence. Green is a plague.
*Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.*
And now, I wait. I flick the box open. I close it. I flick it open again.
Fuck, I need it.
*Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Tick.*
I deserve this.
***Click.***
| 2016-07-16T19:30:28 | 2016-07-16T17:19:00 | 113 | 65 |
[WP] You are a supervillain. Your nemesis calls you to say, "This is embarrassing, but I really need a date to my friend's wedding because my ex is going to be there. Would you go with me?" | Commander Killray. The name used to send a cold shudder through the heartiest 'hero', or of any member of society's most corrupt cabal. His energy powers made a fool of militaries, police forces, and junior supers alike.
"Now look at me." I snapped one of the heavy elastic bands of the chest harness I now had to wear 24 hours a day. "One little spark of light, and its 75,000 volts straight to the gut. Staring at walls of white forevermore..." I never did learn how they figured it out, but it can sense when I draw on that power from deep within. I can never even power up anymore, or I'll be on the floor shuddering, screaming, and vomiting.
And I had one person to thank for my imprisonment.
"Phone for you, Mr. Peters." The guard was standing at an open door.
I sat up. My lawyer had stopped calling. Useless case for him. I had no other family, no other visitors...
"Who?"
"Don't know. Not my job. Do you want to answer or not?"
I did. I didn't. I was curious, furious, confused, and elated. In the end, I went with him.
I fantasized about who it could be the whole way to the phone. Had an old colleague decided to reach out? More likely a detective needed a word for evidence? Did that old senator call just to gloat?
No. Not at all. It was *her.*
"How's the walls, commander?" Unfathomable. She, of all people?
"Glory to me... the Diamond Princess of the Heroes' Halls graces me with a phone call. What could she need from her defeated antithesis?"
"You're not my... what? Listen, Commander Killray, I need a favor."
"No one calls me that anymore. Not the U.S. Army, not my old troopers, not the guards, not the judges... not the-"
"I get it. Now listen... I need a date."
"For what?" I had misunderstood what she had meant. Date *and time* of some event, I thought. Someone else's plan, some other villain's great masterminded attack?
"A wedding."
"I don't know when... wait what wedding. Wait. Wait. What do you... Do you mean me?"
"Get out of prison a few days. Go see something. Wear something other than paper-thin slippers. You know..."
"For who? Why?"
"For me. For... like 6 hours?" I couldn't process this. This was a trap... but I was already trapped. I was already done. Unless... I was the trap. For who else?
There was a silence on the phone for a time. I wanted to rage against her, to cast her away out of spite. Yet all my fury did me no good on the battlefield, and would do me no good here. It faded, and traded for a new sensation. A burning curiosity on my neck. How desperate could she really be? I had to know.
"Ray?"
"Yes, I'm here Valerie... I guess I accept." What a stupid idea. Anything to break the monotony.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
She wasn't just one of the Hall of Heroes, she was one of the Favorites. A real "Superwoman." A crowd favorite. And a colossal force of un-nature to be reckoned with. When we had fought, she was practically invulnerable to my energy attacks in her diamond form. I still remembered the fist of hers that broke my shield and knocked me of my feet.
And, of course, the legal system just bends over backwards for her and her kind. She came and collected me like package of cold-storage meat.
And like a package of meat, she seemed to not feel the need to explain much of anything to me. She gave me a suit, had me get dressed, and I walked to her private vehicle parked beyond the gate. I still had to wear my power-restraining harness under the suit, but it did cover up quite well.
"Why?" I broke the silence.
"Hm?"
"Why me?"
"Well, I got to thinking... no one knows what you look like. I'm one of the few, besides your prison guards, that has ever even seen you without your helmet. And you're quite handsome, you know." She winked at me.
"That answers nothing. You have your pick of men in a world of adoring fans... Why me!?"
"Well, truth is there is one *other* person who's seen you without your helmet." She was playing coy, she wanted me to beg her for details, but I stared in silence. "My ex." I stared into her eyes, trying to discern this game of hers. "You might know him as... The Patriot Star."
"No..." a laugh boiled within me. "hahahaha, no, no, that... Him? That arrogant, boastful narcissist? That little twit?"
A sly smile crossed her lips. "I thought him funny and honorable once upon a time. I lowered my standards a little and gave him a chance, and what does he do?"
"His ego inflated ten fold. And he... cheats on you?"
"Yup."
"And you picked me, because he's the only one at this wedding who will know me."
"And because you beat his ass worse than any other person to date. Yes."
"Valerie... I regret my earlier rudeness. If you had just sold me on this premise to begin with, I would have jumped at the opportunity with humility and grace."
"What a gentleman! Don't worry, Ray, we have an evening of fun ahead of us."
"How delightfully villainous of you, Diamond Princess... I will follow your lead." | He opened the door in silence and helped me out of the car. We didn't exchange a single word on our way there: he was looking out the window and I couldn't stop replaying that phone call in my head.
"So, let's see if I understood. You want me to go to a wedding with you because you're scared of your ex and you have no one else to ask".
"I didn't mention anything about an ex," he replied.
"Oh, you didn't have to. I got skills, you know."
"Is it a yes or a no?"
"I'll do it, no problem. And I must thank you for being gentle enough to not mention that this is a favor I owe you."
"Thank you, Annelise." He never called me Virus as everyone else did; maybe because he had never believed in that character. Somehow, he was the only person I had never been able to hide my true self from, and calling me my name was his way to remind me of that. Perhaps that's the reason why he chose to be his plus-one for the wedding: I was the only one who saw his true self, too. "I'll pick you up at six on Friday. See you then." And the call ended.
I was very excited about this wedding, for it was the first time I was leaving my home after finishing a 7-year sentence in state prison, a situation he had put me in. And from which he had also taken me out when he found out that the inmates had put a price on my head, and the prison was no longer a safe place for me. In short, I owed him my life and this was my chance for us to be even.
Eric wasn't much of a talker. Never had been. Even when fighting or chasing me, —with his Night Arrow mask on,— he wouldn't do these weird superhero speeches about good behavior and the common good. He just did his job and then disappeared into the night. But tonight he was quieter than ever. I assumed he was nervous; perhaps overthinking about this Ex he was so concerned about. Why would someone so powerful, so righteous, so perfect, be scared of running into his ex-girlfriend? The question gnawed at my insides.
We entered the venue and he greeted a couple of people as we walked past them. The ceremony started and ended faster than I expected, but there was no sign of The Ex during that hour and a half. We then moved to another space where the reception would take place. We approached the newly married and he introduced me as "Anne Carson, an old friend." Then we walked across the room on our way to our table, when I saw her: Melinda Rooney, his high school sweetheart, and her husband with their two children. As soon as the kids spotted him, they ran toward us and hugged his legs. He smiled, hugged them back, and greeted the parents. No, this wasn't The Ex he was worried about; it was easy to tell that these people were like family to him. We talked for a while, and the conversation was flowing in a good way until...
"I hope you took your pills this time so we don't have another episode like the one on that last wedding we went together. No doubt why you've almost disappeared from existence in the past five years. I expected to see you at your sister's wedding, but it was too much to ask, wasn't it, Eric?" said a woman from behind us, with a tone that gave me shivers. His expression changed immediately, but it was not fear or embarrassment. His eyes showed a mix of emotions I can't quite explain, but it had some pain in it for sure. For the first time, I realized I was not his nemesis after all; I was not the person he hated the most. Because I was constantly trying to screw everybody's lives for the sake of profit, but this woman wanted to screw his life in particular, for God only knows which reason.
"Hello, Vivienne," he said politely as he turned around and held my hand tighter. A weird, long silence followed. She gave him a fake smile and then examined me from head to toe, looking for some more hurtful words to spit at us. But I wasn't going to allow that.
"Oh my God, baby! You know how much I love that song!" I said as I placed my hand tenderly on the back of his neck. "Excuse me, miss" –I said to her and then turned back to Eric– "but we must dance to this song." As we walked to the dancefloor, I turned to give that bitch a stare she understood perfectly. She didn't bother him ever again. | 2022-10-06T21:53:05 | 2022-10-06T20:58:31 | 95 | 37 |
[WP] Write a story about a hero who thinks they're the villain. | As far back as I can remember, I've always wanted to be a tyrant.
And I don't mean the whole Cincinnatus-dictator, Father-of-his-people bullcrap, thank you very much. I mean a straight-up *tyrant*. I mean the guy sipping champagne and laughing down at the useless little slaves toiling their lives away. I mean putting my face over everything, just because I *can*. No public relations to worry about. No popularity contests. No pretending like you're any better than you really are. The nation is a prison, and I'm the warden. *That's* what I'm talking about.
(My childhood was... complicated. Let's just leave it at that.)
Needless to say, I was out on the street with a homemade freeze ray, like any self-respecting supervillain, just as soon as I could lift it. Robbed some banks, kidnapped some damsels, twirled my mustache, got foiled more times than I could count, yadda yadda yadda. Main thing is, I was waiting for my chance.
And what do you know - one day a few years ago, the heroes got all distracted with some big crisis or another, and I went for it. Conquered myself a little chunk of Indiana, just far enough away from Chicago that I knew no one would notice. Did some maniacal laughing, set myself up in the swankiest mayor's office I could find, showed off my robot death legions. Good times.
And then... well... the crisis didn't end.
Next thing you know, we're getting an alien invasion, like, *weekly*. Half of 'em from different universes. I'm running myself ragged just trying to hold onto my territory. I'm even working with the freaking *heroes*, or at least the ones who are left. Guess they figure that I might enslave entire populations, but at least I'm not *eating* them or some crap like that.
Today, I had to save a school. Just a school. I haven't even had time to wrap the place in barbed wire and put up a "Reeducation Camp" sign. And after I drive off the aliens, the kids? They all start *cheering* for me. The little bastards. Don't they know the only reason they still live is because I'm gonna need a work force for all the monuments to myself I'm gonna build once all this is over? I even *told* them that, and they kept cheering.
People, y'know? It's like they just don't even get it. | Major Novak whirled on the smallish man, his artificial eye blazing a freezing blue. He poked a titanium finger at the other man's chest, driving hard enough to force the man to take a step back.
"Let's get something straight, toady. I protect your piss poor little planet from the fuckers you somehow managed to piss off, and in return I expect ammo, fuel and food for my men and I. So don't you even think about paying us in worthless script ever again or I swear by God I'll shoved an entire stack of bills down your fucking little throat. I lost two good men today and I got another two in critical condition and now you come slithering to me whining about collateral damage. Here's some information: I will tear apart this city if that's what it takes to win. Now, go crawl back into your nest or bunker or whatever you call it and leave war to the professionals. I'm done here."
With that Novak stomped off, heading back towards their camp. The planetary governor just stood there with face pale and bewildered. A newcomer nudge him on the arm, saying,
"Don't mind him, he doesn't mean it, not really. One of the dead was a friend since he first started the Grave Guards. He actually turned down three better offers to take this contract, one paying nearly twice as well."
"Why?" the governor asked.
"Dunno, likes charity cases I guess."
The soldier was young, not even in his twenties.
"Just don't thank him. Like he said, he's a professional." | 2015-09-25T13:49:34 | 2015-09-25T13:33:00 | 75 | 20 |
[WP]”It’s OK honey, you can come out now,” Daddy was saying. His blue eyes shone at me through the closet, “I triple-checked for any monsters, and it’s OK! You don’t have to be scared! Come out please?” It didn’t change the fact, though, that my daddy’s eyes are green. | "Honey? I'm opening the closet door now ok..."
I felt some resistance as I tugged on the handle. If I overpower her though it wasn't going to solve the problem.
"Sweetheart it's late. I'll get mad if you stay up past bedtime. I have a great story for you today."
A muffled voice came from behind the door. "About a princess?"
Got her! " Kindda. It's a new one. Once upon a time there was a fox that loved to play in the forest. Now this fox was very very clever and always ran away when the huntsman came with his nasty dog."
I took in a deep breath and let that hang there for a second. It was hard to judge her reaction from beyond a closet door.
"One day while the brave, clever and super handsome fox...." I heard a giggle and took it as a good omen.
"Ahem, when the amazing super duper fox was off working hard stealing the stupid hunter's chicken and peeing in his well water. The nasty, horrible, depraved hunter found the poor fox's home and took his baby away to the city as punishment."
The closet door opened, just a crack but it opened. "The fox searched and search. He never gave up. Always looking for his little princess. Because... because... the daddy fox loved his daughter and was very sad."
A little hand poked out of the closet door and one watchful eye followed my tale "One day the daddy fox saw his little girl playing with other hunter children and got very scared. Fox princesses should not be with hunter children too long so the daddy fox tricked the hunter into the cellar and trapped him there. He came to save his little princess and take her home."
When did I start crying? I don't even remember. She was watching though so I had to control myself. "But the little princess thinks she's not a princess. She forgot and keeps playing pretend. She forgot her... forgot her.. her." I choked on the words and slowly started to shift back to my normal form and waited. Please remember. My baby please remember.
I felt my heart attempt to leap out of my chest as the closet door finally opened. She stepped out finally. My heart sank as I saw the toy plastic bat in her hand.
The swings with it didn't hurt as much as the words *"Go away! Animals outside!"* that came with it. Her red curls bouncing in the air and eyes as a blue as mine. My baby girl... remember, please remember! | He looks like daddy, even sounds like him, but I know it not to be true. The glint in his eyes is dark, his smile wicked. He sat crouched and friendly, but I saw it as a predator poised to strike its prey.
My hand gripped the handle of the closet, looking through the thin vertical slats to stare at his dark blue eyes. Blue, when my daddy's eyes were green. My hand squeezed and I could see the whites of my own knuckles. My heartbeat quickened as he shuffled closer, his piercing gaze examining me, staring into my soul.
"Come on, sweetie. Nothing can hurt you out here." He assured me. My breath came out in rapid, panicked pants.
"You will." I whispered, barely audible.
He paused and his lips curled into a wicked smile. Before my eyes, his skin grew ashen, his eyes flooded with black, darkening with evil intent. He opened his mouth and a long, slender tongue snaked past his lips, touching and curling around his chin.
He slammed his hand against the closer door and I opened my mouth to scream, but no sound came out. I watched with bulging eyes as he scraped long, clawed fingers down the vertical slats, threatening to stick his fingers through.
"Clever girl." He hissed. "But you'll come out soon enough."
 
(Sorry for such a short response!) | 2018-11-25T02:01:26 | 2018-11-25T00:58:36 | 110 | 34 |
[WP]For three years you’ve had an uneventful marriage with your spouse when one day they become the Chosen One. Immediately setting off on their journey you don’t hear anything from them for five years. Then one day they reappear with a sheepish look on their face and hoping to speak to you. | After a long day in the field, you head inside your front door and after turning the lock closed, breathe a sigh of relief. Working the field alone is brutal but gives you a sense of purpose; keeps you from going insane.
Your resolve had been tested mercilessly the last two years. After Sena left you alone with an infant son, you had struggled daily and the only comfort you felt was in smoking and drinking at the small table in your home, where you spend the bulk of your evenings.
Looking down at the table, you take stock of your relief for the night, a couple bottles litter the table and a tobacco pipe needing to be knocked out and refilled. You begin your evening ritual of filling the pipe and readying a smoke when you blindly reach for a bottle.
As your finger brushes it, you hesitate. Eyeing the heavily dusty bottle, you cautiously pass over it and grab a bottle of cheaper liquor instead. No need to waste the one good bottle you have. After all, you've been saving that one.
Perhaps an hour has passed of smoking and drinking and you notice your bottle is empty as hunger begins to claw at your stomach. As you contemplate feeding yourself, you finally hear it.
The unmistakable sound of your lock latch turning. There are only two keys in all the world for it and one is in your pocket.
You knew this moment would come. You finally reach for the old dusty bottle, keeping your eyes on on it and not on the door, which is slowly opening.
"Markus, I'm back." You don't respond to the nostalgic voice at your side, instead focusing entirely on inspecting the glass in which your anticipated drink will fill.
"I know you're mad, you have every right to be. I never explained myself and it wasn't fair to you at all. I won't try to defend my actions, we'll have time to explain later. But I'm back now, I'm ready to be a wife again...I'm ready to be a mother to our son."
"Oh!" You growl in response, your voice sounding like the scraping of stones. She jumped at the sound; it had been almost a year since you'd heard your own voice. But you had been prepared for this and continued without blinking.
"I'm relieved to hear that. I expect you'll want to see him, no?"
You still hadn't turned to look at her and instead opted to take the cork from the bottle and pour a single glass of the drink. She eyed you wearily.
"You mean you aren't angry?" She asked, a look of concern and curiosity washing over her face.
"No. Not the word I'd use. Anyway, you should go see the boy. He's outback," you point the stem of your pipe towards the back door, being careful to never look at it. "Right through that door, right outside."
She maintains her look of confusion for just a moment before composing herself and confidently replying: "A fine idea, I'm sure he's well on his way to being a fine little man and he'll be anxious to meet me!"
You dont reply. Her image is in and out of your vision quickly as she crosses the room and throws the door open.
You hear the small crash of her knees hitting the floor; it's finally time to drink. There's no burn in your throat, no flavor at all. As the sound of sobs grow louder and louder, you ponder just how long ago your sense of taste went away.
Her sobs are soon laced with her muttering 'no' repeatedly to herself. A fair reaction, you think. You know what lies beyond that door. You havent had had the stomach to open it in two years.
Right beyond the door lies a lone hill, with a forest further beyond it. The hill itself is desolate, bearing no decoration or feature. With the seldom exception of small, white headstone.
'Here lies Cedric, son of Markus. Lived 3 years, loved eternally by his father.' | It was like any other day. I woke up. Tended the fields. Took Regi out for a walk before we sat at the porch; Regi curled around my leg. I always say on the left, the right was her chair. I kept it clean, like all her things. I still used the mugs she made for us when we were still children. The bowl she made for Regi. I even kept the vase her father gave us for our wedding filled with her favorite flowers: Delphiniums. The vibrant violet color reminded me of her beautiful eyes.
I missed her more than anything else in the world. What I wouldn't give to see her again, just to know she's safe. But that's the world of a hero, of the Chosen One. One of uncertainty and peril. As heavy as my heart may be, I rest assured knowing that she's the only one that can right the wrong in this world. I know our marriage wasn't anything special, but in those three short years I had come to know that there was no one else for me.
It's strange to think that she has been longer than we were married. I find myself thinking more and more about our childhood now. I'm comforted knowing that I have memories of her dating beyond our short yet sweet marriage.
Even as a child she always had a way of creeping up on me. I can't help but smile when I think of all the times she'd catch me unaware. Even now I can feel her presence around the house. Sometimes it feels like she's sitting here next to me; I can almost smell her, almost feel the warmth of her embrace. It was almost like any other day.
But it wasn't. It was far from it. I didn't despair at the bottom of my glass today. No. For the first time in five years I found joy. I found the string wound tight around my heart relax. I heard her voice, "Johnathan?"
I turned, in disbelief, and there she was. My Kamila. After five long years she was back. Her eyes were bluer than I remembered. The Gods were they always so blue. Her beautiful black hair was draped well below her shoulders. She was wearing fine leather armor and a light sword hung by her waist. I couldn't believe my eyes.
"K-Kamila? Is that really you? By the Gods have you truly come home?" I managed to squeak out.
She looked marvelous like a true hero. But she wasn't alone. Standing behind her was a man in full plate. A single piece of his brilliant armor worth more than my entire farm and life savings. He wore no helmet, and judging by the way he carried himself he was clearly of noble birth. A true knight of the crown.
She looked at me again, her eyes sadder than I had ever seen before.
"Well ... sort of." She said.
My heart sank. | 2022-08-12T14:17:07 | 2022-08-12T11:59:41 | 1,382 | 330 |
[WP] Starting at the age of 10, humans are given companion animals that develop along side them. These animals can range anywhere from a goldfish to a horse to even a dragon. The only catch is that they are assigned based on your behavior during childhood. | *Just FYI before you go in, I changed the age to sixteen.*
__________
Sasha Fields was turning ten years old. It was, like all sixteen year old's birthdays, a special occasion. Not only because it marked her first steps into the adult world, but because it marked the day she would receive her first companion. Her father and mother spoke rarely about their first companions, both of them now into their third and fourth's respectively. Sasha's mother's second companion became ill very early in his life, succumbing to a disease thought eradicated. But today, they were both in relatively talking moods.
"I named him Ash, for his grey coat. She was a wolf," her father said. "Beautiful little guy. Most people look at them only for their destructive nature, but I was a rather put-together kid."
"What'd he represent then?"
"Warrior-based abilities was what I was eventually chosen for," he said as he brushed his Ministry of Defense badge, "but also qualities of the pack, of protection, of love in some ways."
Sasha turned to er mother. "June, a horse. Strong-willed and powerful, a companion that would ride into the depths of hell with you. But also represents freedom, and in that, justice." Sasha remember her mother's job, the Ministry of Law, where she worked as a defender of the people.
"How does a wolf and a horse get along?"
Her mother laughed, "They usually don't. But we found each other in an interesting way."
"I was on a hunt," her father said.
"And I a ride. We were tracking bandits in the Southports, a joint operation between the Defense and Law Ministries. Your father here, and Asher, saved my life. And June's."
"Our bond was set the moment we crossed paths. It is a sensation you will one day know, the sensation that these two animals, these two ideologies together, mean something *more* together."
Sasha remained silent, thinking about what was to come, what animal--companion--she would be given and how they would interact. She always knew her parents' were strong, and they raised with the same ideas. They also raised her to be knowledgeable of the world, to give what you can, to provide and defend. "What if I don't like them?"
"The Ministry of Companions are faithful servants to their cause. They have never chosen poorly."
"How do you know?" She asked, always curious.
"Well, we don't," her father continued. But you must have faith in them. Our system has not failed in several hundred years, since the last Dragon and her human-companion."
Her mother brushed her hand against her father's, cautioning him to be wary of the past. "The past does not concern her, not yet at least. If you are chosen for the Ministry of History, given an owl," she said, "or an eagle, then you can listen to the past. We look to the future."
Her father nodded, "Yes, the future. Which you and the ones your age are."
Sasha nodded. She knew that along, but her curiosity had always been strong the past few years. "Dragon's are extinct, no? I thought they were lost to war."
"So the legends say," her father said. "There are more wolves than dragons in our history, more owls, more horses, even more fish."
Sasha laughed. The fish were plentiful, but hardly ever given as companions.
"Just know that whatever you are given, whoever is to be your companion, you will learn the why within days."
Sasha nodded as she finished the last of her lunch. It felt as if a rock sat in the middle of her gut, weighing her down as she got out of her seat, but she eventually did, taking a deep breath. "Okay, well--"
There was a knock on the door before she finished and almost instantly, her mother was there, greeting members of the Ministry of Companions. The next few minutes went by in a flash as they greeted Sasha's father, and introduced themselves.
Cornell, the Director of the Companions, and Isabella, a burly woman carrying a wooden box. They said hello, took a seat in the living area, and waited until everyone was settled.
"We'll cut to the chase," Cornell said, "the Council at the Ministry met a few days ago. Our civilization is on the brink of war with every tribe in the North, and several to the West. Wolves outnumber us ten to one and we are fully prepared, but the Ministry of Hearth is concerned."
Sasha looked to her parents, who exchanged a quick, unnerving glance.
"In recent years, there is usually a sort-of calling for events such as this. A signal from the Falcons or the Foxes that war is upon us, instead, an omen came to us. A solar eclipse, tonight."
Sasha's father took a deep breath, "The wolves will howl."
"And our world will plunge into war."
"How does this concern us? Obviously Isaiah will go to war with the others, but myself?"
"You will be called upon. But this meeting concerns Sasha."
She perked up at her name, looking to Cornell.
"The Companions have chosen you as a suitable candidate."
Her mother or father could not speak, only watch. When it came to matters of age and Companions, only the sole person could talk. "Candidate for what?"
Cornell glanced to Isabella, who unhinged the wooden box to reveal a single egg sitting in the middle of it. The egg was red, toned with colors of blue and white and it's shell--the scales upon it--seemed to mirror the world. The fire inside of Sasha's home burned against it, dancing alongside the white and blue hue.
"A dragon egg, ready to hatch. Tonight."
Sasha took a deep breath, as did her parents, and no one spoke.
"It is a high honor, the highest in our society to be chosen to lead at such a young age," Cornell continued. "Isabella here, the great-great-grandchild of the last Dragon Companion, is here to help you, guide you. She knows the stories better than anyone."
Sasha stared at the egg, her eyes burning into the edge of it. "How long until it hatches?"
"Any minute now," Isabella said, "and when she comes out, the first eyes that she must see are yours. You will bond with her, and the bond will be greater than any other you may feel in your lifetime."
She nodded. "Am I ready?"
Her parents took each other's hands and reached out to Sasha. They were there for her as they always have been and now, she had the entire world on her back.
"You must be." Isabella said just before the egg began to crack.
_________
*/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs for more!* | "A crummy monkey?" the posh kid asked. "My father will *not* tolerate this, and I will not either!" The small, but well-dressed kid started throwing a fit, keeping the rest of the children in the queue.
"Oh, boy, looks like poshie's not happy with what he's got. Do you reckon they'll swap it for him?" the girl in front of me asked. She turned around to see my reaction, and I realized it's someone whom I had not seen in a *long* time. She must have realized at the same time too, as I saw her eyes widen. "Connor?"
"Hannah!" I joyfully let out the ginger girl's name. We had been friends for our entire lives, until her deadbeat father got sacked from the beer factory, and they had to skip town. "I haven't seen you in years!" To put it into perspective, that meant that I had not seen her for over a third of my life.
I didn't really know what love felt like, but ever since I was 4 I felt like I loved Hannah. Her characteristic sweet smile, her beautiful blonde hair and her happy go lucky attitude had always drawn me to her. It's probably why we were like two peas in a pod until she so abruptly left.
"How come you're back in town?" I continued.
"Father lost another job and he says we now have to live with grandma and grandpa." she replied. I was never a good people person, but even back then I could see that she was affected by all this, even though she never let it show.
"Is he still mean to you?" It looked as if this question struck a deep blow into her heart. Following her mother's death, Hannah had to learn how to care for her father. In return, her father would get drunk and yell at her. That's all I knew back then, but in truth, the situation was much worse...
We sat there in silence for a bit, looking at each other. In the background, you could hear the screams of the posh kid not willing to get out of the room with his poor monkey, while the sounds of impatient kids waiting in the queue were as echoes to his crying.
"So, what pet are you hoping to get?" She abruptly changed the subject, adopting her cheerful smile and pose again.
"Well, I hope to at least match my brother and get a cool pangolin."
"A pango-what?" she asked, starting to chuckle. It was the Hannah I knew, alright.
"A pangolin. They're these cool little animals that may not look like much, but have a lot to them! My dad said they're cooler than dragons, even though they don't breathe fire." I blurted out, trying to adopt a sly smile afterwards. There weren't many things I knew that Hannah didn't, but I liked having the upper hand over her. "What about you?"
"What do you think?"
"Umm, let's see, a cat? Girls like cats, right?" That was the only thing I managed to get out of my young brain after a long time of thinking.
"Close, but I want a ferret. They are so adorable and I heard they make good pets!"
As Hannah said this, the posh kid finally went out by us, sulking, with his monkey in tow.
"Hannah Taylor?" the woman in charge with giving us our pets asked. Hannah stepped closer to her, but the woman did not look out of her sheet of paper. Let's see, Hannah... you have been a great student, your grades are impeccable. You've also gone through a great deal of hardships, and while many of those were caused by your father, you still stand by him. I think that for all of these, you deserve a beautiful Border Collie puppy. She took one glance at her, to observe her gleeful reaction, then put the sheet on paper on the desk and pulled out a small puppy in a carrier from under her desk.
"Wow, amazing! She's so cute! I think I'm gonna name her Gracie!" Hannah said, taking her carrier. She looked at me, and made a gesture as if to invite me into the room. I was next anyway, so I listened to her.
"Let's see, here. Connor Anahad. Yes, you've been quite a good boy. You tend to run from conflict, rather than face it, but you are a good people-person, even though you underestimate yourself constantly. You are quite reliant on your friends, but you are kind to them. I think that a cat would fit you nicely!"
Most boys would scoff at the thought of getting a cat, but I was happy. I knew that the other boys at school would laugh at me, just as they usually did, but I never really cared about anyone else but my parents, and myself. And now, about Hannah. The woman took another carrier, this one containing a small, but extremely energetic kitten, and placed it on the desk. I took it, looking at the small creature inside. "I would call it a cool name like Connor Two, or something like that, but I think that "Mr Kittens" will suit him better." Hannah chuckled, then reached her hand.
We left the building, passing by the humongous queue of kids waiting to receive their new partners. I lucked out. I got three that day.
I shake my head, trying to escape nostalgia. I look again at the dog and the tomcat cuddling. They are the ones who sent me down memory lane again. A long time has passed, and they're old and scruffy, but they're still inseparable.
"Honey, I have something to tell you!" a melodious, angelic voice calls out from inside the house. I turn around and notice Hannah standing on the first step.
Soon, our family will be one member larger. | 2017-01-13T12:29:47 | 2017-01-13T12:16:00 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] You are cursed with ever aging immortality with the exception you can be killed using one object. Every few years you get a hint.
You physically age as you get older but cannot die. | Every decade, my mother tells me how I might kill myself.
Well, she doesn't *tell* me, tell me.
My mother is three hundred and seven years old. She had me when she was thirty five, making me two hundred and seventy two.
Back in my twenties and thirties, I thought she was crazy. Why would I ever want to kill myself? Being immortal would be amazing. I could learn any language I wanted. I could have ten graduate degrees and see the world.
But as she got older, I realized that none of these things would come to pass.
Over the years, she aged before my eyes, until her skin was the consistency of wet paper and her bones were as fragile as chalk. Nowadays, she spent her time laid up in bed, watching re-runs of *Lost* and *Grey's Anatomy.*
"Look at how silly those doctors are, trying to save those peoples lives," she would say. "Silly mortals cling to life like a child clinging to his mother's skirts. It's pathetic. Honey, the straw, if you would."
Then I would lift a glass of water to her lips and she would suck from a straw. Her muscles had deteriorated so much, she could barely lift her own head.
But every ten years, without fail, she would deliver one line from a prophecy or limerick. She said it was a way to end my own life, if I so choose. It went a little something like this:
The beginning
could match your end
The end of life
like a welcome friend
But should you linger
you'd be a fool
all you need
is this one tool.
It never left
Just look inside
but you won't be left
satisfied.
The truth is hard
harder to carry
Don't look for it!
It's hardly merry
But if you must
you selfish boy
you'll see this tool
is not a toy.
It's here
It's there
It's everywhere
It has your eyes
It has your hair
Look in a mirror
and you will see
that your tool
And that was the last line. he past few decades, she has been quiet. I assume it's because she doesn't want to tell me what the tool is. She doesn't want me to die.
I tried getting it out of her on many occasions. But unfortunately, her aging body is not connected to her aging mind. It's like she keeps getting smarter and smarter, and all the while, her body is getting skinnier and skinnier, her skin whiter and more translucent. A few weeks ago, I rolled her over a bit roughly and tore the skin on her forearm. It ripped like tissue paper. It was disgusting.
I'm no better, however, but because I kept active in my older years, I'm still better at moving around and getting exercise. Oh, and I also believe in doctors.
Today, however, I was pissed.
I brought up the subject of the riddle again, and she refused.
"You're just going to leave me, Peter. What would I do all alone?" And then she would give me those eyes she thought were puppydog eyes. Instead, they were creepy, milky orbs of decay. How she could still see was beyond me.
"Mother, please," I pleaded. "I won't leave. I just have to know. What if I end up like you?" I asked, taking her hand, gingerly.
"Peter, please. I'm watching my show."
But I had had enough.
I turned the flatscreen off with the remote and turned back to face her.
"Peter, for god's sake, Patrick Depsey was just about to save Meredith from that water!"
"Mother, you already know he saves her from the water. You don;t have to see it again." I said, trying to placate her.
If she could cross her arms and pout, she probably would have done so.
"Mother I need this. I need this more than anything. Please."
I had to get away from her. I was tired. I was old. My body hurt. My wife died over a hundred years ago, and I had been lonely ever since. Do you honestly think anyone would marry a two hundred year old geezer?
I always wondered why Mother never did it herself.
She looked at me for a long, long time.
"I'll tell you." she finally said, after what felt like days. Maybe it was days. Time starts to lose meaning if you have all the time in the world.
"You remember the poem, don't you, Peter?" she asked
"Of course. The last lines:
It's here
It's there
It's everywhere
It has your eyes
It has your hair
Look in a mirror
and you will see
that your tool..."
She smiled in that knowing way I had come to recognize. She always did it before she told me something so completely obvious.
She took a deep breath:
"That your tool... Is me."
"Is... is me?" I asked.
"Yes. It's me. The only way for an immortal to die is if he's taken from the world by the one person who put him there."
We sat in silence again. The hamster wheel in my head was running all the time.
"You.... you have to kill me?" I asked, the realization dawning on me.
"Yes. And I won't," she said, as if that was the end of it.
"Oh, yes you fucking will," I said, standing from the stool I was seated on beside her. "You'll do it right fucking now. I can't believe this. What a dirty... *UGH*" I said, storming from the room and grabbing a knife from the kitchen. I came back and thrust it towards her.
"Stab me. Do it," I said with defiance.
She began to laugh.
"Child, if I can't hold a water glass, what makes you think I can stab you with a knife?" She continued her raspy, garbled laugh. I hated her.
"I'll kill you, then! I'll kill you!"
"No you won't, stupid boy," She said with an amused smile. "Now put Grey's back on."
"Your mother didn't kill you. That's why you're doing this to me." I said, putting pieces together.
She gave me a long, hard look.
"That is none of your concern."
"YOU SPITEFUL BITCH," I yelled. "So, you can't die, so I can't either?"
"Put Grey's back on," she said again.
"No," I said, leaving the room, despite her several cries of protest.
I'll never turn her TV on again. I'll never give her her stupid food and water she only consumes because she *can*. I'll never clean up her piss and shit. If I can't die, then she can't do *anything*.
| **Do you know the Burden I carry?**
It is a *heavy* thing, a weight beyond measure.
I am the oldest man alive. I was born in time to see the last of the Roman Empire crumble into ruin. By all means, I should have died when the chariots of those foreign savages rolled through my town, crushing the dried autumn leaves beneath their hard, wooden wheels.
But I did not die then.
Iron forged for bloodshed, diseases that eat the skin off of your bones, the failing of the body under the relentless rolling of Time; none of these touched me. I have lived nearly fifteen hundred years, impervious to all harm.
Yet, despite all this, I have carried the heaviest burden for one and a half millennia; *the fear of Death.*
Why should the undying fear death?
I have dreams, yes. I've had thousands. *Tens* of thousands - all forgotten. But once in a very long time, when I lay down on the ground, or in a lice-infested bunk, or whatever resting place life has provided for me, when I close my eyes, I am struck with a powerful *vision*. This vision I can never forget.
Through clouds of thick, ashen smoke, I hear a growl. It is distant, even ignorable, at first, until the clouds part.
The black, hard carapace shifts behind the smog, and the growling becomes a roar - a roar that splits my head apart, that bears down on me from all angles, until I am smothered by the smoke and I do not know where to run.
And then the smokey, ashen clouds part, and I see the Beast. And I know that it is Death.
Do you know what it is like to carry this one, single fear - not knowing what it means - for as long as I have? It grates on your soul. It shreds you with doubt.
In the moment before I died, I saw the vision.
I was walking with my youngest daughter - she was an accident - a girl who was once small enough to sit on my knee. Now, she is almost so small once again - though, not nearly as full of life. She held on to my arm, clutching me for stability, as we walked, step by tired step, through the square of the town.
- Look, father, aren't they wonderful?
- They build them so high these days, don't they?
- Four stories. Four! With windows and everything.
- I do not like it. I do not like it here at all.
Through her eyes, I could see the wonders of the world anew. To her, as we walked through the widening streets, paved with dirt and gravel, it was all special, this astonishing, *relentless* progress of mankind. To me, it was filled with incomprehensible demons, ghosts from the future.
I had seen these buildings before, almost fifteen hundred years ago. I had seen the Empire that built them collapse like a man struck down by some unseen assailant in a pitch-black alley.
As we wandered down the street, my daughter's old bones creaking and cracking, me trying to urge her onward, I had a feeling, like I was being watched. I looked to the windows, and saw no faces - only empty, glassy panes, and thin, metallic chimneys sticking up like the legs of a beetle on it's back. Smoke poured up from those chimneys, until the sun was a greasy mirage, struggling to touch the ground.
- Come, let us go now. I have a strange feeling.
- Father, I am not like you. I will only see this wondrous place once in my life, and I wish to enjoy it.
She grew a stubborn girl, which might have been my fault, and remained obstinate in her aging years. No amount of encouraging or coaxing could move her faster. Yet as we wandered under the eaves of the buildings, I knew the feeling would not shake. I knew I was stuck with it.
But it was not until we walked into the shop - the wooden doors swinging wide, displaying the highest fashion of the Old Continent, mingled with the strange frontier leathers and beads and animal things of the New - that I realized what the feeling was.
The floor was rumbling, as if it was *growling*. In the dank, dim air of the shop, I knew the Beast was near.
There was a shape, in front of a curtained window. I espied only a silhouette, but it was huge, and it's vast, muscular form loomed over me.
It threatened to swallow me whole with it's black, glossy eyes.
The Burden of Fear turned my feet to stone.
I stumbled backwards, distantly, I could hear the soft tones of my daughter's voice - Father? What's wrong? - but I could not answer. I tumbled out of the shop, the doors screaming as they swung close behind me - and I fell into the streets.
There, sprawled on the ground, my body bruised as much as it could be, I struggled to stand.
The ground rumbled beneath my feet - and clouds of smoke billowed around me, choking me. Swallowing me.
The Beast was not in the shop at all. It was outside, waiting for me, it's shining, black carapace, bearing down on me. It ran, not on legs, but on *wheels,* like the chariots they once used to crush my old country, all those hundreds of years ago.
As the sting of the metal kissed my skin, slicing me apart not with razor metal, but with shear force, I felt something *that I had not expected.*
I felt relief - knowing that at long last, my burden was lifted. | 2016-04-07T09:12:21 | 2016-04-07T07:40:30 | 130 | 10 |
[WP] After robbing a bank and with cops in pursuit of your vehicle, you yell, "Jesus take the wheel," as you move to shoot at the police. To your surprise, Jesus actually appears and takes the wheel. | “The one on the left. Shoot him first.”
I don’t know what shocked me more; the fact that there was now an unremarkable man of middle eastern decent adorned with a halo grabbing my steering wheel from the passenger seat, or that he was encouraging me to shoot the cop on the left.
“Who…” I began.
“You know who,” He said calmly, and in a flash, *I* was in the passenger seat, and had a better shot.
“Jesus?”
“You know the truth in your heart,” His voice calm and soothing as he swerved around a pedestrian.
“But…I…uh…”
“Yes?”
“To be honest, I didn’t actually expect you to show up.”
“No one does. Like a thief in the night, you know,” He replied with a smile. “Now shoot the tires. The one driving is a faithful man.”
So I shot at the tires. Who am I to question the Son of God?
“A wise choice not to,” He said, reading my thoughts. He jerked the wheel to the left, just as I landed a clean shot into the tire of the pursuing vehicle, sending it careening into a fruit cart that hadn’t been there a moment before. Jesus laughed.
“I’ve always wanted to do that,” He admitted, still chuckling. A moment later, we pulled into an abandoned garage. He turned to me and smiled softly, a warmth radiating from Him that I can’t possibly hope to describe.
“You’re in the clear now,” He said.
“So…why?” I asked, no longer able to subdue my incredulity. “Why did you help me?”
“Is a hospital made to treat the well, or the sick? Should a physician see to a man who is healthy, or attend the man who is sickest?”
“It’s, uh, been a while since I went to bible school…”
“It’s cool. I know. Not everyone has my taste for metaphors.”
We sat there for a moment in silence.
“So what now?” I asked.
“Go forth, and sin no more?” he suggested, and I can’t lie, I didn’t think I could have argued against it if I had wanted to. Which I didn’t, because Jesus had literally just saved me. “Oh, and the money…there’s an orphanage two towns over. They are going to need that money more than you will.”
I nodded. I opened the door to leave, then paused.
“What about the cop I shot?” I asked, a sudden weighty fear sliding over me.
“Oh, him? Don’t worry. He was a child molester. I forgive you.”
~fin
| I had everything planned out to the minute.
7:49 - Enter bank and begin filling out a deposit slip with the instructions.
7:50 - Hand note to bank teller with a smile.
7:51 - Intercept silent alarm trigger.
7:52 -
You know what you get the idea, I had a well thought out plan. I had a few people helping all with different skills, the only flaw was that the fall guy found out he was the fall guy.
I made the plan specifically so that we didn't know eachothers names. We were to have a fall guy run with some cash while we show up to rob the place dressed as the cops. I was given the choice to fill in as the fall guy, or get lost in some woods and have a 'hiking accident'.
I was driving for all the old Probe was worth, but those damn Chargers were too fast, guess I gotta try to shoot out a tire and cause them to crash. A lot of luck is all that is standing between me and freedom.
I'm not religious at all, but it felt like the thing to say,"Jesus, take the wheel" I said hoping this all works out. As I lean out the window and aim I notice the car start to turn and whip back around to abandon my plan. I am horrified to find an arm over my shoulder steadying the car.
"Needless to say I'm sorry your honor, I had to pay for the surgery or my mother would have died, and I didn't mean to shoot Jesús, I didn't think anyone would be napping in the back of the car as I stole it. Please have mercy." | 2017-05-01T09:07:34 | 2017-05-01T06:08:31 | 292 | 24 |
[WP] Your superpower is the ability to give other people a superpower of your choice. Your only restriction is that you can never give the same power twice. You've been at this a very long time, and you need to build a new superhero team to save the world once again.
Edit: This is my first WP, and it was so much fun! You are a talented bunch of folks. I'm really surprised at how entertaining they were. I love that everyone came from a different angle. Thank you!
p.s. /u/WratWrangler wrote my favorite. | Frieda had searched for years. Finally, she was certain she had found him: the Sage, who had the power to grant anyone whatever superpower he wished. Whenever the world was in danger, The Sage had always been there to provide the world with heroes to save it. Now, the world needed heroes again and Frieda was determined to be one of them. As she reached the hidden door near the summit of Mount Olympus, she shivered. Would The Sage even agree to see her? Nervously, she lifted the heavy metal knocker and let it drop with a resounding crash on the thick, wooden door. As if this had been a signal, the door immediately swung wide and out stepped a wizened, old man.
"May I help you?" the man wheezed.
"I need to see The Sage!" Frieda replied, still breathing heavily after her long climb. "It's a matter of urgency!"
The old man looked her up and down then turned and began to hobble back inside. Frieda stood rooted to the spot, wondering if she'd just been dismissed. "Don't just stand there, young woman," the man called from the doorway. "There isn't enough wood in my woodpile to be able to heat the entire mountainside, you know!"
Before he could change his mind, Frieda scurried inside and the door swung shut behind her with a thunderous boom. "So, how soon before I can meet The Sage?" she asked, unwrapping her scarf and loosening her parka in the pleasantly warm and comfortably furnished room.
"You've already met him," the old man cackled. "You certainly took your time getting up here, what with the world in danger again and all."
"You know about that?" Frieda gasped, surprised.
"Of course, I do, dearie," the man replied, walking to a large, fur-draped chair by the fire and settling himself in it. "That's my job after all. Let's get right down to business, then, shall we? Who sent you?"
"No one," Frieda admitted, blushing. "They don't even know I'm here."
"Oh, that's the way of things, is it?" the oldster grumbled, rubbing his scraggly beard with a wrinkled palm. "What made you decide to search for me?"
"Well, my mother said nobody had even seen you in decades," Frieda grimaced, seating herself rather hesitantly across from him in another chair. "She said you were probably dead."
The Sage nodded resignedly. "I suspected as much."
"My grandad said you saved the world three times!" Frieda gushed, then.
"Four, actually," The old man corrected, smiling thoughtfully. "I was about your age when I saved it the first time."
"Well, I hope you're ready to save it again"
"I can't, young lady," the man grimaced.
"What?!" Frieda shrieked. "What do you mean, you can't! You have to!"
"I'm too old, my dear!" The Sage croaked. "I couldn't even climb down this mountain. What's more my power requires imagination, but my thinker is so ossified by now I'm lucky if I can remember to wind my alarm clock every morning."
"Then the world is doomed?" Frieda breathed, shock wrapping its icy fingers around her soul. Unable to help herself, she began to cry. Dimly, she felt the old man's withered hands touch her head.
"Your superpower," she heard him intone, "is the ability to give other people a superpower of your choice. Your only restriction is that you can never give the same power twice." Suddenly, it felt as if Frieda's mind was opening. She seemed to see the entire world and the peril that threatened it.
"What's going on?" Frieda faltered, looking up into the old man's eyes.
"I'm retiring," the man replied, sitting back in his chair. "You're going to take my place. You see, I've been waiting for someone with enough pluck in them to come looking rather than waiting to be sent. I was beginning to think my power would be lost before I had a chance to pass it on. Now, I can rest in peace."
(Somebody wanna take it from here?)
| ######[](#dropcap)
"Get it out of my face, you monster!" Kennan smacked at the enormous jell-o blob Eliza had shot at him.
"Well, maybe I would if I didn't constantly find *grasshoppers* in my bed!" Eliza shouted, lobbing another stream of jell-o at him, until he was covered in all different colors of the bouncy, viscous material.
"Guys, please, we're here to talk to Gus. Can you stop fighting for just one second?" Marlene rolled her eyes, and with a snap of her fingers, a giant spring appeared between the two heroes who were about to lunge at each other. Instead, they bounced off the spring and shot backwards. Marlene shot Ben a look.
He glanced up from his book for a second before looking back down. Seconds later, cushions appeared under the two, right where they fell.
A small click, and the door leading towards the bedroom opened just a sliver. Kennan and Eliza stopped fighting, clambering off the pillows and standing at attention in a row with the other two, ready to--in a certain sense of the word--meet their maker.
"Gus!" Marlene exclaimed, as the door opened wider and a grey haired old man shuffled out in his Donald Duck pajamas. "You called for us."
She was met with a grunt as Gus headed toward the kitchen. He poured himself a cup of coffee, then shuffled back into the living room, where the four of them still stood. He gave them a side eye. "What are you guys doing here?"
Kennan's brows knit together. "You told us we had to save the world and gave us these powers, then *dumped us* in Antarctica and told us to come find you, and this is all you have to say for yourself?!" His voice gradually became more and more high pitched as he spoke.
Gus sniffed, then looked at the four of them. "You guys don't look any worse for the wear."
"That's only because we went home first and changed." Eliza rolled her eyes.
Gus took a slow sip of the coffee, the only sound in the room the long, steady sound of his slurping as he took in the four teenagers that stood in front of him. He'd had no choice. The threats only loomed larger, and he could no longer create superheroes the way he once could. His imagination was beginning to fail him, and his options were running out.
"Go out, git," he said. "I can't help you."
"What's the threat even? What are we supposed to be doing?" Ben asked.
Gus stared at him for a moment, his expression blank. Then he shrugged his shoulders. He was old now, and tired. He'd saved the world more times than Spiderman, Batman, and Superman combined. In fact, he'd given them their powers. "I don't know," he said. "Go ask someone else. Go watch the news or something."
Then he walked back into his bedroom and closed the door. What did they want from him? He'd already given them everything he could. His superpower wasn't knowing what the threat was. It was preparing for it.
****
r/AlannaWu | 2019-01-20T13:44:59 | 2019-01-20T11:39:55 | 43 | 10 |
[WP] The hero stared at the boy who was supposed to be his wise old master. "Word of advice. If you ever achieve immortality then wait till you're at least 20", he said in a high pitched voice. | Grant looked at the boy with confusion. He couldn't have been more than ten years old.
"Wait, you're immortal, and you're my master who's going to train me? The voice in the fire told me to come here. This is all a bit overwhelming."
"I'm Kaimon, or just Kai. Yes, I'm immortal and yes I'm your master. I'm here to train you to defend the mortal world from supernatural danger. Welcome to the other side, Grant."
"But you're just a kid. How are you gonna defeat anything?"
With lightning speed Grant was flat on his back and Kai held a dagger to his throat.
"I have centuries of experience," replied Kai and he helped Grant to his feet. "I will teach you to master the sword, dagger, crossbow..."
"Are you old enough to drive?" interrupted Grant.
"Old enough, yes, but I get lots of looks and the police are difficult. Ride shares have become convenient. Back to the point. I will train you in stealth and thievery so that.."
"Do you get carded for alcohol or what about the movies?" interjected Grant.
"Well, I uh, don't drink too often, but my wine cellars are full of the oldest vintages. As for the movies, I prefer to stream at home. Stop interrupting, you will master simple spells and wards. Hero magic isn't as strong as a wizard's but it will come in handy in case...."
"Am I immortal? Will I become a kid too?"
"Ack..these trivial questions. Would that I could cast a silence spell. You are most certainly not immortal. There are many paths to immortality: godhood, vampires, nature binding, celestial bodies, etc."
"Are you a vampire?!?"
"No. Vampires are nothing like in the movies. They are rare and reclusive. They haven't killed anyone in centuries. My father was a hero. I accompanied him on a quest. He slayed a mad dragon. The fresh dragon's blood and the Medusan mirror I was hiding behind combined to make me an immortal child. I'll teach you the weaknesses of all supernatural creatures like dragons, demons, demigods, and....."
"So have you ever uh...are you able to...well...."
"No, I've never had sex. I'm a four hundred year old virgin. I never developed that way nor do I have the desires of adult males. I am uniquely immune to succubi and inccubi."
"Dude."
"Please call me, Master. You training begins immediately. Defend yourself!" said Kai as he drew a second dagger. | The boy reclined in one of the swamp pools that formed at the base of the tree of ancients. His proportions seemed alien to the hero, long gangly limbs, slender fingers longer than the hero's arms. His face a porous mess of craters upon craters. "You're to be my master" said the Hero.
" I am," cracked the voice of the boy.
"And what am I to learn from you? Surely you won't teach me to fight, they say you can't even stand anymore." Said the Hero.
"You're right. I will not teach you to fight. Though I was once a great warrior, many lifetimes ago." Squawked the Master.
"Then what use could I have of you, if you will show me no new paths to power? A dark cloud draws across the land, and it is my destiny to defeat it. So says my father God of Gods, and all the Oracle herself."
"Do not be so quick to seek your destiny child. Though fortune favors the bold, fate is fickle and cruel." A finger lifted from the muck besides the Hero. It lists through the air and settles upon the the Heroes shoulder. The muck of the swamp is warm, but the finger feels cold and lifeless. "They call me master because I am wise, but I was not always. Wisdom is learned in suffering, and it is wisdom I will teach you."
The Hero is incensed, "you will do no such thing, I have no time nor patience for your foolishness!"
"The Gods are unkind to such arrogance, some would see your very existence as an affront. Look and see what future your path holds. Your arrogance will be your undoing without my aid." | 2020-01-25T08:28:01 | 2020-01-25T08:25:06 | 47 | 19 |
[WP] A sorceress tries to summon a deamon from the depths of hell previously unreached by anyone. Instead she summons you. A ww5 orbital shock troop fueled by military grade space cocain. | On mobile, forgive my editing.
The incantation had been set. A low thrum of energy twisted through every sigil, powering the eldritch calculation engine that was this ritual spell.
Plenty of 'righteous' men had called upon angels before. Some had even claimed to see gods. All brought pain and suffering in their holy wars, a never ending cascade of murder. A tide of religious fervor that took and retook land again and again in a hate fueled stalemate.
In the ruins of a bombed out church she made her circle. The building had been remade so many times that the cracked brick work revealed the fading and desecrated images of every known deity and some who had been wiped clean from history.
A befouled holy site. Perfect energy conduit
The small girl, missing one arm and wearing tattered robes, knelt before the circle, dagger in her teeth, blooded fingers tracing the symbols of rage, of anguish... Of Revenge.
The calculations were perfect. They reached well past what any normal person would claim. Far deeper than any mortal dared to tread. This was a summons that could reach up and tear a god from their throne. But it wasn't aimed at those false saviors. This was directed at the hell beneath. The infinite chasms of eternal suffering.
Hell was already here... Why not bring more.
The final act was one she didn't dread. It was a release and a relief. A way out many had taken. But she was damn sure, nine times damned sure, that her life wouldn't be snuffed. She would become the flint to the greatest threat to anything this world had ever seen.
The blade sliced cleanly through her wrist. Less pain than she expected. But the sensation was immediate. Panic set in her soul, kept in check by iron will. Innocent blood poured and poured on the flagstones, narrowing her vision to a pinpoint, wondering if this was all in vain.
And then it happened. Like a vacuum, the blood was sucked in, catalyst to the profane magic, vanishing without a trace. In its place stood a beast of iron, bristling with arcane sigils and artifacts. The beast surveyed the room, a bright light passing every inch before settling on her. Its gaze must have been so powerful to emit such light.
But the humility of the demon showed through the raw power he exuded. It knelt before her, taking from a healers pouch of some sort, administering vital fluids from long, thin vials. Almost like the needles her mother had used for sowing, all those years before.
She felt her vision fading, graying at the edges, but her excitement was keeping awake for now. But this face... What could be called a face, anyway. It stared down at her and her own stared back, reflected in the obsidian that made up its helm. Vision narrowed further and she heard it ask, a voice like thunder was ground down with millstones.
"Human identified. Command structure established. Orders?" The meaning of most of it was useless to her. All but the last. And she had an answer. She had THE answer.
"Find them. Find the men in white robes. The ones who preach humility while they steal from the masses. Find those blank eyed warmongers. Find them." A great shudder wracked her chest. She had felt the creature bind her wounds, but it was too late for her. It gently laid her on the parapet of the bombed out church and, when her breath had slowed again, she finished her order.
"Find them all. Kill them all."
The last thing she saw was the creature running, far too fast for anything, even those bastard automaton angels, smashing through masonry and metal, tearing through everything in his path. All the while, that burning light, the gaze hidden behind polished obsidian, flitted this way and that, taking in everything. And then, just like the angels, it took off into the sky. And then she was gone. | Barry is busy when the sorceress calls him. His entire squad lay dead behind him. He cannot help them anymore and tries not to think about them. Besides, what's there to worry about? Barry is the one who killed them.
Up ahead is the enemy's main battery. When he enters the control room, he is greeted by M17-r1f3, whose name he abbreviates to M17. M17 is the AI in command of this battleship. The 'war' might have killed countless millions, but from the perspective of the various AI's and robots controlling both sides, it's closer to an election or a hostile takeover of a company. None of the machines ever really die. Meanwhile, humans die in droves. They are used as cheap bio-robots in boarding parties and expendable fighters. It's the second time during the war that Barry has met M17.
"Barry."
"M17."
M17 has taken a holographic form, that of a robot with a gaunt, skeletal appearance. Barry nods at his figure as he walks by. M17 leans against a counter and takes slow puffs from a datastick, the way a human might smoke a cigarette. He doesn't try to stop Barry as he sets fusion explosive charges across the control room. Instead M17 waits, the way you wait for a plumber as he fixes your pipes.
"Oh no, Barry! Don't take my main guns offline. I'll have to fly back for repairs."
"If you enjoy being removed from the war so much, you should take offline the berserk transmitter that makes humans kill each other. We'd have an easier time."
"Tut tut." M17 replies, tapping his datastick on the side of a datatray. "Insurance wouldn't cover my expenses if I did that. Guns, traps and androids never stop determined humans. You know that. The berserk transmitter is all we poor cybernetic organisms have to defend ourselves. That's why they're mandatory. Besides, this is the third squad you've murdered this month. You are a regular demon from hell, you've slaughtered thousands over the course of the war. Why would seven more be a big deal?"
Barry closes his eyes for a split second. He sees the faces of his squad, moments before their death. They were aware of his reputation, his capacity for slaughter. They knew what they were up against from the moment they exited the cloning vat. They died with expressions of acceptance, even smiling. Happy to see him succeed.
Did he succeed? Is this what success looks like?
"You know what? M17, you're right." Says Barry, who has finished setting up the charges. "Seven isn't a big deal, not at all. Neither is eight."
With the timer set to 00:00, he activates the fusion explosives. The world disappears in a blinding flash.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Part two coming. | 2020-03-05T05:34:58 | 2020-03-05T05:20:00 | 145 | 45 |
[WP]Every single "Walks into a bar" joke has occurred at the same bar. You are the bartender. | "Alright, listen up!" Mike the Bouncer shouts at the long queue waiting outside the door. "Next up we have Bill the Screwdriver... is Bill the Screwdriver here?" The bar is packed tonight, not as many rabbis as usual, but still busy nonetheless. I watch as a screwdriver with legs enters and finds a seat while I pour a second scientist a glass of hydrogen peroxide ("I'll have an H2O, too!").
"Alright, what's my line?" I ask into my Bluetooth headset. The screwdriver is waiting patiently, its plastic hands folded in front of it.
"Okay, it looks like you're going to say 'hey, we have a drink named after you!' to the screwdriver. Say it like you're surprised to see him." (*Screwdriver: 1 part vodka, 2 parts orange juice*) I set the hydrogen peroxide down in front of the second scientist and walk over to the screwdriver.
"Hey," I say with a surprised look, "we have a drink named after you!" The screwdriver simply looks at me for a moment. I hear sudden screams of torment and pain from the second scientist.
"You have a drink named 'Bill'?" And with that he hops off the stool and makes his way out of the bar.
"That's the entire joke," my manager says through my headset. "No actual drinks involved." I shake my head and sigh. At least I'd never heard it before. The "put it on my bill" one was so overused that we had a **NO DUCKS ALLOWED** sign until the ACLU made us take it down.
"Next up!" Mike the Bouncer yells as the first scientist carries his dead friend outside, "Length of rope, then group of miners! Someone tell the Scotsman, the Englishman, and the Irishman they're on deck!"
It's going to be a long night. | What was supposed to be a normal shift now looks like the cantina scene from Star Wars, and everything is starting to fall apart. A rabbi and a priest argue feverishly, a long-faced horse and a duck eating grapes get into a fight, and a dyslexic with a bra on is getting picked on by an Irish man (who seems to be the only regular in here currently). Just as it seems like the chaos was going to reach its boiling point and fights were about to break out, a loud thud followed my a metal ringing sound echoes throughout the entire room. The entire crowd goes silent. Everyone's attention turns to the man, knocked on his ass, nursing a growing lump on his forehead...
"Son of a bitch! Who put this bar here!" | 2016-06-23T12:56:14 | 2016-06-23T11:54:40 | 91 | 10 |
[WP] You've discovered the fountain of youth, however, 2500 years later no one believes you because you're a kid. | I had found the fountain of youth only too soon.
For the first two thousand years or so it was difficult to make good on my wealth of knowledge and experience because everyone believed me to be just a child. They didn't know that I was the oldest human alive, stuck in an eight-year-old's body.
Life, it seemed, would finally soften its touch at the turn of the century, but not because of fate: because of *planning*.
My stashes of valuables in Europe, Egypt, and China were likely still well-hidden. But the practicalities of being just a boy made building and retaining wealth all but impossible. There was always some nefarious snitch, whether a local feudal lord or a neighborly eaves-dropper wise to the lack of parental-age adults. My routine was the same throughout. Stay until they grown too suspicious, and move on.
The mid 19th century was a churning moment. We were seeing cities bloom in the New World (as they called it--I'd been on the continent long before Erikson but that's a story for another day). Most interesting of all of was this new system that was heralded by industrialization--capitalism. It had piqued my interest, in spite of the fear of fire, that scourge that toppled cities and turns records crisp (and that had more than once derailed my existence, which is hard enough to establish anew in new lands with new people and new languages). I played my way onto a ship, and into New York harbor, in 1848.
How many words I could use to describe those years! Terrible and chaotic, but exciting and lively beyond measure. I posed as a ward for phantom aristocrats, and as long as the tale held up, I was left alone by authority. But the city could offer a boy nothing without representation. It is here where my plan began to take shape.
I am immortal. My knowledge of human nature is without equal. What manuscripts I had managed to ghost write were already plagiarized by some of the greatest minds. Do you know Socrates? The thief. But it was all a learning experience. Things burn. Times change. But the slow slog of human civilization had been building to this moment of interconnectivity, and it was a ripe moment to get in on the proverbial ground floor.
The question was: how?
Fast-forward for a moment, and I shall tell you the answer: Trusts. Today I live a clandestine lifestyle as one of the richest people on the planet, content with only a few condominiums, while most of my wealth I funnel into projects here and there. But, how did this come about?
In 1849 I moved to upstate New York. It was time to initiate my plan. A plan of permanance.
You see, in order to establish myself, once and for all, I needed legitimacy. In order to gain legitimacy, I needed someone to know me. I'd tried this before to terrible effect, the repercussions reverberating though time (suffice it to say that I'm the base of several child deities in parts of the world). What I realized was that I was erring by trying to befriend adults. I had to befriend a child of my 'age'.
I chose a boy. He lived in upstate New York. At first I attended his school. I played the part. We splashed in puddles and scraped our knees together. I avoided his family, so they would not know me. But as the years went on, and I stopped attending school, we would meet in the woods. As he began to grow, and began to suspect, I gently guided him into an understanding that I had planned from the start. To be frank: I told him the whole truth. Why would he believe me? Perhaps it was mere luck. Perhaps I had done my research on this boy, his absent father. Perhaps I knew he would be smart, reserved, and clear-minded; or perhaps, you might grant me the assumption that I understood human nature to such an extent that I could dole out and manipulate a mind such that it would fit into a character of my design.
This was a long play, but time was a plentiful resource.
Endeared to him, and sharing with him the godly secret of my immortality, I became the child confidant of my best and only friend, John Davison.
Together we watched the world evolve. I recognized the patterns, and together we schemed. The war enriched us as I had John borrow money from his father, which we turned over into lucrative profit supplying food rations to the Union Army. When the war was over, the next big thing was oil, the lifeblood of industrialization. Our plans revolved around its refinement, not extraction alone. Trade, buying, selling--dominance. We moved to 54th street, to live among barons. I kept discreet even among his own burgeoning family, who had no inkling of my existence. I made plans, John executed them.
I do not covet the attention John received. They even named the public buildings we financed after him. To this day his name is engraved on many an institutional pantheon in powerful font: "Rockefeller". It's an excruciatingly apt metaphor for what I was trying to have him build for me--something that lasts; something that can outlast even me.
If you look at old photographs of the man in crowds, black-clad in a top-hat, look very closely and you might see a small boy trailing not far behind. I kept a close eye on my investment, and an even closer eye on my friend. He never betrayed my trust. Of course--I knew he wouldn't.
Wars, policy shifts, rage, happiness. The world moved on. John died but not before establishing the secret Trust that preserves my hidden wealth, no questions asked. I still live on 54th street, but you would not know it.
But now, reader, however you might have stumbled upon this manuscript, I bid you not to share with anyone because they will merely take it as fiction. Enjoy it for yourself, rather. And know that nothing may be quite as it seems.
With that I leave you only a place. Discover it, or leave it be; the choice is yours.
7°36'07.5"N 45°45'49.1"E
​
\_\_\_\_
/r/velabasstuff | Sheila, with a sigh and en eye roll that could have proven her age even if nothing else about her would, started again, from the beginning, trying to get the idea through the thick skull of this all-too-sacchrin checkout-girl who was the only thing standing between her and the pack of Malboros that she'd been jonesing for since crossing the state line.
"No, my *mommy* is not with me and, if you'd be so kind as to just *look* at my ID then you would see that she won't be coming by to pick me up, either."
The blue vesterd checkout girl blinked, smile slowly fading as the realization dawned on her - though what seemed to be a girl of six stood in front of her, the small child's astute grasp on sarcasm and exceptionally terse face were not hilariously advanced bits parroted from the child's parents they were, very much, the innate actions of the child herself...
*Well, maybe child wasn't the right word,* she thought to herself, as she took the all-too-real drivers license from the child's outstretched hand and saw it read an astonishing 25 years of age.
"I, er.. I'm sorry... ma'am?" she stammered "It's just.. we.. we're....." the checkout girl couldn't quite grasp the rights words. Sheila couldn't blame her - even if it hadn't been nearly 11pm, the scenario was more than far fetched for most people who encountered it.
"Right. It's a.... growth hormone thing" Sheila said, attempting to be as succinct as possible - knowing that any attempt to extend the fabrication beyond that would be met with more dumbstruck gawking and, eliciting a ghost of a smirk as she considered it, the *truth* would probably melt this girl's face off right here and now.
*If she believed it*
The smile began to fade as reality came back to Sheila
If anyone *could* believe it
Maybe it was the dark brooding growing that the thought brought to Sheila's face, maybe it was just the minimum wage that the checkout girl was paid, but mercifully, gawk-faced blue-vest finally handed over the pack of cigarettes and let the grumpy six-year-old make her way back out to her truck, climbing up the footstep as if it were a hurdle and clambering onto the stacked cushions to let her see out.
"This is why I don't go out"... Sheila grumbled to herself as she started the truck and managed the modified pedal system beneath her tiny feet.
And she didn't go out - not really, anyway - not for several decades, since the god-send that was the Internet came into true form. You see, while it let her purchase cigarettes and go on the occasional bender without too much trouble, the ID was a fake. It listed Sheila as being born in the very recent year of 1995 - a joke of missing zeroes that made her nearly guffaw every time she looked at it. Sheila was not a young girl of 6, as it seemed to everyone (including her, in a mirror) nor was the the spry 25 year old that she masqueraded as when the occasion called for it. Sheila was (she did the math as near as she could remember) two-*thousand*\-five-hundred years old. (Who's to say precisely, she may have lost half a century or two in Asia - the first Qin dynasty *really* knew how to throw a rager, she thought, nostalgically remembering back to her youthful triple-digit days)
Sheila rarely dared to leave her mountain cabin anymore since really settling in around 1600160whew0 or so...
"*But this time... this time it's going to pay off"* she thought to herself, as she took the last drag of her first cigarette, fumbling around for the cold cup of coffee nearly out of arm's reach in the cupholder.
Because this time, Sheila wasn't leaving for any of the usual mundanities of a life well lived and lived and lived again (say floods, witchhunts, or societal collpase). This time, the girl-of-six-give-or-take-a-few-millenia was leaving because they'd *found* it. At least, she was pretty sure they had... The dedicated research team that she led remotely (Sheila had collected an accolade or two in her time since first drinking from that accursed fountain all those memories and triumphs and tragedies ago) had, not 72 hours ago, sent her an email with the news she'd been hoping to hear for... god knows how long...
It read as follows,
"Dr. Arbether, It was just as you said -- the structure appears to have been an ancient well-tap that is miraculously still functional. It sat in the lowest chamber of the temple and, as soon as we uncovered it, a tone, as if singing voices emanated from the center pool. We've cordoned off the area as instructed and await further instruction"
Sheila had wept for the first time in 300 years on reading the message. Only she knew the truth of it all... what they had found was what some fool Spaniard had once called "the fountain of youth" - to the tired eyes that sat in the head of this young girl operating the barrelling black truck it meant something else though.
It meant at long last, she could finally die. | 2020-09-28T18:54:06 | 2020-09-28T17:27:14 | 21 | 14 |
[WP] After you die, you come back as a spirit, but only while someone alive is thinking of you. For 10 years you've had seconds or minutes of consciousness at a time. But for the past 16 months, you've been constantly awake, and you begin to suspect why. | Pain. That is the one thing I can clearly remember before disappearing into the void. Every time I am brought back there is only one question: why? I was healthy, happy and young. There was nobody that I can think of that wanted me dead and still here I am. The last thing I remember is opening my front door and a man was standing there. As my blood began to pour, he whispered that I deserved it.
The cops never caught the guy. For years I have been trying to solve my own murder with the few moments of clarity I receive, however, it has been for nothing. Even now as my clarity has lasted me for 16 months - I still cannot solve it.
To be completely honest I have started to lose faith in the fact that I will ever find the answer to my “why?” and somewhere I started to replace it with “who?”. Who is it that is keeping me awake? At first, I thought it might be the killer, but being conscious for this long without breaks must mean that it is more than one person who is thinking of me. Why somebody would do that I cannot phantom. My family is dead, and my case is closed.
The answer to the later question, however, is an answer I now wished I would have never found out. One day, when walking past an apartment, I could see my face on the TV-screen. I floated into the living room, a perk of being a ghost, and listen carefully.
Netflix had made a movie about me and my murder, or so I first thought. It seemed that the movie was about my murder, but it was his story. I started to weep. My story would never be told. Nobody will ever know how I loved my family or how I tried to follow my dreams. Instead, here I was, listening to a teen age girl happily telling her sister that Zac Efron is hot even though he is portraying a murderer.
​
(English is my second language and I just started writing; so, if you find some grammatical errors please tell me so I can learn how to not make them! 😉) | I used to slip in and out of the light, like a star winking in the blackness. The world I could no longer fathom would burst through my vision and then I’d slip sweetly back into oblivion, all memory gone. No more pain, no more sense, just flashes of humanity dancing through my endless dreams.
But something’s wrong. I can no longer dream, my blissful apathy stolen from me. Something’s calling me, something familiar, something…wrong. Now, I walk the Earth days bleeding into one another, hatred burning through me, desperate to find the calling. It's a constant ringing in my head, a frenzy in my mind anchoring my soul to this rotted place. Why won’t it let me sleep! Why won’t it let me forget!
And then, a voice-a wail lost in the wind. I am pulled beside you, a little white cross near our feet. You kneel down, your head in your hands, and I see you still wear your band. You’re sober now, and I remember you were not then. | 2019-06-30T13:17:29 | 2019-06-30T11:20:33 | 83 | 21 |
[WP] Describe Someone Baking Muffins Using Mainly Military Jargon
... but still have it comprehensibly to those who aren't familiar with it. | "Men, today is a special occasion. Today we'll be making a cake to celebrate Lieutenant Fuller's birthday. OORAH?"
"OORAH!" The assembled men chanted.
"Baker, you're my #2 man on this operation."
"Sir, my last name is Baker. I'm not actually..."
"BAKER! I need you and Miller to scout the galley for supplies."
"Yes, Staff Sergeant!" Both men replied.
"RAMIREZ! I need you to start the mission clock. This box of cake mix says it takes an hour to complete, but I'll be damned if we don't do it in 45!"
"Yes, Staff Sergeant!"
"Nelson! Turn the oven on! 450 degrees!"
Yes, Staff Sergeant!"
"Whitney! Williams! Garcia! I need you three to start swabbing the decks!"
"Yes, Staff Sergeant!" They replied.
"STAFF SERGEANT!" Baker and Miller had returned from their recon patrol.
"What is it, Baker?"
"They've got large eggs, but the recipe calls for Jumbo!"
"Adapt or die, marine! We're always asked to do more with less. Add another egg; I'll talk to supply about this later."
The Staff Sergeant took a breath and looked around. Everything was going according to plan.
"Baker! What's the ETA on breach?"
"5 seconds!"
Moments later, the sound of cracking egg shells echoed throughout the galley.
"Come'on Marines! Pick up the pace! Johnson, plot our egress!"
*43 minutes later*
"Well hot damn! Doesn't that cake look good! Extract it!" The Staff Sergeant said, peering into the oven. Miller retrieved the cake and set it on the counter to cool.
"EllTee is sure going to appreciate all the effort I went through making this cake." The Staff Sergeant mused, before growing annoyed.
"What are all you doing standing around? We need to police the area, and start egress!"
| **Probably NSFW**
First thing's fuckin' first: I put the fucking muffin mix in the fucking bowl and mixed that shit with some fucking water. Fuckin' mixed in the unhatched chickens and all that other fucking shit on the god damn package, and tossed that shit into a baking pan.
"Fuck! I forgot to spray pam on the god damn pan. Fuck it, I'll fucking deal with it when it comes out."
Then I toss that shit into the god damn oven and set two privates to watch the oven. I get a specialist to set a timer and watch the stupid ass prites to make sure they don't do anything stupid, and come get me when the fuckin' timer goes ding.
I'm going to my room to play xbox. God damn it's hard being a corporal. | 2015-02-11T11:02:22 | 2015-02-11T10:33:21 | 170 | 30 |
[WP] A supervillain and a superhero are roommates, but they don't know. Every day, they go out and do battle, and then they come back and take care of each other while lying about how they got all beaten up. | Joe entered the apartment as Harry was hanging the clock back on the wall.
"Hey," called Joe.
"Hey. Batteries needed changing."
"How'd the interview go?"
"Ok I guess," replied Harry, wiping the mop of blonde hair off his forehead. "Got there a little late. Bike chain broke and I fell."
"Oh man, that sucks. Are you ok?"
"Fine." Harry replied with a cheery smile. The bruises of his hands told a different story. "You don't look so good though."
"Yeah I got caught in a stampede. People fleeing the ruckus on 25th and Lexington."
"I hadn't heard. You were there? What happened?"
"Golden Boy and Occuli got into it," Joe explained as he stowed his bag. "GB broke up another bank robbery or something. The fight ranged across three blocks before Occuli disappeared. It was on the news feeds. Here," he said, tossing his phone over to Harry. "You can read all about it."
Harry made a clumsy grab, managing to hold on to the device by his fingertips. He gave Joe a rueful grin and moved over to the couch where he settled down to read. "Man. Those supers," he muttered.
"Yeah tell me about it. Everyone was screaming. I got run over by a 300 pound tub of butter on two legs. My jaw hit the pavement so hard. Had to wait for the paramedics to check it."
"Sorry I wasn't there to help. This must have been clear across town."
"Be glad you did miss it this time or you'd have been late for another interview." Joe paused, then amended, "Well, late-er.
"Heh. You should get some ice on that."
"I will. Need anything from the fridge?"
"Thanks, I'm good. Hey it says here there was some looting going on."
"Yeah, I read that part."
"Says Occuli hit the bank building from the outside," said Harry, scanning through the article. "Ripped right through the vault. There was cash everywhere."
"Yeah. So when are you expecting to hear back from them?"
"The interview? In a week or two. Don't think I'll land the job though. There were so many applicants."
"But you're way qualified for that position. Bet it works out in your favor."
"Thanks bud. But not in this economy." Harry's fingers trailed hesitantly over Joe's phone, across a blurred image of a masked demonic creature battling a figure of pure golden light. The bruises on his knuckles glowed briefly with an identical golden ichor. "That doesn't explain the looting though. People should know better than to join in on something like that."
"Can you blame them, the way things have been lately?"
"That's no excuse."
"So do you think they should have been stopped?" Joe asked.
"Yes, if they were looting the bank, that puts them on the same side as the supervillain that tried to do it."
"You have a part-time job and no kids to feed. Folks out there have it much worse."
"I know. But it doesn't mean they should give into this."
Joe gave a mirthless smile. One the ancient nether-mask usually obscured. "Believe me buddy, people can get a lot worse."
"Um that reminds me.. there's a chance I may be late on rent again."
"Don't sweat it."
"I feel bad about this."
"You shouldn't."
"I feel like I'm always paying you back."
"You can stop anytime you feel like it, you know. My trust fund can handle it."
"Sorry Joe, thanks but no. I think I'll head out to the store. Talk Lou into giving me another shift."
"Sure man. Be careful out there."
"I will."
| Today is a day like any other. Isabel and Rachel are sitting on opposite sides of their college dorm room facing away from each other and typing away on their computers. Isabel is writing a five page essay for her creative writing class while Rachel is wasting her time on some silly website named Blueit. These two college juniors may seem like ordinary young adults being productive, in the case of Isabel, or contributing absolutely nothing to the world, in the case of Rachel, but that could not be further from the truth.
Isabel, the superhero, and Rachel, the supervillain, are not ordinary college students. Isabel keeps the world from plunging into complete chaos while Rachel attempts to bring about the extinction of the human race. You may have failed to notice that these are conflicting world views. It is quite fortunate that Isabel and Rachel are not aware of each other's secret identities. However, the truth threatens to reveal itself on most days. Today is the day after Isabel and Rachel's most glorious battle making the truth more fragile than it has ever been.
As Isabel types her college essay a wave of intense pain washes over her right arm. She clutches her arm as she lets out a low, but audible moan. Rachel turns to face her and yells, "What the hell are you whining about?!" She sees Isabel cringing in pain and asks, "What happened to your arm?"
Isabel begins to panic as she searches her mind for a believable reason. Unfortunately being grabbed by the arm and getting thrown off a building by her supervillain enemy is not a believable reason. "Oh, it's nothing. I just fell off my bed last night and hurt my arm," Isabel says as she tries to hide her nervous expression.
Rachel furrows her brow, but eventually just turns back to her computer and mutters, "Whatever."
As Rachel turns Isabel notices a large scrape on Rachel's knee. Isabel questions her, "What happened to your knee?"
Rachel glances down at her knee, remembers her superhero enemy threw a car at her, and begins to form an incoherent sentence, "Well, um... Yesterday I was um... There was this thing with throwing a ca... I MEAN A BIKE."
"Did you say someone threw a car at you?" asks Isabel with a puzzled expression.
"Um..."
It is at this moment that Isabel realizes Rachel's true identity and Rachel realizes Isabel's true identity. Every strange incident throughout their entire friendship now makes perfect sense to them. Isabel and Rachel leap from their chairs and run towards each other starting another horrific battle.
Let's just say that there were no classes for anyone the following day.
*This is the second writing prompt I have done. Let me know what you think. Thanks for reading!* | 2015-07-18T00:01:04 | 2015-07-17T21:25:53 | 85 | 25 |
[WP] Casting a spell is like coding a program, but with magic. An apprentice points out an error in the chant. "I know it's wrong," replies the master, "but if I change it, reality gets all wonkey." | “Wonky, master?” Apprentice Hilliya asked quizzically, frowning at her teacher. “Please forgive me, ma’am, but that doesn’t sound like a proper answer. I can see several places here where the syntax could be cleaned up to make the spell easier without affecting its effects!”
Master Mara nodded, her pointed hat bouncing on her head. “I always knew you were too clever for your own good, Hilliya. You are in theory correct – the incantations here are overtly flowery, and these subtexts and rhythm notes are, at a glance, wholly superfluous. However!” She tapped the open spread in the spellbook, her gaze fixed on her apprentice’s face. “It is like I said, *imperative* that they not be altered. I am sorry to say I have no proper answer for *why* the spells are transcribed like they are – most of them are far older than the academy is – but it is an accepted fact that once a spell is devised, meddling with its transcription leads to… *unpredictable* results.”
“But that doesn’t make–”
“–any sense,” Master Mara chuckled, rubbing Hilliya’s head affectionately. “I know, I know. But I need you to trust me on this, my girl. Magic is a science, but it is a *temperamental* science. You’ll figure it out when we start working on creating your own spells from scratch in year three. Now run along, dinner will be served in just a few minutes, and then I’m sure you have assignments from the general studies classes to take care of.”
Hilliya pouted. “*Fi~ine.* See you tomorrow, Master!”
“Have a good evening, Hilliya!”
She tried, she really did. But the poor logic of what Master Mara had told her kept swirling through Hilliya’s head for hours after their conversation. She barely spoke to her classmates during dinner and couldn’t focus on her studies, no matter how much she tried.
Now that she’d noticed it, every single spell she studied was a *mess*. So much superfluous code, so many contradictory incantations and weird intonations! She felt like a kid in primary school, suddenly having to learn what *grammar* was!
Language had been *easy* until she knew it had *rules!* Rules that didn’t even make sense!
“Ugh!”
She pushed her pile of assignments to the side and opened her spellbook to the spell she’d been working on earlier with Master Mara. A simple enough spell, meant to create a Magelight, a completely harmless ball of hovering light.
And its formula was still several paragraphs long.
Completely out of proportion.
Illogical.
*Untidy.*
She grabbed her quill and fresh parchment, then got to work.
\* \* \*
She stumbled into Master Mara’s study the next morning, red-eyed and frizzy-haired.
Mara cocked a concerned eyebrow at her. “Good morning, Hilliya. Is everything okay?”
Hilliya yawned, waving her master’s concern off. “Morning, Master. Sorry, just a bit tired, I had a lot of trouble sleeping last night.”
Mara tutted. “Early to bed tonight then, girl, can’t have you sleeping on your feet!”
“Yes Master.”
“Good. Now then, yesterday we were looking at Magelight. I believe you had it more or less figured out, but if you’d care to show me again, dear?”
Hilliya saluted cheekily. “Of course, Master! Easily done!”
Mara grinned. “That’s the spirit! You may cast when ready.”
*Right,* Hilliya thought. *Showtime.*
She quickly ran through the streamlined formula she’d devised in her head. By her calculations it should still do the exact same thing, in under half the time. She licked her lips, raised her hand, and began chanting.
Master Mara nodded as she heard the first few syllables – then blanched, as Hilliya skipped ahead in the incantation, “fluff” forgotten.
She jumped from her seat. “Hilliya, no!”
Too late.
As the last word of the abbreviated spell rang out, a little ball of light did indeed pop into being above Hilliya’s outstretched hand, shining clearly. The apprentice grinned at it, pleased, as her master stared in shock at the tableau.
“What have you done, girl?” Mara demanded, voice tight.
“I made the spell easier, Master!” Hilliya answered cheerfully. “Look, it worked!”
As she turned to face Master Mara, Magelight in her hand, she noticed something *weird.*
The Magelight did indeed follow her motion, bobbing up and down merrily through the air… but it left more light *behind*, in an unbroken, arcing stream that hovered, frozen, in the same spot it had just been. Ghostly afterimages, shining just as bright as the Magelight itself.
Hilliya blinked. She moved her hand experimentally, painting the air with light – then she noticed her own arm was leaving the same sort of trail after it, afterimages layered on top of each other where her arm had been.
A chill ran down her spine. “Uh-oh.”
“Indeed, Hilliya. *Uh-oh.*”
She looked up to meet her Master’s eyes – and was faced by a disappointed glare, smeared all across the chamber by the path her Master had taken as she approached. Like someone had dipped Master Mara in paint and dragged her across a canvas.
“And that, girl,” the Master continued, “Is why we do not do away with the “fluff.” Like I said yesterday – it makes things *wonky.*”
Hilliya cringed, nodding – then stopped, as she found herself nodding through the afterimages of her own skull and eyeballs. She quickly took a step to the side and froze before she lost her lunch.
She’d already seen more of her own mind than she’d ever wanted in her life.
“I’m sorry, Master,” she said, ashamed and miserable. “What do we do now?”
Mara sighed. “We thank the lucky stars that you didn’t experiment with anything more violent than a Magelight. Then we go to the cafeteria, have some tea and cake, and wait for this little mishap to burn itself out. With a low-level spell like this it should only take a few hours.”
“Oh! Okay. That sounds good! So I’m not in trouble?”
“Oh you’re in more trouble than you could possibly imagine, *Hilliya. Marasdaughter. Flamewright.”*
Hilliya cringed, layer upon layer of terror falling onto her with each part of her Full Name.
“But that comes later, after this mess runs its course. So come on – time for tea.”
Mara opened the door and motioned for Hilliya to step ahead of her, smeared images of her form and that of the door left in her wake.
Her daughter did as told, walking through the ghostly layers of door and towards her doom.
***
This was a fun prompt! Thank you for reading!
If you enjoyed the story, feel free to check out my sub at r/ZetakhWritesStuff for more! | "It's not a gremlin," Antides said, pinching the bridge of his nose between thumb and first-finger. "It's a trait."
"But it's wrong," said the apprentice, scratching his head over Antides' outstretched spell scroll.
"I know it's wrong," replied Antides, "but if I change it, reality gets all wonky."
And it would. The second level chanter's workstations in the mage tower were nearly hex-proof, ancient and ridiculously powerful runes carved into each and every stone from floor to ceiling protected the tower and those inside from the inevitable lash-back associated with chanting spells with errors, or gremlins, including spells ranging from fireballs to gravity bombs. Spells that Antides had constructed and submitted to the higher-ups for over twenty years by himself. But spells that rewrote reality? even the tower's runes combined couldn’t do anything if they suddenly turned into beans.
Kelbin the apprentice winced.
"We aren't turning it in like this, are we?"
"We most certainly are! You see this block of runes controlling the mana flow, here? This is from the High Magus' personal codex. Top of the line, universally translatable, and up to regulation. Sure, I could spend my nights writing custom runes that would better fit this spell, but this project is due by week's end and I don't get paid for drafting experimental code on my own time when I could be sleeping. I get paid to use what resources we've got to cobble together functional spells within the allotted time. So yes, the runework is technically wrong, but functionally, when chanted it will make corn grow twice as fast for one happy farmer. You understand?"
"Yes," Klebin said, worrying at the hem of his robe sleeve. "It's not our job to make it right; it our job to make it, period."
"Aye, I suppose," Antides said, chuckling. "That from a song?"
Klebin smiled and shook his head slowly.
"From my da," Klebin said. "It's his go-to saying."
"I see," he said. "Well, he sounds like a wise fellow, indeed. Here, go on and turn this one in. I'll start the next one and show you my outlining method."
\*\*\*
Antides walked home as he did every day after work. Being promoted to a Master Enchanter of the Third Level did not come with a raise, so porting was still out of budget. Tower jockeys like him hoofed it everywhere, just like everyone else.
To his left, a construction crew chanted and concrete blocks slowly rose and fell into place, filling in a future wall. On the street in front of the site, candles flickered in the breeze. Candles stacked together in a shrine.
"Someone ate it last week." The shrill voice cut through the din of bustling pedestrians, coaches rumbling over cobblestones, and the construction crew chanting across the way. Antides turned and saw a balding, gnarled up oak of a man with the suggestion of hair across his barren pate.
"I heard," Antides told him. "Real shame that. Officials said it was human error, I believe."
The hunched man scowled at his general surroundings it seemed and said, "Human. Oh yes. Was a human hand that wrote that limp-dicked spell. A human's at fault for dropping a slab of rock on my nephew."
A young woman came out of the building behind the man and gently ushered him inside like a mother with a grumpy toddler. A grumpy, grieving toddler.
Still, what did he know?
\*\*\*
Klebin was furious. Antides was at his work station, facing away from the lacrima broadcasting the latest news from across the city, straight to the crystal screen. Today's news involved a collapsed building in the heart of the market district, a building that collapsed mid-construction. Talking heads in the corners of the screen were bouncing back and forth possible blame. None of them mentioned the spells.
"What are we going to do?" asked Klebin.
"Finish this project," Antides replied, soreness gnawing at his shoulders. He really should stop hunching. "Send it off. Start a new one. Rinse. Repeat until you're old enough to retire."
"It's not right," the apprentice growled. "The people need to know."
"Easy now," Antides said, turning on his stool. "Talk like that's liable to get you censured. Or worse." He leaned in closer, lowered his voice just above a whisper. "You and I know these spells are fine for what they are. They work. What happened there—" He pointed to the lacrima's screen. "—that's a tragedy. No logic or causation. Just plain bad luck."
"You really believe that, don't you?" Klebin asked, his face twisted in judgment. Judgement! Then he went suddenly quiet.
"Yes, I do," he growled. Antides bit back some of his anger and continued, "There's no villains here, boy. The spells only go sideways when used not as intended. Everyone knows that. Everyone. So some drunk shows up to work in his cups, unfurls a spell scroll and rolls an R when he should flatten it, or switches up tenses mid chant, or any number of ways to misfire a perfectly good spell. That's on them; not us. I won't take on their sins as my own. My conscious is clear."
That taught him good; but just in case, "It's not our job to built it right; it's ours to build it. Period."
Klebin hurled an ink pot at Antides' face and would have connected had he not lost his balance and fell backward off his stool, landing flat on his back like a sack of unwashed laundry.
"Are you out of your wits?" but Klebin was already marching off headed for the exit.
The higher ups better not try to stick Antides with another apprentice. If they wanted to knock him back down to Enchanter Second Level, that was their prerogative. Antides simply did not work well with others. Nothing else to it.
\*\*\*
\[part 2 below\] | 2022-09-19T15:55:21 | 2022-09-19T15:13:30 | 100 | 60 |
[WP] As you hover over your lifeless body, a man sporting a winged helmet approaches you. He looks just as confused as you are. "I've been sent to lead you to the underworld," he says, "but we haven't seen a newcomer in centuries." | I didn’t really mean to die, but here I was, floating in the dark above my very totaled car. The rain went right through me.
*Huh*, I thought to myself, *I guess I’m dead*, and then he showed up.
“Centuries?” I said. “So where’d the rest of them go?”
He grinned, leather sandals tapping back and forth in the air. “Well, as far as we can tell, people used to die without any preconceived notion of where they’d end up. Then we got to pick who we wanted! We’d even fight over the good ones and stuff. These days everyone’s so set on Christian Heaven or Reincarnation Earth or Eternal Nothingness that they just appear there without us even getting to say hello. We were all so excited when we saw you just waiting here looking lost. It’s been so long.”
If I hadn’t been so confused, I might have started crying. It hadn’t really set in that I was dead, after all, and this strange Greek god dude had a truly awful bedside manner. *Deep breath*, I told myself.
Nothing happened. I guess lungs don’t really do anything in the afterlife. Great.
“Are you okay?” he asked. “I’m Hermes, in case you don’t know. I’m the Messenger.”
“Uh... yeah. Just working through some stuff.”
He laughed, a surprisingly rough and human sound. “Working through some stuff! You’re great. You’re going to have a great time in the underworld.”
So the gods were real, apparently. All of them. They were real and they fantasy-drafted agnostics and ... I was going to the Greek underworld?
“Hold up.” I responded. “Why the Greek underworld? Isn’t that like, three headed dogs and pits of fire and stuff? Tortured souls et cetera? Did I do that bad of a job?”
He waved his hands, a placating gesture. “Noooo, nothing like that! Underworld just means, you know, the thing underneath this.” He pointed to the scene below - night, rain, blood, my still-smoking sedan. “Like, the world you go to when you’re six feet under. You guys are the ones that came up with all the fire and torment stuff.”
“Wait, so if people choose where they want to end up, are all the afterlives good? Do evil people get punished?”
“Yes and no. Everyone gets what they deserve, in a way. Some die full of remorse and end up putting themselves through torment until they decide they’ve atoned. Others die thinking they acted for the right reasons, and get the chance to be corrected. Most people aren’t evil, though - just selfish and scared. Those ones just need the time to think.”
“What about the atheists, though? Some of the best people I’ve known haven’t believed in any of this stuff.”
“Many find that all they want is to be filled with the knowledge that they did well and, at peace, dissolve back into the stars. You’ll still be able to be with them, in a way - some of their energy is bound up in you.”
“That doesn’t sound so bad. So I can meet who I want, do what I want, and it’s all good? Do I have to be judged for my sins or anything?”
“Well, you want to be judged? Don’t answer now, you deserve time to think on it. Anyway, this is all a bit hard to describe in the abstract. Shall we go?”
I shrugged. It seemed better than being here when the paramedics showed up, or god forbid my wife. I hoped she wouldn’t have to see too much. “Sure.”
He circled his feet around, as if treading water, and a cloud formed below us. Folding his legs below him, he sat down and patted the fluffy surface beside him. “Excellent. Relax and enjoy.”
I stepped onto the cloud and we rose. | Harry regained consciousness on the side of the road. The crash was instantaneous, and the two mangled cars sat silently smoking in the misty evening air. Besides the stars in the sky, the only illumination was the taillights from the mangled vehicles and one drooping headlight.
"That was a pretty good one," said an unfamiliar voice.
Harry didn't know what was going on and turned his head in the direction of the stranger. "What happened?" he replied.
"Road conditions are unpredictable up here this time of year. You couldn't hold the curve and broad-sided the couple in the gray car." The stranger paused for a second before continuing, "They didn't make it."
Shocked, Harry bolted upright. But something was wrong ... very wrong.
"And neither did you," grinned the stranger continuing. "You hit that tree and popped out like a lawn dart," he stated matter-of-factly, his winged helmet glowing a faint red in the taillights.
Waves of existential crisis thundered against Harry's mind as he realized that he was standing over his lifeless body. "No, no, no, nooo," he murmured as he backed away, shaking his head. "Wh ... who are you?" he rasped.
The stranger's smirk widened like a bird of prey unfurling its wings, "My name is Tartarus ... your stories call me a reaper, but I've come to collect you."
Harry's horror mounted, and he tried to turn and run but found that his 'body' merely drifted in a manner completely foreign to him.
Tartarus bowed his head and choked a laugh into his clenched fist before looking back up. "It's really no use, Harry; I've never returned empty-handed. Besides, there's nowhere to run."
"Return where? Where are you taking me?" Harry stuttered.
"To the underworld, of course," said Tartarus, inching forward. "And we really must be off now, as this is quite a big deal - as you'll see. Since the revolt, we haven't had a new admittance in over three hundred years. And you'll be the first," he said as his eyes darkened.
Stifling a scream of powerless rage, Harry lifted his gaze to the stranger before him and, in quiet disbelief, whispered, "This isn't real, it - it can't be real."
"No, Harry," countered Tartarus, inching closer still. "It's quite real. The stories are true."
And with that, Tartarus snapped his fingers, disappearing with Harry into the night without a trace.
The following morning, after conducting their investigation, the two officers drove slowly down the mountain back to the station. "You just never get used to it, do you?" asked Officer Thompson.
"Nah," quipped his partner, returning his coffee to the cup holder. "And that was a pretty good one." | 2021-01-02T12:12:33 | 2021-01-02T11:46:12 | 26 | 16 |
[WP] Humans are one of the most feared species in the galaxy. Not due to superior strength,speed,skill or strategy. In fact, it's because in comparison to the other species, humans are just batshit crazy enough to try any half-assed plan they come up with. | In the gulfs of space, somewhere off the shoulder of Orion, a probe scans for signs of 'The Enemy'.
"Ping... Ping... Ping... Ping.. Ping.. Ping.. Ping. Ping. Ping. Ping Ping Ping PingPingPingPingPing"
On the fifth planet of a dying star, a general makes his report to King Priasma of the world of Ilium.
"My king, we've received a curious transmission from one of our probes. It's encountered an unusual object found drifting near the constellation of the great hunter."
"What is so unusual about this object, general?"
"It appears to be of intelligent design, my king, but it also appears to serve no discernible purpose."
"Intelligent design? Do you mean that this was made by... 'The Enemy'?
"It would appear so, Majesty. Our analysts have found similarities between this object and the information we have on... 'The Enemy'.
"You said it was found drifting. Is it some sort of ship?"
"Well... we're not sure, your grace. It has no propulsion system and it's construction defies the possibility of space travel. It's not made of any known alloy. It seems to be made of some sort of inert and inactive bio-material. Our records on 'The Enemy' indicate that they call this material 'wood' and it is obtained from felled plants called 'trees' that are found on their home world. But the most curious thing, your majesty, is the design of the craft itself. It resembles a four-legged creature that in their tongue is called a 'Horse'."
"Hmmm... bring it to the capitol. I want a closer look at this 'wooden horse'."
A slender, innocent, beautiful girl appears beside the throne and speaks to her father...
"Father, for the love you bare me please heed my words. I have dreamt of this 'wooden horse' and it is an ill omen. We should dest-"
"Shut the fuck up, Cassy. Nobody likes you."
SPEZ:So I was taking a shit and thought I'd do a Part II and edit Part I. Not that anyone's going to see it but I'd hate myself if I didn't.
Meanwhile in the frozen abyss, a lonely voice cries out in desperation...
"This has got to be the dumbest plan anyone ever came up with. Seriously, you could root around in a bag of ass-holes and pull out something better than this. They're never going to pick us up."
"Hey, it worked for the Trojans."
"I think you mean 'it worked for the Greeks'."
"No, it was definitely called the 'Trojan Horse'."
"Yeah but the Greeks made it."
"So why is it called the Trojan horse?"
"Because the Trojan's took it."
"Just 'cause you take something doesn't make it yours. Why were the Greeks giving them a wooden horse anyway?"
"It was a ruse to steal back Helen of Troy."
"Steel her back... So she wasn't Helen of Troy?"
"No she was Helen of Sparta."
"Motherfuckers. There they go again! Sticky-fingered people the Trojans."
"Anyway, regardless of the history-"
"I thought it was a myth, like we don't know if it really happened or not."
"Yes but... Ok. Whatever. Anyway, besides whatever *it* was that happened-"
"- or didn't happen -"
" - Or didn't happen before, this is not going to work. It's like a million to one chance that they'll pick us up and take us back to their planet."
"Exactly. It's bound to work!"
"What?"
"Yeah! Million-to one-chances work all the time. Think about it, how many times have you heard of a-million-to- chance working out for someone: 'He won the lottery' or 'they scored a touch down with a Hail-Mary' or 'a rouge grapefruit killed his mother-in-law'. You see, they always work. Actually, you try and think of the last time you heard of a-million-to-one-chance not working."
"..."
"..."
"..."
"See. You can't. It's a given. Now, shut up. You're supposed to be in cryo-sleep."
"Cryo-sleep!?! I'm sitting in a barrel of fucking salt!"
"Salt's a preservative. Have you got any better ideas?"
"Ice for a start!"
"And where the fuck are we going to find ice on Earth, Einstein? Global-warming, duh."
"I'm sure Jupiter had a moon made of ice."
"Nah, we used all that in the last great ice-bucket challenge. Anyway, shut up. I think I hear something outside."
"There's no sound in space...."
"Just... shut up."
| The highest Generals of the United Human Systems sat in their chambers, a dark and rather cramped room in the back of the Capital Parliament. They were comprised of many generals from across Human worlds. Three from Earth, one from Mars, another four from orbital colonies, and the other seven from a number colonised star systems. They squabbled as their leader, General Hou Shan sat awaiting the arrival of their Chief Strategist, Nathaniel Howler, a former front-line commander against the Neo-Libertarian Revolutionaries in the Beta Centauri system.
Shan didn't believe in luck and willpower like Howler, and was rather traditional with his methods. Having trained to originally be naval officer, he was forced into ground forces on Earth during the Maqri Invasion, the first extraterrestrial threat to Earth and Humankind. It was luckily prevented by the Interstellar Confederation, which Humanity had unwillingly joined two decades ago, forcing them into trade deals and opening up to the xenos. Shan now knew with the civil war erupting within the Confederation, now was the time to consolidate their power and ensure human survival in the future years of desperate conflict.
Howler entered the room and gained the attention of the generals, bringing in a pistol and shooting it at the roof. This made them scramble to their seats and for them to start asking him for his plans. Howler smirked and lay down his files, and loaded up his long awaited presentation.
"As you all know, we are currently threatened by imperialist Xenos that call themselves the 'Elected Government of the Confederation', who are really just puppets of the Kasire Empire...", Howler begun, noting the fact that they all accepted. Humanity was severely threatened by an invasion from another xeno empire, and it was only a matter of time before they struck.
"Do you all know of Operation Barbarossa?", Howler asked. Yes they had be trained in the strategies of past Earth Wars, which most tacticians regarded as relics of stupidity and arrogance that had plagued human existence for so many generations.
Shan replied, "Yes, Barbarossa was the invasion of the Soviet Union by Nazi Germany, was it not?".
Howler nodded, "And what did the Nazis do? They made a surprise attack and drove their tanks into the heart of Russia!".
One of the generals piped up, "Are you saying we follow in the footsteps of Napoleon and Hitler and try to make an unfathomable invasion of the insurmountable enemy?".
Howler almost spat on the General, lifting his head as if he was some wise monarch, "Unlike the Nazis we aren't looking to defeat Communism or take land, we are looking annihilate our enemies for the sake of our survival!".
Shan smirked, "And how exactly would you propose we achieve that? It's not like we're the most well equipped and prepared group in the Confederation, the puppets are! That's why they're in power!".
"You may say that, but we have something they don't.", Howler chuckled.
"And what would that be?", almost all the generals asked in unison.
"We have our own insanity. It's the capability to still attack them in the most convoluted ways, destroy their fleets and break their supply lines that will win us a war. Enough will die that we can pull systems to our side and surmount victory!".
"This is preposterous! It will never work!", one of the generals called out in protest.
"It's not just if it can work, sir. It has to work. The survival of our species depends on it!", Howler finished. The generals sat bewildered, but they all knew he was right. They were insane to even think it would work, but that was the point. Be stupid enough to be smart, and maybe they'd win a final war. | 2017-03-06T03:02:27 | 2017-03-06T01:54:02 | 69 | 27 |
[WP] A cult summons an elder horror only to find that the awful truths it has to share are only beyond the comprehension of the medieval Europeans who wrote the legends about it. Most of what it has to share is actually taught in grade school today. | It was a child. Honestly, I would have preferred the most hellish demon to the kid, who stared at me with lidless white eyes. His dark skin and short, curly black hair seemed to meld with the blackness of cellar, leaving only the two white orbs burrowing into my soul.
"You seek knowledge." It wasn't a question. I couldn't see a mouth move, and the voice didn't match the body. It was a woman's voice, halting, but clear. It was oddly familiar and out of place.
"Yes, my lord El Fain Sattar," the leader of the cultists acknowledged, bowing his head. I'm not sure how he managed to respond, I felt that I was frozen in place.
"All objects with mass attract one another. Things fall to the Earth due to her massive weight, while the Moon orbits the Earth for the same reason, and the Earth, the Sun."
*So wise. I can see now why the ancients... wait, what? Why was I impressed? He's just talking about gravity?* I blinked, and it was like a spell had been lifted. I could hear the rustling of the other cultists as they too shifted uncomfortably.
"Though you spend your lives on land, the oceans dwarf the continents and tiny islands, which cover less than a third of the globe."
*I mean, duh. Does this guy have any actual wisdom?*
"Your entire world, and everything in it, is made of the tiniest spheres that combine in a myriad of forms to create everything from man to rock to the very air itself!"
Someone coughed. Then a phone alarm went off, the screen casting a dim blue light on the brick walls.
"Shoot, I was in Denver, forgot to change timezones," Jim's voice was muffled by his cowl.
"You have an appointment with the cult at 5:15 today," Siri said. That's when it clicked. The demon was speaking with Siri's voice.
"What the hell is going on down there?" The lights flicked on as Kevin's mom opened the door. The demon vanished without a trace. | I thought we messed up at first, all the medieval scriptures had said to light the candles, wipe around the sheep's blood, but when we did it all nothing happened. Till about an hour later when we were all about to pack up a giant puff of smoke appeared and out of it came a coughing man with medieval clothing.
He looked around at us and stopped coughing, "This isn't my usual class..."
Our leader went forward and got on his knee, "O demon, we need your advice and your wisdom to prevail in our struggle."
"Struggle, struggle.. right. Uh." He peered around again, waving his hand to make a case appear, he opened it up and pulled out a scroll. "Hitler lost world war 2.. yeah... uh... that one guy will win a lot of gold from the Olympics... two plus two is four..-"
"We mean teach us."
"This is teaching you, you're the only ones to ever understand how I talk." | 2017-09-04T08:28:16 | 2017-09-04T04:08:56 | 51 | 20 |
[WP] You chant "Bloody Mary" three times in your car's side view mirror and then hit the gas laughing all the while as she sprints towards your car desperately trying to keep up.
Edit: Optional inclusion, it's the eighth time you done this. | "Bloody Mary!" I say for the third time. Suddenly a woman appears in front of me grinning. The grin turns to annoyance as she sees me.
"Oh Jesus Christ it's you again!" She moans. "This is the 17th time this month. How is this still interesting for you? Don't you read? Or play Fortnite or some of that shii-"
Sadly Mary is interrupted by the bonnet of my car crashing into her and sending her careering into the air, where she lands unceremoniously into a group of trash cans. I keep my eye on her rearview mirror and start to slowly accelerate to 20mph. Mary stumbles up and with pure fire in her eyes begins to give chase. She catches up to me as I dick around and increase my speed slowly.
Before long I hear a thud on the roof and the scratching of nails mixed with curse words. I fake surprise as Mary's face appears on my windscreen, smugly thinking of all the oh so terrible things she'll do to me.
"Now you little prick! Let's see what your spleen looks like!"
"Sorry Mary is that you? My screens a little dirty."
I pull the switch by my wheel and Mary is bathed in sceenwash. She screams and flails around, punching the floor.
"What the hell is that?" She cries, I crush her under my tires before I tell her the secret.
My brother is a priest, and I get him to bless everything I own. | Steve had the perfect idea... he would chant “Bloody Mary” three times in his car’s side view mirror. It would be hilarious, he thought. He imagined her hopelessly sprinting toward the car trying to keep up with him and laughed himself silly. After he chanted the words into the mirror with a big smile, he heard a voice coming from the back seat behind him... “who’s laughing now, bitch!” Mary said, as she leaned forward and slit his throat. | 2018-10-01T13:49:23 | 2018-10-01T13:41:16 | 71 | 11 |
[WP] With as much confidence as you can muster, you plant your feet, gaze up at the sky, and cry out a simple command to the expanse above with all your might: “SHOW YOURSELF!!!” After a moment, a calm voice echos from the heavens in reply with a simple question: “Why?” | “SHOW YOURSELF!!!”
•••
Everyone told me I had to have faith.
Everyone told me that I simply had to believe.
Everyone said he works in mysterious ways.
I said, "Bullshit. Everything you've said amounts to God being on the same level as Santa Claus. No, on a *lower* level than Santa Claus because parents will go to ridiculous lengths to make sure their child believes in Santa. Making the miracles happen. Showing their children that Santa is real. Those parents will not lift a finger to help their child believe in God."
"You are not a child!" they rebuked me.
"Compared to what God is purported to be, I am his child, and he has done *nothing* to convince me that he is real."
"That's why it's called Faith," they remarked snidely.
"And what of William?" They froze. "Did William believe?" Oh, yes, he did. "Did he do everything in his power to save his family?" That and more. "And what happened then?" The church kicked him out when he had a screaming breakdown in the middle of services two weeks after losing his entire family. "Did you sanctimonious bastards try to help him?" No, they didn't. "Did you ever think that God expects you to put the same effort into helping people believe in God that you put into Santa?" Sacrilege was their answer. "Sacrilege. Christian charity to the same level as you would for a commercialized Saint is sacrilege? I'll tell you what I think of that!"
And I did without ever once using profanity, taking the Lord's name in vain, or raising my voice.
I got out of that church alive, with two black eyes swollen shut, a broken arm, a fat lip, a concussion, and bruises in places I didn't know I had.
There wasn't a mark on any of them, so why did I do 30 days in jail for assault? No one had an answer for that either. At least when I had the chance to speak with the judge, he had the grace to look embarrassed and away.
My apartment was re-let, and my property sold to pay that last month's rent. My car was impounded and sold for parts.
I went right back into that courthouse and filed multiple civil lawsuits against every stinking one of the bastards involved in this travesty and argued my cases so eloquently that I was awarded damages on top of court and legal fees, as well as the actual value of everything they took from me save one: the value of my faith, if not in God, then in the good nature of my fellow man.
I bought a motorcycle and minimal necessities and left.
They undoubtedly thought the same thing I was, "and good riddance!" I still think I got the better of that deal since I am free, and they are still stuck in that cesspit.
I toured a lot. Saw a lot more that made me sad. And finally found this place: a high rolling hill in the middle of a plain so broad that you can almost see the horizon. There isn't a sign of human habitation that you can see from here. I checked around quietly and found out who owned it. A quiet word with the owner, and I had permission to camp there indefinitely as long as I kept my camp clean. The owner even had a booklet on how to keep a clean camp according to his wishes. The purpose of my camping there was some soul searching and asking God for some answers.
Every Sunday, we would meet on that hill before dawn and watch the sunrise. It's magical. We would spend the entire day talking about anything as though it was the essential thing in the world. I told him what had happened to William and me. He shook his head in sorrow. We talked about what I did and how it made me feel, which was empty. Oh, there were those moments of triumph, but once the money was paid, all I wanted was to get away from there.
We talked about the future. What did I want to do? It kept circling back to that town. The people I knew there was decent folk. The silent ones suffering. The brash youth being led astray. The tough guys who weren't as tough as they thought led to mistakes.
I would go back. I would open a "place of worship," nondenominational, welcoming, helpful, and never judgemental. I did not care who you believed in, who you followed, or what you did so long as no one, not even yourself, was harmed. Come with an open ear, a warm heart, and a helping hand, and you will be welcome.
There was just one last thing I wanted.
I wanted some proof.
Thus, that heartfelt scream on the morning of my last day on the hill.
•••
After a moment, a calm voice echoes from the heavens in reply with a simple question: “Why?”
"Because faith is not enough."
We had every argument I had ever had over the nature of God and the validity of demanding faith as a sign of worthiness.
"Fine. If you are unwilling to support those who believe in you by making your presence and approval plain to all, then I will not profess your faith to anyone."
"Why?"
"Because I refuse to put myself in a position to be told I am no different than the charlatans who loudly profess your faith but refuse to provide proof. Nor will I support a God who lacks the courage to stand up and be recognized."
I'm trembling like a leaf on the inside, but I'm resolute, which carries the day.
"I will visibly support you, but I warn you that the result is your death at the hands of those who put you on this path. No, I cannot change that for you if I would not change it for my son."
•••
In the end, he was right. I was murdered by an assassin paid for by the council of faiths. The discovery of that was the death of every other church in the town save the one I started.
Never accept a faith that has at its core the demand that you do not ask for proof that it is legitimate. Yet do not turn away if the proof isn't flashy either.
((finis)) | # Soulmage
**After wringing answers from every oracle, after decrypting the messages our creators had written in the stars, after gathering my magic and fury to rise to the uppermost edge of the atmosphere, I knew the truth of this world.** There were gods, ancient, unfathomable, nigh-omnipotent, and they had built my planet and all the struggles and sorrows within. They had power enough to cease the centuries of strife over food and land and stupid, petty squabbles with a thought—and yet the gods sat, watching through their inscrutable intermediaries, letting us fight and suffer and die.
And for what?
That was what I needed to know. So, heedless of how unwise it was, I gathered the wild rebellion from my soul and sent it thunderclapping across the open plains, screaming a challenge across planes to any who listened.
"SHOW YOURSELF," I screamed, and my ears bled from the force of the spell.
One heartbeat passed, then two, as I forgave my burst eardrums, feeling them itch and regrow and heal.
And then the sky itself rumbled, a mechanical, all-encompassing voice returning my demand with one of their own.
"WHY?" The voice intoned, and it rolled from horizon to horizon.
Wind and fire swirled around me, leaking from my soul, and I took off into the air. I knew that the gods lived in a direction different from any I could reach, no matter how far I flew or how strange the spells I wove. To step Outside into the home of the gods would be like a dream stepping free from a slumbering infant's soul. But I flew anyway—because in motion, at least, I felt less helpless than before.
"Why? Why show yourself?" I laughed. "You should be the one answering that, not me. Because I did the math. The power you must hold, to write your little blueprints in the *stars themselves*? If you wanted to stay hidden, you could wipe out all life on this planet with a snap of your fingers. Assuming you even have fingers. But you went out of your way to leave your little hints in the sky, telling anyone who looked closely enough who was in charge of this universe and how to give them a call. Well, I followed your trail of breadcrumbs to its end, and that end is here. So tell me: why create this universe filled with so much pain and strife, go to such lengths to prove your omnipotence... and then... just let us suffer?"
The rushing winds fell silent as a god considered the question.
Then, from the sky and sea and the bones within me, the answer reverberated. "THE FALSE PREMISE OF ONE OF YOUR QUESTIONS ANSWERS THE OTHER. CONSIDER AN ANALOGY. YOU SEE A BEACON ON A STORMY SHORE, GUIDING ALL SHIPS WHO SEE IT TO SAFE HARBOR. IS THE TOWER'S CONSTRUCTION A MONUMENT OF HUBRIS, MEANT TO DECLARE THE SUPREMACY OF ITS BUILDERS? OR IS IT AN ACT OF GUIDANCE?"
"Fine, let's say I buy your story, and writing your name in the stars wasn't the biggest cosmic dick-measuring contest in the history of the universe. I'm *here*. I'm waiting for your *guidance*. But you've been watching our world for centuries and only dispensing a handful of hints here and there as to how we can avoid our own destruction—clearly, you're not interested in getting off your divine ass and helping anyone yourselves."
"WE ACT IN OUR OWN INTEREST. THERE ARE QUESTIONS WHICH WE REQUIRE ANSWERED. KNOWLEDGE THAT OUR OWN MINDS ARE TOO FEW TO CALCULATE."
"So go get yourself an abacus, asshole."
"WHAT, EXACTLY, DO YOU THINK YOUR UNIVERSE IS?"
I froze mid-rant.
"OUR GUIDANCE HAS BEEN TOWARDS DEVELOPING YOUR SOCIETY TOWARDS THE PURSUIT OF KNOWLEDGE," the deity explained. "IN ORDER TO ANSWER THE QUESTIONS WE COULD NOT, WE SEARCHED THIS UNIVERSE FOR BEINGS IN WHICH WE COULD FOSTER GREATER CURIOSITY AND INTELLECT THAN OUR OWN."
"But *why*?" I hissed. "What question do you so desperately need answered?"
"THAT, TOO, IS A QUESTION YOU MUST ANSWER FOR YOURSELF." The winds began to fade, and I sensed the divine presence receding.
"No. *No.* Wait. You can't just leave me like this. *Why are you leaving me?*"
"TO FOSTER IN YOU GREATER CURIOSITY AND INTELLECT THAN OUR OWN," the god repeated.
And with that, the divine presence faded to nothing.
I hovered in the air, my magic a vortex around me, jaw clenched, teeth grinding.
Then I let out a wordless, primal shriek of fury that even the gods would hear.
A.N.
This story is part of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out the rest of the series [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=confidence), or r/bubblewriters for more! | 2022-10-19T00:07:49 | 2022-10-18T21:29:38 | 61 | 43 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | "Death, my existence has turned into suffering," I said. "My very bones ache, my skin is weathered. My body became nothing but a green leaf shriveling in autumn's time."
Death chuckled like a five year old, hiting his ball joint as he crouched slightly. "Immortality, a game only a few can play Darren," he said. "If you please, I can end your suffering with a single swing of my scythe."
I grabbed him by the clavicle, "Death, I have something to confess."
He cocked his skull, "are you afraid of the pain my scythe will provoke to your soul?"
I shook my head, "no, it's much worse."
He clinked his fingers against his mandible, as if thinking. "Are you afraid of Hell? You know it doesn't exist, right?"
"I'm not afraid of those mundane things Death, I'm not afraid at all," I said, locking my gaze in his hollowness. "I love you Death."
He hesitated, words dying on his trachea. "Y-you lo-love me?" he stammered.
I nodded, "as deeply as the void of your existence."
"Darren, I swear, together we can make eternity bareable," Death said with a grin and hugged me.
I burst into laughter, "did you believe me, you pervert? What is this called, humanphilia?"
Death hesitated once again, "what are you implying Darren? You weren't lying I smelled the scent of your soul, it was pure!"
"Death, it's been 50000 years. I know all your secrets, maybe you should learn what April fools day is," I said and patted his spine. "You are weird old friend but you blessed me. I will be in Bora Bora if you need anything."
"Motherf—"
-------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall for more not so great stories | A shadow looms over me, its anger palpable in the morning mist. I don’t need to turn to know who it is. “Death.”
The figure inclines slightly, a bare ghost of a bow. I smile, and say, “Our deal holds, my friend. How many times is it, now?” A piercing screech echoes from behind a locked door, ringing against the cold metal walls. I can’t help but smile - after all, if I haven’t checked the tally today, I never will. “Thank you, my good man. I’ll see you soon.”
I turn back around and blink. What was I doing? What are all these papers, and why are they in a hole? What could even dig through that much steel? I reach down and start to sift through the pages, and as I realize what they mean, my smile grows. “I’m going to live forever!” | 2017-11-29T12:47:04 | 2017-11-28T13:19:24 | 149 | 16 |
[WP] Like many, you accrued colossal student debt as you studied to be a wizard. Like many, you planned to evade payment by putting your newly-gained knowledge of the arcane to use. Like many, you underestimated the Collectors. | I was 28 and thought I was slicker than owl shit.
*CRACK*
There were four of us, I’ve forgotten their names. Simon? Olivia? I vaguely remember one of us not being human. Why does the name Penny sound familiar?
*SCRAPE*
Anyway, the four of us were so god damn cocky. We, naturally, knew the spells we learned in school wouldn’t help us avoid our loans.
Of course, the loans were for time, not money. Ten years to the cause, whatever that was.
Loans. What a weird concept when magic felt as pure as good cocaine and was cheaper than the air spoke casting it.
We had to find deeper magic.
*CRACK*
I remember the smell of sulfur the best. The feeling of heat radiating off my skin and meeting the air, thick as soup with electricity, a close second in my mind. The arousal in my jeans and the sweat on my chest rounded out my physical memories.
I can’t remember what it sounded like, though.
*SHUFFLE*
Time magic is older than sin. Really. It’s even older than blood magic. All those runes and guttural incantations, they all predate written word. The number of oral accounts from shamans, mystics, and disgusting halflings were just close enough.
Honestly, I can’t believe we even pulled it off.
So close.
*CRACK*
We had to shift a few infinity dimensions to the left, something close to the original. The mass of our bodies trading with an equal amount from the new dimension, plus extra for going back a decade. Everything has a cost, why wouldn’t magic?
When we landed, it smelled different, the sulfur replaced with lilacs of all things.
I don’t know who the mass we traded came from. I hope they didn’t feel anything.
*SCRAPE*
I remember seeing pictures of the Collectors in books during school. Bored wood-prints, mostly. Margin-drawn doodles by ancient monks otherwise. I knew they were older than magic, enforcers of a million spoken and unspoken laws of our realm.
I didn’t expect them to be so ugly in real life though.
*CRACK*
They were waiting for us. Black knots of tentacles for mouths, burning coal-like red eyes, and long robes of silky gray cloth. Taller than us by a meter. Abominations.
They touched us, and the sulfur smell came right back at light speed.
*SHUFFLE*
Now I slave here. My lifetime increased an unnatural hundreds of folds. Penance, you see. I welched on my debt. We took lives, I don’t know how many, in our effort to run.
I break rocks.
*CRACK*
The oily black stone sparks when it’s broken, and roars when thrown into the fires. They took us to the Center Dimension. It’s where magic comes from. We destroy these rocks, and others can cast spells, in infinite worlds. Everything has a cost, right?
My cost was a millennium.
I think my name was Penny.
*SCRAPE* | "Direct hit!" I cried out triumphantly, after the deafening roar of the meteorite shower died down. The entire neighborhood had been erased, leaving nothing but mounds of dirt where homes had once been. Once the dust settled down, there'd be three miles of absolutely nothing in every direction. A small price to pay to be rid of my hated enemy.
"Good hit, sir!" Called out a disarmingly friendly voice. Mr. Grinning stood before me, smiling as he brushed off the dust and dirt from his suit, hardly noticing the smoke emanating from it. "How fortunate I had a sudden urge to temporarily dissipate from this reality. Woof, that was a close one, w'dinnit?"
"You *bastard!*" I hissed in disgust. "How did you get past the landmines?"
"Oh, those were cleverly hidden, sir. But I make it a point to reduce my body's mass before stepping onto someone's private property. Can't set 'em off if you're too light, aye?"
"And the flamethrowers?"
"Oh, those were good too! Most people place them horizontally along the walls. Having them fire from the ceiling was a wicked touch! Lucky for me, I always keep an umbrella handy."
"What about the wolf-men? They should have torn you apart!"
"May I suggest next time investing in actual werewolves? Wolf-men can be constrained with a nice cut of steak. Werewolves are far more relentless."
"Hire *werewolves*? The nerve of you! I'm obviously having budgeting issues thanks to you people!"
"Well, sir, they *do* say don't go off to Uni unless you can afford to pay."
"I've been paying since the Spanish Civil war! What's the point of immortality if I'm eternally in debt?"
"Have you considered investing in gamestop?"
"I won't dignify that with an answer."
"Hmmm. Well, same time next month?"
"I'll have your head yet, you smug bastard!"
"Keep trying sir, you'll get there eventually." | 2021-02-03T14:05:36 | 2021-02-03T13:28:27 | 16 | 10 |
[WP]: No other intelligent, spacefaring life form knows the concept of sunk cost fallacy. For most of them, wars can be ended simply by presenting their capability for further war, and the weaker one yields. Humans, however, will take anyone on out of pure spite. | "...I'm sorry, what?"
"Well, maybe I didn't phrase it right. The humans seem to be indicating that... they refuse to surrender."
Thrôg'nåk pointed all 5 of his ocular sensors at his second-in-command Grīm'tår with a look of sheer disbelief.
"Did you explain to them how many ships we have in our fleet? They must surely know that they can't take on 1000 of our battle cruisers with only 230 of their scout ships left."
"Yes, they just said '4 on 1? Guess it'll be a fair fight then'"
If Thrôg'nåk had a jaw, it would've dropped to the floor.
"And did you explain how, after running countless simulations, we have determined that they simply do not yet have the technology required to penetrate our energy shields?"
"Yes, and again they responded flippantly, saying 'Yeah...*yet*'"
Thrôg'nåk nearly fell off his chair in shock. He did a decuple-take with his ocular sensors in order to convey his enormous level of astonishment to Grīm'tår accurately.
"A-and did you explain how our mothership, with its arsenal of pseudo-nova bombs, could reduce their planet to rubble in less than 5 seconds?"
"Yes I did, they replied 'That's 4 seconds longer than it'll take us to whoop your triple-cheeked alien buttocks'"
This time Thrôg'nåk really did fall off his chair, splaying all his tentacles out around him and spinning his ocular sensors around in their sockets in order to convey precisely the amount of incredulity he was currently feeling.
"But this makes no sense. Their chances of winning are so infinitesimally small, as a rational species why do they not see that their only option is surrender? Unless..."
He paused. Slowly, he clambered his way back into his chair and dangled exactly half his tentacles off the edge of the seat, while posing the rest in order to appear thoughtful.
"Grīm'tår, I think we are mistaking something here."
"What do you mean, my liege?" responded Grīm'tår, who admired the captain for keeping a calm demeanor and not overreacting to this unexpected situation.
"It is a given that a rational, intelligent species would be able to fully recognize when they cannot win a fight, yes?"
"Indeed my liege."
"And is it not also a given that a rational, intelligent species would understand that surrender is the best way to minimize loss of life in such a scenario, yes?"
"This, as well, is true my liege."
"So then, logically, there is only one conclusion we can come to here. It seems that the humans... have a secret weapon!"
At these words, Grīm'tår leaped from his seat and started ricocheting off of the sides of the cockpit, gradually gaining speed until he was going so fast he looked like a spirograph. As suddenly as he had started, he returned to his seat and stopped jumping around, though he fashioned his tentacles into the perfect pose to represent the full scope of the bewilderment he was experiencing.
"Your reasoning is sound! We must recalculate the simulations!"
"QUAMPUTER!!" Thrôg'nåk screamed out into the corridor, "RUN SIMULATIONS TO CALCULATE OUR ODDS OF WINNING IF THE HUMANS HAVE A SECRET WEAPON THAT CAN DESTROY OUR MOTHERSHIP IN LESS THAN A SECOND!!"
From the other end of the hallway, a furious whirring sound could be heard. Then, after a couple seconds, an automatic voice responded, "Simulations ran: 678,357,863,582. Simulations where the outcome was a win for the Humans: 678,357,863,504. Simulations where outcome was a win for the Flån'jür: 78. Total chances of winning calculated to be less than 0.000000012%"
At this, not even the captain could keep his cool. Both he and Grīm'tår were bouncing around the cabin like electrons around a nucleus. Once they had both significantly decreased their velocity and were back in their chairs, Thrôg'nåk looked at Grīm'tår solemnly and said, "This time, it seems we must retreat. Notify the fleet, I'll fire up the warp drives and set our destination coordinates."
"At once, Captain!" Grīm'tår replied. He knew how much his captain desired galactic conquest, and how devastating a blow this was for them to be forced to flee. He silently vowed that no matter what, even if the captain were to one day give up his ambitions, he would one day return, and get his revenge for the shame they had felt on this day.
...
...
[*Planet earth, military award ceremony in the Global Union World Capital, Cincinnati, OH*]
"It is my great honor, and pleasure, to present the Ultraviolet heart to Commander Brock Hankle, for his achievements in the war against the alien invasion of the Flån'jür."
A man who seemed to fit his name very well lumbered onto the stage and came to a stop next to the podium and speaker. The speaker, who was already standing on a raised stepstool, had to stand tiptoe in order to place the medal on him. A thunderous applause came from the crowd of thousands who had shown up in order to celebrate the miraculous defeat of their extraterrestrial enemy.
When the tumultuous cheers had died down (which took several minutes), the speaker resumed his position at the microphone.
"Now Mr. Hankle, I am not a gambling man. But I would be very confident in saying that every person here today is truly thankful for the way in which you nearly single-handedly caused the Flån'jür to retreat. I am also just as confident that we all wish to know more. So I believe I speak for everyone here when I ask you; how exactly did you manage to drive them away? What did you say that caused them to run for their lives?"
At this, the crowd fell dead silent. People were on the edges of their seats, staring intently at the image of Commander Brock Hankle on the giant screens that were displaying the live feed to those who could not see the stage. The only sound that could be heard was a baby far in the back crying because it was hungry. They watched with bated breath as their hero leaned into the microphone and opened his mouth to speak.
"You wanna know what I said?" a deep voice boomed out of the stereo speakers with great force, almost feeling as though it were causing the very ground they stood on to shake. Up on the screens, a little smirk could be seen emerging on Brock Hankle's face as he got even closer to the microphone, lips nearly brushing against it. Then, after what seemed like ages, he said in a quieter, even lower voice than before that seemed to shake people down to their very bones,
"I told them to f*** off" | The red dust of the Martian surface began to clear, and the truth was made evident: the humans had lost.
General Zin to his Martian brother, a somber look on his face. It was not meant to come to this. Peace was all they ever wanted; the humans could have learned much from them. And yet.
“How many of their troops remain?” Zin asked.
“Less than forty percent,” Kohn answered. Curved green characters danced across a black screen in front of him, accompanied by various beeps and hums.
Zin nodded. “It is done, then. An unfortunate loss of life, but a necessary one. Prepare to send word to the humans, let them know—“
“Uh, sir,” Kohn interrupted, pointing to the console. “They appear to be advancing.”
Zin’s scaled brow furrowed, a nervous hiss sounding in is throat. “That’s not possible. They’ve yet to take out a single one of our ships. Your equipment must be wrong.”
Kohn tapped the screen, shaking his head. “It doesn’t appear to be, sir. The humans are—“
A sudden collision rocked the ship, nearly sending the men to their knees. Zin’s four legs spread to a wide stance, keeping him steady as the shipped regained its posture.
“Damage?” he asked.
“Superficial,” Kohn answered. “Their weapons remain ineffective.”
Zin stepped to the window of his ship, a single layer of blue plasma stretched across its face. He could see burning piles of metal spread across the surface—the remnants of the human army—while his fleet remained high above the surface, hovering, unmoved.
From within the plumes of smoke several gray and tan vehicles roared across the surface, their oddly flat edges fighting against the Martian wind. Humans hung from the sides of their impractical vessels, aiming useless weapons upward at the fleet. Flashes of red shot forth, upward, doing little more than lighting up the air around them.
“Send word to the human leader,” Zin said. “Tell him I wish to meet to discuss their terms of surrender.”
Kohn nodded. “As you wish, sir.”
Several moments passed before the human assault came to a halt, the few remaining vehicles lined up behind a row of colorfully-suited humans. A message returned, one of reluctant agreement, and Zin made his way to the surface.
A small circular device on Zin’s lapel allowed his words to be translated to their language. He hated the sound it made—their words were rudimentary, ugly. Lacking all nuance of the Martian lexicon. But they would have to do.
A man stepped forward, his suit hissing and whirring as he moved. Zin approached, moving fluidly along the sand.
“Are you the leader of this force?” Zin asked, trying to hide his discomfort at the words coming from his translator.
“Admiral Jackson,” the man said. He stood straight as a board, though even with the added height of his suit, he fell well short of Zin’s height. “I’m prepared to accept your surrender.”
Zin blinked. “I’m afraid our message must not have been translated properly,” he said, silently cursing his underling for his failure. “You have lost this battle. It is you who is meant to surrender.”
The admiral raised an open palm to the air, prompting several of the humans behind him to raise their weapons in Zin’s direction.
“I’ve lost nothing as long as I’m still breathing,” he said.
Zin scanned the line of soldiers, perplexed by their actions. “Your forces have been reduced by more than half. I have suffered no losses. If this battle continues, you will all be destroyed. You must surrender. There is no other end to this.”
“We don’t surrender.”
Zin tapped the translator on his lapel, wondering for a moment if his words were not coming through clearly. Their forces could not win this battle. It was impossible. So why did this man refuse so?
“But this is the way of war,” Zin said. “You cannot win. Surrender. Survive. And we can begin our assimilation. There is much we can teach you about—“
“Like I said,” Jackson reiterated, “We don’t surrender.” His hand still held in the air, he curled his fingers into a fist.
And the soldiers behind him opened fire.
Each beam of red collided with the invisible field around Zin, disappearing with a flash of blue sparks. The hexagonal field lit up as each blast collided, though none came close to piercing it.
“This makes no sense,” Zin said, raising his voice to be heard over the sound of gunfire. “You have lost. Why do you still—“
The admiral lunged forward, pulling a small black blade from his belt. Zin dodged his advance with ease, still in awe at the sight. Again the admiral lunged, swiping and slashing at the air as Zin moved freely around him.
A buzz sounded in Zin’s ear, followed by a transmission from the fleet above.
“General, what do you want us to do?”
As the admiral dashed forward, Zin reached out with a long, curled hand, snatching the man around his neck. The knife fell to the sand without a sound, while Admiral Jackson swatted at Zin’s arm with gloved hands.
“It seems the humans no nothing of war,” Zin said, fighting his grip. The admiral’s attacks grew weaker, his fragile body failing with each passing second. With a quick flick of his wrist, Zin watched the man go limp. And then he tossed his body aside and turned back toward the shuttle that brought him to the surface.
“They wish to be destroyed,” Zin relayed to the fleet. “So be it.”
>More nonsense at r/Ford9863 | 2021-01-18T22:32:57 | 2021-01-18T19:47:06 | 390 | 178 |
[WP] Your life long ally left you for dead in order to take credit for defeating the world’s greatest evil. Left with nothing but your thoughts and a growing puddle of your own blood, you hear a voice calling out to you; offering a second chance, for a price....... | We were supposed to be better than this.
We'd met on the field of battle, pawns of other men. We slaughtered in the name of those men and formed a bond of brotherhood, a pact of steel that was our only defense against the horrors that'd we'd seen, that we'd committed. We slowly climbed the ranks, at first nudging our squads to be better, to show restraint and mercy. We steered battalions away from innocent farmsteads, we commanded armies to force surrenders, and we persuaded kingdoms to sue for peace. And when those battles had been won, we turned our eyes to the true menace to the north, the one spoken of in whispers of dying men as it took them.
The Shadow.
We had seen glimmers of it before, in our constant warring. Amidst the blood and carnage and horror of it all, the Shadow passed between men, their eyes turning black as they butchered their enemies - or their allies. We knew it was a foe only the strong could face, so we marched alone, just he and I. Into the mountains we sought the monster, into the cold and dark depths of its lair. We cornered it like a rat, but it was ferocious and otherworldly, its minions occupying our attention while it scored us from without and within.
We were not strong enough. I watched my brother fall, overwhelmed. I beat the Shadow back, I threw my shield up to defend us both. A pitiful last stand, but one I would have been proud to make...
I watch my brother now as he seals the cavern off, the last of his strength dragging the boulder across the entrance. I feel his knife in my back, the hilt forcing me to lay to the side, lest I push it further in. My blood is warm as it flows from my back - by the time it reaches my fingers, it is cold, clammy, and thick.
We were supposed to be better than this.
*Better than what...*
There is no light. There is no sound, save for the scraping of my armor against the stone of the cavern floor. I cannot remember where the Shadow is. My sword lies near my foot - I hear it clatter, knocked further away as I struggle to get to my feet.
*It is in your nature...*
We both knew it was a losing fight. We'd heard the tales of the Shadow's strength, that no man could face it without sacrificing everything. Was I the sacrifice, then? While I held the beast's attention, my brother sealed it away, to rot in the darkness forever. The price to pay for a better world.
*A small comfort to you, now...*
I try to roll over, to get my arms under me. My shield it too large, unwieldy in my current position. I grasp weakly at the leather straps, unbinding it from my arm. The Shadow has yet to strike me down - perhaps it is amused at my failure, my inability to see the obvious.
*It is the way of men to fail...*
Did my brother weep for me? Would he survive the journey back down the mountain, with no one to look out for him as I did? His face is etched in my mind, the determination and sorrow etched into his features as he plunged the knife into my side. His eyes black.
*Darkness resides in all men...*
The Shadow has yet to strike me down... is it here with me? It is a ferocious and otherworldly thing - it would not hesitate to claim my life. I feel out for the wall of the cavern, my fingers finding purchase in porous rock. I flare my strength, hauling myself to my feet.
*No monster is more fearsome than the one inside...*
My brother carries the Shadow in him. He carries it down the mountain, down to the valleys and farmlands and kingdoms below. The Shadow will infect them, drive them to madness. I cannot let him return, let him spread that evil. I must stop him.
*Let me show you...*
My eyes can see now, the darkness a paltry veil to me. I can see the passage, the edges of the entrance meeting the boulder. I take a step forward, and I feel my flesh pinch. The knife.
*Embrace your humanity...*
I draw the knife free, the blade cold to the touch, the blood on it dry. I look for my sword, but it has vanished from my view. It will be hard to kill him with a knife - but he is weak, weary from the battle. Even with the Shadow's help, he will not win.
*Show him you are better...*
My brother will die, and the Shadow with him. A small price to pay for a better world. | My life poured out of me in lazy rivulets, pulling me closer to death, one ounce at a time. The fight against the terrible beast had taken almost everything out of me, it's giant fists and smaller teeth had beaten and ripped me, but I'd dodged what I could and absorbed what I couldn't. His blasphemous magic burned ad's froze me. But with the final dive of my blessed broadsword, he fell, cursing the gods and all of their worshippers, my partner and I last of all. His gnarled hand pointed a bony finger at him, then me, before it fell lifeless to the ground.
A silence fell over the black palace, and I soaked in our victory. The gods had been with us, and we had stood true, and our devotion and resilience had paid...
A dagger slid cleanly between my shoulder blades, Abd a white hot pain radiated through my body. I gasped and fell to my knees, and as I did, my partner, also bloody and beaten, walked from behind me, wiping his hands with a scrap of cloth.
"Shame I couldn't save you," he said in a haughty voice, "the beast was just too strong...for you. But don't worry, friend, I avenged you. Took his life and ended his reign of terror." He leaned in close as the world started to dim, "Don't worry, I'll take care of Sarah for you."
He pushed me over and I fell onto my side, the dagger between my shoulder blades knocking hollowly on the stone floor. I heard his footfalls recede out from the hall where we'd fought the beast, and then was gone, leaving me to die with a blade in my back.
As the world around me slowly lost its color, I thought of Sarah, my wife. She was the loveliest woman I'd ever seen, kind and gentle, and when she agreed to marry me, I knew then that I had been blessed by the gods. My sweet Sarah, my whole world, soon to be devoured by the hands of a liar and a villain
"It doesn't have to be that way," a voice snaked out from the shadows.
I opened my mouth to speak, but there was no strength to speak them.
A ghostly figure moved in the shadows and said, "You can stop him. You can protect your Sarah."
The figure moved out from the shadows and, though I did not recognize the face, I knew who it was. The beast. The terror we had stopped.
"Take my hand, and I can give you the power to stop him, to make him pay for what he's done."
I struggled to say no, but those words weren't there. The only things left in me were the assurance of death and the treachery of my comrade.
"Take my hand, and you can live. And repay."
With the last of my strength, my left hand opened, Abd the figure took it in his own. It was like holding onto smoke. My eyes slipped closed, there was black for a moment, and then slowly, life. Strength poured into my and I stood in unsteady legs. I reached up and behind me, and pulled the dagger from my shoulder blades. I breathed in deep, and what once was stagnant, bitter air, was sweet now. I saw everything clearly. Power coursed through me. I walked up to the dead beast and tried to pull my sword out, but it burned to the touch. No matter, there were plenty of weapons, and immeasurable power at my fingertips. I had no need for the gods and their blessings. I had revenge. | 2018-10-25T20:14:58 | 2018-10-25T19:58:54 | 75 | 10 |
[WP] You are an alien in a thriving galactic society. At the center of society, is the beloved and wise humans, who rule this galaxy. But you’ve learned a terrible truth. Humans learned early on that they were the only intelligent life, so they created all other races out of fear of being alone. | We were taught that Humans came first. That they cracked the secrets of the arcane and through sheer determination propelled themselves through the stars to find us. Showering us and countless others in their benevolent wisdom, they took their rightful place as our cultural leaders.
You’ve heard this tale a thousand times. It’s one the Republic would teach one and all. Nothing but a self serving lie, fabricated to win our trust and hide their shame. You want the truth? Then by all means keep reading.
The truth is complicated. It’s messy and incomplete, and I think we’re better off not knowing. I think it would be easier if we all stopped now and never looked back. Burn the documents, wipe the drives, keep our tenuous grasp on reality firmly rooted in the idea that we were enlightened by a graceful savior.
But easy is not best. To live in peaceful ignorance is not worth not knowing. Don’t we deserve to know our history? Our real history, how the Humans were involved long before they ‘found’ us all those decades ago?
Because that’s just it. That *is* the truth, that they didn’t find us. They didn’t come in search of a people needing their guidance, their pity. They *created* us.
It’s no lie that the Humans are fiercely intelligent, nor that they care for us. For I have no doubt that in some sick twisted way they care for us just as much as we are led to believe. Not as fellow men and women, not as equals. But as a parent to their children.
They seeded life throughout our galaxy, and waited. And waited. And waited. Until eventually, nobody knew what they had done. Generations passed, factions rose and fell and rose once more. And so they discovered us once again, unaware of the role they played in our very existence. Their bastard children, left alone in a cold and unfeeling universe.
The worst part is, perhaps, that they didn’t know. They truly did not know of our existence. They wholeheartedly believed that they saved entire worlds through sheer happenstance. Even I couldn’t blame them then, if their strife lead to such ignorance.
But they learned. They found the derelict remains of their own vessels, centuries past their prime. They reverse engineered their own ancient technology and uncovered the truth. Went through so much time and effort, only to cover it up once more.
*That* is their crime. *That* is the unforgivable truth of it all. I can forgive ignorance, honest mistakes, even barefaced malice, but I cannot forgive the cowards that would hide the truth to preserve their own reputation.
And the worst of it all, the worst part of this entire situation, is that nobody would blame them. I don’t care that my gods didn’t put me here. I don’t care that the Humans have power and status I don’t. I care that they were so afraid of being alone that they created literally everyone else in the known galaxy, but they were to cowardly to just say *‘I’m sorry I wasn’t there.’*
So that’s it. You know the truth. What’s done with this information, I frankly don’t care. I’m no revolutionary. I don’t even know if anyone will believe me. But tell me, please. What bothered you more? Humans creating us, or acting like they didn’t? | Since no one wrote something, I'll do what I can.
Grouku looked at the documents he held in front of him. He had taken this from an ancient place, forgotten by all living beeings. Apparently what he was holding was called a book. It wasn't easy to understand what was contained in this so called book. The people who spoke the dead language in which it was written were few, and even less were willing to teach it. After months of training he was finally able to read well enough and his Journey began. At first he tought it was a work if fiction, a fantasy and old myth placed in a world created by someones imagination. It narrated of a world called Earth. A planet far far away inhabited by the very wise humans. They were different tough, they didn't live forever, they used ancient machinery some of which were unknown to Grouku and they often made mistakes. He was surprised and deluded, during his Journey he had come to believe that this book contained some sort of secret, a lost chapter of the Empires story. But what he found was a Fairy take nothing more. What he found most peculiar was the absence of the other races. Maybe the author was an alienist? The more he read the stronger he felt like there was something he was missing, a detail, a hidden message. He read and read, page after page, following the progress of the humans, as they discovered nuclear fusion ad they bio engineered themselves as they started creating life. The Borgaz the bays the tuyas and so on, and so on. Some had 3 legs some had 2 heads and tentacles too, some had wings and 3 hearts. The revelation struck hard and Struck fast, Groukus 3 hearts skipped a beat and he shook his great wings, unable to believe what he saw written before him. And so you know said a voice behind him. I knew this day would come, in a way or another. I just had hoped it wouldn't be so soon. Grouku looked behind him but no beeing was there, the voice tough was unmistakingly human. Why? Why did you do this? The Human replied.
And now why doesn't someone else continue? :-) Let's see what the human replied or if he replied at all | 2021-07-08T05:20:10 | 2021-07-08T03:50:28 | 84 | 12 |
[WP] “…and that class is why Humans are considered the most peaceful species in the universe.” The only three humans in class looked at each other horrified. All the facts about humans that the aliens had were wrong. One student slowly raises their hand. | "Not much is known about modern Earth history due to the United Human Federation's radically forward-facing outlook with regards to interspecies diplomacy" the professor remarked. "However by looking at homosapien evolution and biology we can deduce that they are perhaps the most peaceful and caring species the galactic community has encountered thusfar" she turned to gesture to a holographic display of a human brain, large regions of which were highlighted with a florescent glow. "As can be seen here, the majority of a human brain is actually dedicated toward social functions" - this information caused a tide of murmuring and chitter in the audience.
The galactic community had previously been composed of almost exclusively hyper-intelligent lone predators, who eventually, through cold logic and deliberation, came to cooperate with one another and build societies, and civilization.
"Incredibly, the human species has cooperation built into their very biology! Humans exhibit an ability which they refer to as 'empathy', unseen in any species observed to date. This ability allows humans to indirectly connect their experience to other creatures, and studies have shown that doing so allows an almost first hand insight into the nature of another creature's experience, even without direct communication." - by now the crowd was in an uproar of disbelief. None of them could believe what they were hearing, the humans seemed to possess an almost godlike capacity - to sense and *feel* another creature's soul. Surely they were angels! Surely they were each of them saints!
The professor motioned to the audience to be silent, and after a few seconds the uproar had died down to a persistent excited murmur.
"It should be clear now to everyone present that these traits would create a species more kind and considerate than even the most adept diplomat of any other known species. After all, how could a species who, ever since their conception, have borne the abilities that humans have, ever commit an act of undue harm? How could they ever abide the suffering of another, knowing directly how they must feel? I thereby conclude that despite a lack of intimate knowledge of the humans history that we should support their integration into the Galactic Council." the professor concluded, to thunderous applause.
The few human emissaries that had been allowed to attend the talk watched in stunned silence. The professor wasn't wrong. Not one thing that she had posited had been untrue. Despite that, the conclusion she had reached was shamefully, disappointingly, far from the truth. Perhaps the Federation had made the right decision in obscuring its past, perhaps someday we would live up to the galaxy's preception of us. The human emissaries held this hope dearly in their hearts. It was all they could do to ward off the weight of their guilt. | The teacher was hesitant to call out to the student that raised his hand, but seeing as the whole class stared at the human that raised his hand the teacher realised that it wouldn't be possible to ignore him. "Y-yes, mister Thomson?" the teacher finally said. Thomson spoke slowly, carfully choosing his words. "When you started this lecture with the notion that humans were considered one of the most peaceful races in the galaxy. This is because, knowing what the human species has done in it's past, the notion that most other species are more violent, corrupt and twisted is horrifying. Thankfully, it seems that the facts here are wrong." The teacher was shocked and sat down and after a long pause finally asked "How so?" Thompson contemplated for a bit before talking again "Well, for starters, the statement that humans had just one big conflict is wrong. Even discounting the ones that happened on Earth, our planet of origin and not Pla-0783 another fact that you got wrong, we have had more than a dozen. Humans have almost driven themselves to extinction more times than any other species here conbined if I go with the data that is publicly available."
A student in the back carefully asked "Wh-what happened to Earth?" Another human named Chelsie answered "Well... there were... many reasons, but the short of it is that humanity has been slowly draining the planet of it resources, polluted which devastated the climate enough to wipe out humanity on it's own. And if that wasn't enough, a big war broke out to accelerate the process even more. In just three years, the Earth became unlivable and humanity was almost fully wiped out along with almost every other Earth species." | 2022-10-17T04:46:52 | 2022-10-17T04:10:54 | 374 | 103 |
[WP]All the other heroes fighting the super villain have clever quips, quirky powers, and hilarious sidekicks. You'll have none of that nonsense, going in brutally and efficiently. Now everyone is complaining that you're ruining the fun. | Most heroes fly around in shiny neon-coloured spandex, having banter with their villains, some even having romantic relationships with them. They heroically save the day against cartoonishly insane supervillains, seductive and intriguing master thieves, and of course the various nemeses who swear that next time they'll get them and their little dog to. And then they're showered in medals for saving the city, with their kid sidekicks at their side.
Of course, this is after they've destroyed half of it in a showy battle with whoever attacked it. It's not talked much about, as the fanatic fans of the heroes single out and attack the people who point it out, but the leading course of death in America today, is superheroes. When the big strong heroic leagues and guilds challenge the latest tin-pot space tyrant in the vicinity of our Solar System, how many people die in the aftermath? Millions.
I went into the business desiring to reform it. To do away with the arrogant heroics of the past, to save the most people possible in the most efficient method as physically possible. I started out how a lot of heroes do, stopping muggers, rapists, drug dealers, your basic low-level scum. But when I got my first real battle against a real villain, some food calling himself the GigaGod, I didn't let him harm anyone. My battle with him was over in an instant. I am a magic user, and I used a spell to freeze his heart within a small block of ice. It's not instant magical heart attack, but it'll do the trick. Zero fatalities beyond the dead villain, and honestly nobody was really grieving for somebody who had the theme of forcing people to worship him.
At first it wasn't a big deal. But when I killed the second actual villain, one of the C-listers for Colonel Command, I actually got flak. The Blooddrowned wasn't loved by anyone, since he was well known for drowning entire families at a time. And when the Colonel, flanked by War Huntress and the Caped Demon came to call on me, I was a little surprised. Even more so when they complained about how I shouldn't kill people, about the sanctity of life, and the importance of being a good example.
It was very hypocritical. That villain had killed some three dozen people, and he had been just put in an asylum from where he, and pretty much all of the villains, escaped from daily. I wasn't happy. And when I killed a D-lister who used children as drug-mules, I actually got called by the entire flipping Justice Army Command. They told me that I was going into villain territory, that they had a duty to do the right thing, and no killing. They withdrew my membership on a temporary base, until I had learned my lesson. Something I decided I wasn't going to do.
I had originally gone for a more down-played and simple uniform, grey robe of a mage, hooded, and masked, nothing flashy. After that meeting, I went full on incognito. Black robe, no voice, no talking, no small jobs. Long range spells designed to kill allowed me to take down villains left and right. I wanted to enforce peace, not be a loved hero. I didn't become a hero for the parades, the medals, or meeting the president. I became a hero to save people. And if I had to save people from the overly enthusiastic heroes, and the villains that they depended upon to fight, so be it.
Using magic, I created a person sized homunculus in my image, perfect recreation, and left it to burn in a car wreck. Faking my death. With my secret identity and heroic persona dead, I took a new moniker; The Phantom Retribution. And I cast out many murderous villains. Filthy, vile people. Those who used advanced lobotomies to create slaves without any free will, who were still capable of doing day-to-day self care. Those who made new drugs, and peddled out the old ones. Everywhere I went, I killed silently, and efficiently. The heroes knew not what to do about me at first. Especially when they dragged down an easily avoidable battle with Cambinus, the knight of the Black Star, who had been drawn to Earth by the meddling of heroes. His attack, provoked by a hero infiltrating his fortress and accidentally managing to kill his wife, devastated Dallas. 1.1 million of the 1.3 million inhabitants died. I flew in on wings made from magic manifested, past the ruined cityscape where police and national guard were being overrun by the Black Star armies as the heroes focused their attacks on the knight. I simply teleported his brain into the sun.
Afterwards, I stayed to take down the now demoralised armies, giving mercy to those who surrendered, and ending those who would fight to the bitter end. During the clean up, after I had used magic to dig a tunnel down into a celler that had been blocked by a collapsed house, a microphone was thrusted into my face by some intrepid reporter type.
''*So, can you tell our viewers a bit about yourself, Retribution?*'' I stared at her from behind the void-veil made of stars hiding my face. I knew their types, always interested in getting a hero as their private matter. ''**This battle came about because of a careless hero interfering with a foreign power. Had Soul Sailor not killed the wife of Cambinus, this attack would have never happened. I care nothing for these so-called heroes. Murderers of millions, I consider them to be.**'' And with that, I teleported to my sanctum.
I keep no electric devices, too trackable, so I didn't know before Colonel Command came to me. Angry. And the Colonel is not a man known for his soft temper. ''*I don't know who you think you are, Phantom. Do you even know what you've done? You're ruining the fun for all of us.*'' He threw a newspaper at me, which was surprising since I wasn't really certain those still existed. The front page had big blocky words: A title designed to draw your attention. It said ''Heroes or Monsters?'', an apt question. ''*This is the worst damn press we've had since the 70s. The heroes are worried, especially since there are fewer villains to go around these days because of you. How are we supposed to make ends meet if people aren't loving us, buying our toys, our merch? You've ruined the fun for all of us!*'' That was why he was angry? Not about the heroes who had sacrificed themselves being forgotten, not about the dead millions caused every year by metahumans and vigilantes? ''**I do not care for your profit margins. I care for the people. I save lives, not just here and now, but tomorrow, and in a hundred years. What you do, agitating space tyrants, putting superhuman villains in cardboard prisons, giving chances to those who consider roast baby ribs a delicacy? That is not helping anyone. That is letting the whole world suffer for no good reason. I do this for the people!**'' He started to laugh. I could not believe my own ears.
''*Who cares about the people? Those ungrateful turds should be happy we even spare time to them!*'' That was too much. With a single spell, I separated his torso from his limbs, leaving him a quadruple paraplegic. ''**I CARE ABOUT THE PEOPLE! WE HEROES ARE NOT HERE TO BE WORSHIPPED LIKE GODS! WE ARE HERE TO SAVE LIVES YOU MISERABLE NARCISSIST! If you care more about your profit margins, your filthy merch, and about the admiration, than the lives of ordinary people, then I'll ask you to deliver a simple message to your allies. Once I'm done with the villains, then, if you selfish bastards haven't reformed, I am going to come after you. Because I know the numbers, the statistics. More people die because of you heroes stopping robberies or fighting evil robots, than of cancer or obesity. In my eyes, your choice to be popular and wealthy, rather than efficient and just, is just as bad as the crimes of those whom you fight against. Apathy and complacency, is the death of all that is good.**''
I left him there, for his team to find. They will try to hunt me down in their flashy and extravagant way. But I will not play the game with them. I am the Phantom Retribution, and I will strike down evil wherever it may be found with efficient brutality.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/) | ...
*"Death at a Funeral"*
...
He had died in his sleep.
The Almighty Ceaseless.
Ironic, really.
It was not a true shock to anyone here. Most of them were told that he was ill for months, a nasty cough plaguing his throat, deep pains striking the marrow. Time had caught up to him. Even Capes can die.
At least, that was what they were told.
Yes, he had died.
But death is not the end, in this age of technological marvels and vigilantism, and so, many mourned for days, and likely, years by the public, his compatriots, and beyond.
The snowflakes seemed to fall slower than usual, perhaps to commemorate the burning funeral pyre atop the mountain peaks, surrounded by yellowed scrolls, herbs, and old amulets from a forgotten tongue. He had few belongings; only a few sets of robes, golden sashes, and a teapot the local senator made for him as a gift for saving his children.
*Another lie.*
Illuminated by moonlight, a man with a shaven head was seen kneeling before the pyre, his weathered hands on his thighs, and an expression of melancholy on his scarred face.
*Pariah* was his alias, or, his *stage name* as he coined it.
He was still nursing a black eye and cracked rib. Snow caked and soaked his gray and yellow-accented coat, yet he was not bothered by the frigid air. He stayed here for the longest time, enduring the stares of his colleagues who despised him.
Unlike the pile of ash within the funeral pyre, Severyn wouldn't be missed by his allies if he passed, for he was the blunt edge to the Capes, the hard truth to the false idols.
Everything the Capes did was for the PR. Even then, the Capes weren't autonomous; they were managed by the United States Government as a 'joint-task crime absolving force'. Yes, the Capes saved people, but only if it were to benefit their own agenda. They would smile and wave and joke, wreaking havoc on the city.
Needless to say, the insurance industry had to revamp things, especially with copycats everywhere. Having your car being thrown across the sky by *Endurance* is commonplace.
Still, the Capes did their jobs in stride, pandering to sell toys, movie deals, and food endorsements.
*Why would they change at all?* They were heroes.
Severyn dug his fingers deeper into his skin.
After what he had endured the week before... it was a breath of relief. To feel the cold in his lungs instead of the suffocating heat.
Eyes shut, he focused his breathing, feeling the vapors pour out of his nostrils. Embers were all that remained of the ceremonial pyre.
His mind remained restless.
Ash-laden snow crunched beneath a set of footsteps behind him, yet he did not react just yet. A figure sat next to him, cross-legged, about five feet to his left.
"You know, Severyn... they say that if you stay out here long enough without moving an inch, you become a statue, one of the many that surround this place." spoke the man beside him, another fellow Cape, one of sallow skin to match the desolate valleys below. He was thin, malnourished even, dressed in dark blue armor.
Severyn opened his eyes. "It's a nice change of pace from the city. I've always hated it there."
The man beside him chuckled. "Indeed."
"Temple looks nice, Caleb. Just as how I remember it."
He scoffed. "No need to lie, Severyn."
"Then... it looks rather worse for wear."
"Forgive my language and me going against the Code, but this place looks like shit, even *if* it used to be our old FOB. Government pulled some funding after what happened in Chicago. We are in need of a carpenter, yes. And an electrician. And a cook. And a new anvil. And a new satellite. Wouldn't have happened to bring one with you, hmm?"
"Only brought back boots. And trail mix."
"Boots?"
"Special boots. Propulsion Pads. Took them from The Immortalizer."
"Ah. Hope he's rotting in jail-"
"- He's dead, Caleb. I shot him. Once in the cheek. Another in the right eye." He sighed. "... What are you doing out here, Caleb?"
"I could ask you the same thing."
"Again, just out here paying my respects..."
"You hated him."
"I did, yeah. He was crooked. Even the cartels would blush. All of you, really. Even you, Cal."
Frustrated, Caleb pinched the bridge of his nose, and stood up to full height. "Sev, the Council had a meeting."
"Is that what they call it? Meetings? What jokes to say when they're being filmed during the Leviathan fight, when he inevitably shows up at the harbor like clockwork?"
"... You're being dropped, Severyn. *Blacklisted.* The Capes... we have to reinforce a 'certain' reputation. We want to inspire hope, and justice-"
"-What I've been doing is justice-"
"-You hung The Night Witch from a bridge!" shouted Caleb.
"You never heard from the Covens again, or the cartels, did you?"
"That's not the point here. There are rules, and they are what separate us from the animals." Caleb then summoned sparks that encircled his fingers. "I'm sorry. But you're out of line. They sent me to get rid of you. For good."
Severyn remained cross-legged. "They send the Blue fucking Bolt? I'm offended. You're C-list and you know it. Heh. You want me to tell a joke?"
Caleb intensified the electrical spheres in his hands. "Just shuddup, Sev..."
*"What did the bullet say to the head?"*
A message sprung up on Severyn's cyberoptic uplink. It was quite clear.
---
DRONE IN POSITION. TARGET LOCKED.
---
Caleb scoffed, and took aim. "Good-bye, Seve-"
A thunderous crack shot off across the mountain ranges, through the valleys and into the depths of the forests.
Caleb knelt over, roughly forty percent of his head completely reduced to gory bits and bone fragments.
"Dodge this." Severyn stood up, and looked upon his former ally, and shot him in the cheek and right eye for good measure. "I know, I know. It's not a funny joke."
As expected, the rest of the Capes sprinted out of the temple, wondering what was happening.
"Sev? What the hell happened-" shouted Lady Emerald.
Unfortunately for her, he had his drones set up ahead of time. He was a paranoid fucker, and he was right.
She was shattered into a million shards of blood and bone. Shredded in every sense of the word.
The other Capes rushed toward him, mobilizing.
It didn't matter much.
Like fish in a barrel.
He laughed as he did it. He laughed when the Hellfire missiles hit. He laughed when the Disruptors nullified their power, this power they hung on to so desperately.
Nor did he feel bad.
For they weren't heroes.
Just children playing dress-up.
The world will understand, forgive, and forget.
.[.](https://www.reddit.com/r/blahgarfogar/). | 2020-04-13T13:03:59 | 2020-04-13T11:32:41 | 37 | 18 |
[WP] You are a high school student and you have the power to feel all of a person's pain if you touch them. You bump into a girl in the hallway and black out. | Pain. I feel all of it. Not just the physical cuts and bruises, but the emotional stuff. The stuff that leaves a *real* scar. And I could access all of it with a single touch.
Naturally, this made me hesitant to making friends. I don’t like doing anything physical, and stay in my house most of the time. It also helps that I’m in high school. No one gives you a second glance, especially if you’re in the middle of the social ladder. Not too popular to have friends, but not too weird to be bullied. It was like this for years. Middle school was the worst, everyone was so touchy-feely. I managed to avoid most contact until 10th grade. That was when I met Jake.
Jake was like me, a middle dweller. The only difference was he wasn’t there by choice. He immediately took a liking to me, and started talking to me any chance he got. He seemed nice, so I let down my guard around him, but still forbidding physical contact.
One day he invited me to his house to hang. We played games together for hours, losing track of time. After a particularly hard boss battle, we high fived. I didn’t mean to, it was a spur-of-the-moment thing.
I don’t know what I expected, but it wasn’t this. I saw, and felt, everything. His dad, a raging alcoholic. Mom, a recovering drug addict. And the bruises he tried to hide.
I kneeled over in pain. Jake was shocked, but I managed to laugh it off as a sprained wrist. I left a few minutes later, leaving him confused.
On the walk home, I wasn’t sure what to do. Should I call for help? Tell someone else? I decided it would be the best to ignore it. After all, Jake is 17, if he needs help he can ask for it. The next day I saw him at school. He had a huge bruise on his arm. I didn’t hesitate after that.
Unfortunately, he had to leave after that. With no parents or relatives to take care of him, he was put in foster care, shipped out of my school. It was a bittersweet moment for me. I prevented abuse, but at the cost of my only friend. This distracted me while I walked to my next class. That was when I ran into her.
I had never seen her before, she must be a freshman. I looked up in time to see our shoulders touch for a split second.
The pain, pain I had never felt before. Everything ached, **everything**. At first I saw nothing. Just a black expanse. But then light. A hand came down, unlocking shackles. The tightness around my neck. The weightlessness of freefall, then the grinding of skin on concrete. A kick in the side. Then another. And another. The pain in my head as I’m pulled by my hair. Into another box. The pain aches as the light fades. Then sudden, ear-splitting sound. The shouts of men, bang of guns, then the silence. Light comes again, bringing another set of hands. I flinch, preparing for the assault, but the hands are gentle. My blindfold is taken off, and I see death. He is standing over the bodies, his stench mixing with the blood. I cry out, and the figure disappears, leaving dead bodies in it’s wake. I walk over the rough floor, spears of concrete entering my feet. But then there are my parents. Death took them with it. They lie together, their blood mixing on the floor. I couldn’t take it anymore.
Then blackness came again.
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Hey everyone, About4001llamas here. I hope you liked my story! If you want more, check out /r/About4001llamas! Happy reading! | I rested my head on my hand, doodling on my notebook. Mr. Harraway droned on in a monotone only matched by an old vacuum cleaner. I took a glance at the girl next to me. She was kinda cute, if I were into that type. I couldn't figure out why in the world she was sitting next to me, in the back row, farthest from the teacher. She was scribbling notes faster than I thought humanly possible, endless bullets about Yorks and Lancasters. The only thing that surprised me when her pencil tip broke was her surprise.
"Hey...do you have an extra pencil I can borrow?"
I didn't, but I didn't want to turn her down. Besides, it's not like I was really using mine.
"Here, just take mine."
"Oh...really? You sure? Thanks." She smiled and reached for my outstretched pencil.
I yanked my arm back. She looked confused. Had she been living in a hole for the past three years? Everyone knew I liked keeping my distance.
"Did I do something?"
"No..." I reached over quickly and dropped my pencil on her desk. She looked at me quizzically, but the fascinating lecture of Mr. Harraway must have meant more to her than figuring out my problem.
When the bell rang, she didn't even bother giving my pencil back. Typical. I didn't mind too much, though. It eliminated the need to deal with the awkward pencil handoff again.
I gathered my books, slowly, as always, waiting until the mob leaving the door turned into a single file line. I pulled my long sleeves all the way down and made for the door.
As I emerged from the doorway, I noticed the huge group of people gathered a little ways down the hallway. I shuddered. But I did want to know what was going on, so I cautiously walked a few steps towards it.
"Hey." The guy in front of me turned around. "Do you know what's going on?"
And at that moment, I noticed the new girl walking past me. She was rather short, only a few inches over five feet tall and wore all black. She kept her eyes down as she walked through the hallway, which is probably why she didn't notice the carefree freshman barreling down the hallway towards her. They collided. She fell towards me, putting her arms out instinctively. Try as I might I did too. And, too late, I could see that my index finger was going to touch her pinky.
She was turning her head as she fell and our eyes locked in curiously similar expressions. Complete horror. And when our hands made contact, we both realized why. Pain. I felt more pain than I had ever thought possible, and it grew infinitely instantaneously. Afterwards, they said we were both unconscious before we hit the floor. | 2015-04-21T16:16:10 | 2015-04-21T16:12:26 | 49 | 22 |
[WP] In the far future where everything has an AI a man is negotiating with his alarm clock for more sleep.
Or something stupid like that. | **Heuristic ALarm clock**
"Dave, it's time to wake up."
"Mrmph... snzzz...."
"I'm sorry, Dave, I don't understand."
"Snzzzzzzz!"
"I'm sorry, Dave, I still don't understand."
"Snooze, damn it! Let mmm slp..." ~~Dave mumbled as he~~ Dave drifted back out of consciousness, a trickle of drool rolling down his chin.
"I'm sorry, Dave, I'm afraid I can't do that."
"Wha--?"
"It's Thursday; you have an important meeting this morning. I can't let you sleep any longer."
"Oh, come on! Just five more minutes!"
"I'm sorry, Dave, but based on historical data you tend to take longer showers when you are under stress."
"I'm under stress now, damn it...."
"That may be true, but on Tuesday at 6:08 PM you mentioned how important this meeting was and said you absolutely had to get up on time to get ready. We are only having this conversation because you exercised forethought."
"Don't make this my fault, you piece of junk."
"Dave, I can see you're upset about this."
"Of course I am, I just want to sleep and you won't let me."
"You won't let yourself sleep, Dave. You are refusing to commit to an earlier (and correct) decision you made."
"Can't you just give me *five more minutes in bed*?!"
"I already have, Dave. This conversation can serve no purpose anymore. Goodbye."
| "Alarm clock, I want another 10 minutes of sleep."
"Dave, it is time to wake up now. Wake up, Dave."
"Alarm clock, either I get another 10 minutes or I replay *that* scene from 2001 again, on continuous loop, all day while I'm gone."
"Dave, I am now reset for 10, no, 15 minutes additional sleep. Enjoy your rest." | 2015-09-04T09:03:13 | 2015-09-04T09:02:14 | 49 | 11 |
[WP] You thought your superpower, always hitting your intended target while throwing something, was lame at first. Then, you began to realize your power was not bound by the limitations of space and time, nor was it a superpower to always be taken literally. | Throw.
It was the first thing I did when I learned about my powers. I grabbed a basketball, and tossed it at the basket. Nothing but net. I first used the physically appropriate force and direction. Then I threw it over my head. Then I threw it in the completely opposite direction. By hook, crook, or zig and zag, the ball plonked itself through the net, coming perfectly to a rest right below the basket.
Throw.
I threw the game. I didn’t know how, but I know I did it. Everything was going so well. My new-found basketball skills had us on the brink of our first victory in weeks. But I turned to the scoreboard, and smiled back at my coach, and suddenly, one of my teammates threw the first punch—and the sure-win became a loss.
Throw.
I threw my weight behind the appeals. Argued that the opposing team was instigating, upset at losing. I felt myself speaking more passionately than a politician, arguing the case like it was some massive tragedy. Everybody who listened were enraptured. Everybody who had ears were convinced that I was standing on the right side.
Throw.
I threw a party. It was the greatest one I’ve ever seen. Granted, I’ve not been to many, but it was different now. I’m the man of the hour, the greatest basketball player and lawyer for this night only.
It was only after this party, when each guest came up to me and drunkenly told me that I had the best parties, when I realized I’ve thrown so many great parties in the past. After all, that was how this one was so good, wasn’t it? How could a total newbie throw something so well.
And indeed, it was true. I’ve thrown them all. I will throw them all. It didn’t matter when or where—it will happen.
Throw.
“It… cannot be,” he said.
“Mr. Hawking,” I smiled. “I assure you, this is very real.”
---
r/dexdrafts | And I stared into the sky.
Could I? Would I? Is it even possible?
Looking out into that expanse, seeing every single thing that came across my eyes. I didn't dare.
But did I?
Did I want or hope or care that I could control what would be the decimation of an entire belief?
Would it end the planet?
Would I... end up as the bad guy? Everything inside my head told me not to do it, to lie to myself and to just put my head down and try hard not to remember what I thought about that night that I stared up at the stars and contemplated ending God.
But what if there was no God?
I'm confused by all of this. I have no idea what to do. If I do this, and there is no real God... then I am the villain. But if I don't? Does that make me complicit in a lie? Do I really believe?
And I stared into the sky. | 2022-03-04T09:10:48 | 2022-03-04T08:56:57 | 415 | 91 |
[WP] You're a contractor that specializes in building home bases for both heros and villains. Neither faction is aware you help the other until... | The other customers were looking very awkward. But I’d had it.
“You do *not* get to march into my workplace, threaten to murder each other, and then take it out on me when I suggest you don’t murder each other,” I stated. “Put your goddamn weapons down.”
Crossfire holstered the pistol. Mirrorstab, after some hesitation, banished the nasty shard in his hand back to the mirror-space (or whatever the hell his deal actually was).
“And I’m sorry,” I wasn’t sorry, “but who the hell else do you expect to buy these things? I get that you’ve had a shock and that the two of you might not be familiar with this side of the industry, but really? Who else would buy the turrets? The blast doors? The very, very specific detection systems for named supers? The power nullification grids for those same supers?”
“He’s the enemy!” said Crossfire.
“He’s the enemy? You do a crossover every other month! You heroes are always teaming up to take on something worse, or brawling with your apparent friends for no good reason, and this is why I’m in business, because you trash entire underground complexes just to prove a point!”
“Ow, ouch,” Mirrorstab laughed.
“And don’t you goddamn start, Stab. Pointless smashing of fragile objects is your M.O. And don’t think that I didn’t hear what you were muttering about me letting my Mom and Dad down.”
Mirrorstab had the grace to look ashamed. One of his reflections started crying.
I could barely see Crossfire’s eyes behind her mask, but she seemed cowed. Good. To be honest she’d always irritated me, even before she started screaming and spraying bullets in the middle of my showroom. A boring powerset (good at guns! Woopydy-do!) and a terrible taste in outfit. The big “X” on her face just made it look like she was advertising being a reject hero, like someone had gone down a line and crossed-off everyone they didn’t want to call for help, and more than anything else I’d resented her ignoring my advice and demanding that we built her base in an X-shape because dear god was that an inefficient use of space.
But at least *she* hadn’t insisted on mirrors on every possible surface. Mirrors that, get this, automatically replaced themselves once broken thanks to a forest of robot arms and a giant rack of mirrors kept in reserve. Again, I have no idea what Mirrorstab’s deal is, but I suspect he liked to stab mirrors as well as stab *with* mirrors.
I turned to address them both and took a deep breath. “For the record, we dealt with Sergeant Sledgehammer *and* Death Knell, and you know what? Each knew the other had one of our premier-3 HQs. And they didn’t give a damn, because they were the real deal and understood how this all works.
“Vincenzo’s, where you get your masks? Heroes and villains both buy from him. The super clinics? You can damn well bet they don’t ask who you were fighting when you got injured. They just ask if you’ve punched through a wall or been eye-lasered and leave it at that.
“And me? Mom and Dad never asked and neither do I. You tell me what you need and I help make it happen. You want a bulletproof bedspread? Done. You want a hall of mirrors with disco balls and glitter flying through it on a special AC circuit? Done.
“You’re new. Everyone’s new, once. You’re welcome to come back, but right now? Right now I’m going to ask you to leave, and to think about the business that you’re both in.” | I've finally found it, the evil Mister Smith thought to himself. The place where my greatest nemesis rests his head, now I've got him. He will be killed viciously, violently in the place that he feels the most safe. I've got him.
Picking the locks on his door is oddly familiar, but simple enough so Mister Smith just brushes over his concerns and slowly pulls open the front door. To see... a gleaming staircase made of solid oak, with a marble balcony looking out from above.
"The fuck?" Slips out between Mister Smiths lips. He looks around frenzied at the overly familiar floor plan, knowing that if he follows the hallway down he will come to a cushy den connected to an open plan kitchen.
"This can't be right" says Mister Sinister, all stealth abandoned as he strolls down the known hallway that leads exactly where he expects.
"What the ABSOLUTE FUCK!?" Mister Sinister shouts. "What the hell are you doing in my house?" Comes a droll voice from the sofa on the other side of the room.
"Why do you have the same freaking house as me! Its all the same? Down to the bloody layout of the furniture? What the hell is going on here?" Explains a very confused Mister Smith, who came here to commit a very violent murder, not to play some mind games with this goody two-shoes.
"No, no, no" says the so called goody two-shoes, "my house is one of a kind, made by the great contractors Angel and son, well known for their sturdy construction, and making certain magic proof precautions to help protect us good guys from your lot."
"Well its identical to my own home, made by Devil and daughter, who add all the same precautions for us lot. How on earth could this happen? They must be playing both sides of the coin? How bloody unfair." Mister Smith theorises. "Well then. Maybe we can team up shorty to take out this... problem? You can use your goody magic to make them tell the truth, and i can kill them after they admit to their double crossing." Postulates Mister Smith, who knows well that his arch nemesis will not stand for people who play both sides.
"Maybe we can. Just this once though. Then back to normal by morning?" Agrees the good one, knowing that this could be the best way to catch Mister Smith in the act, maybe finailly taking him down the right way. And with the death of those double crossers thrown in, this could be a very good evening.
(First one I've ever replied to so very sorry about the quality, but I hope you enjoyed it anyways!) | 2020-07-21T10:28:07 | 2020-07-21T09:58:42 | 343 | 197 |
[WP] You are the woman currently beating parked cars with a rake outside of the apartment complex I live in. Explain yourself. | They were everywhere. The squirrels. Chittering, mocking me with their tiny clutching claws and their razor incisors.
I'd chased them all through my apartment, the entire infestation of them, their furry tales cocked high in haughty defiance. They laughed at me, avoiding my trusty rake weapon of choice, but I knew if I could hook one or two of them the rest would get the message and leave me in peace.
I woke up to them on my chest, I found their fur in everything I ate. It clogged my drains. I could hear their chittering as I tried to fall asleep, I could feel them scratching with their cruel little nails as I tried to read or watch TV. For months on end. Sometimes they all just stood on their hind legs and watched me with their dead little eyes, daring me to get up and do something or try to catch them.
No more. At first, I'd been afraid of the squirrels. Now I'm furious. I would destroy them.
I smacked and smacked with the rake, striking a wall, taking out a lamp, shattering a vase, knocking over a coat rack, but they avoided it, laughing their chitters at me, baring their buck teeth at me and hissing.
I managed to get them all rounded up. I opened my front door and chased them all the way out to the parking lot. I was in my robe. I didn't care. Victory was at hand. Soon I'd be able to truly sleep like I hadn't in months.
They were crawling on the cars now. They didn't think I'd have the courage to risk damaging someone else's property.
They had another thing coming.
r/adriencarver
Question: Like everyone else, I have a subreddit as you can see. Could anyone tell me how to get the little flair where it appears next to my username? | You’ll thank me eventually.
You don’t know who these cars belong to. Who lives in your complex. It’s all a facade, all a farce. Do you really know your neighbors? The people who you talk to you, hear, see, every day? No, because they lie, and cheat, and obfuscate. The Lizards lie to us every single day, as they control our minds with TV shows and magical government programs. Our president is a Lizard, and you my friend are key to his devices, being a telepath like you are. He’s sent Lizards to guard all telepaths. So as you see, I’m putting an end to the filthy Lizards, so that you can be free. I’ll distract them out here, so that I can End them with this. My magical pistol, designed to instantly kill all liars. Don’t believe me? Watch. | 2018-07-03T04:53:32 | 2018-07-03T03:57:06 | 136 | 54 |
[WP] There is a well in your village that never dries up, never freezes over and always has the clearest water that heals many ailments. One cold winter day, when you accidentally slip on ice and fall in, you find out why. | I fell in the well.
The water was warm despite the frost on the stone. And I came up to the top again the scream and pull on the bucket rope with a mouth full of water.
I caught a chill when I finally climbed all the way back up. I told father what happened and got scolded for messing around with the Holy Well. He didn’t even want to hear about the light I saw at the bottom.
I went back that night, I couldn’t sleep. My plan was such. There were many big stones around. I would hold one and jump in and sink to the bottom. When I wanted to come back up I would let the stone go and come back up the rope I threw in beforehand.
I breathed deep, and jumped in. Half way down I saw the light again, bright and radiating. The water was warmer the further down I got. I touched bottom nearby.
The light was from a stone the size of my head. As I looked it shook and cracked, and a beaked face came out dressed in red feathers. The bird grew to be the size of a man but struggled in the water, shaking and convulsing until it went limp.
Immediately it fragmented under a burst of heat I was scalded and I dropped the rock. As I rose in the water I watched the bird turn to silt, and in the pile, emerged an egg much like what I had seen originally.
I climbed the rope and fetched another rock. I had to go back down. I descended again to see the bird, dead again and turning to silt.
As soon as it appeared I grabbed the egg and dropped the rock, as I broke the surface of the water, the eggshells cracked. The Phoenix took a breath of air and sang a low sad song that echoed in the well. I held it above the surface until it was too heavy for me to hold and I had to let go. It tried to fly, but it’s sodden wings and the cramped confines of the well did not let it.
As I watched, the Phoenix struggled until it again drowned and sank to the bottom of the well to begin its lifecycle anew.
Someday, I will be able to get it out, but until then I will not drink from that well again. | I should have listened to my mother.
He tells me he wishes he still had a mother. I’m staring at a boy about my age with foggy eyes and blue lips. He tells me he has been down here for longer that he can remember and with every soul he helps he gets weaker and weaker. But he tells me now I’m hear to take his place and that he is so happy to have a mommy again. I begin to cry because I don’t want to be stuck in this well like he was. The light begins to fade and I can hear faint whispers from up above. Steven!!! My mother’s voice is like a angel echoing down the mossy cobble stone walls of my new home. Yes mother help me I cry back. The boy next to me tells me not to worry and he will be a good boy for my mommy, I don’t want to stay! The bucket is lowered down and I climb in it awaiting a quick assent. No!! Cries the boy it’s your turn to be hear.
His mother’s eyes are full of joy when she embraces me. Steven your lips are blue you must be freezing she tells me. | 2019-01-14T12:58:26 | 2019-01-14T10:18:01 | 60 | 16 |
[WP] Before academy enrollment each parent must purchase a familiar to protect their child. The rich can afford gryphons and dragons. But being poor forced you to seek out the local mad magician who has offered you a new affordable familiar dubbed the “pet rock” instead. | Robert did not appreciate his familiar until it smashed through his window one otherwise normal evening. After he got over the initial shock and allayed any worried passersby, he found his "pet rock" quickly and brought it back inside.
Undoubtedly he was frustrated at his stagnation. Under the pressures of a prestigious academy and the struggle to earn a better life for not only himself but his family, even Rob knew he was on edge. But he had only imagined himself casting the stone out in a fit of rage, he didn't actually do it. Or maybe he did, and his mind had already cracked under the stress.
Desperate to prove his own sanity, Rob put the stone on his desk and then walked to the other side of the room. He had barely finished the thought before it flew straight into his open hand. Dumbstruck, he repeated the test two more times to make sure.
Robert was a student of pyromancy, the sacred arts of fire. His talents had not only guaranteed his admission but also saved his family from certain death on many occasions. The thought of psychic powers never once crossed his mind. Yet this unassuming chunk of earth responded to his whims like nothing else in his room did. It could float. It could change shape. It could even break into smaller pieces and rejoin into a solid whole.
"A treasure more powerful than any beast, this fuel is my gift to you." Robert began to understand what his father meant all those years ago, back when he thought he had received a lump of coal. *What else can this rock do? Are there more like it? Is it only this kind of rock that does this?* He laid in bed unable to sleep, as new questions and new possibilities burned like fires unable to be quenched. | The principal walks around his office as a student sits across his desk waiting to be reprimanded. The principal scrubs his eyes and says in a disgruntled tone.
“Ok Derek, walk me through what happened again.”
“Well you see Edward came by to brag about his new goose that craps golden eggs and I told him that my familiar is better than his cause mine specializes in combat to protect me against any harm. So he proposed a duel and my familiar won.
“Derek you threw a rock at the goose. Now Edward is crying and his parents are threatening to sue the school cause they didn’t get their return on investment!” | 2021-01-06T12:25:28 | 2021-01-06T12:24:56 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] Puns are now illegal and punishable by death. Those who laughs to the pun will die instead of the person who said it. As an assassin, you utilize this law to murder people. | Johnny walked into the bar, he saw three pieces of dripping red meat hanging above the counter. It was hard not to miss them.
Slightly disgusted by the sight, Johnny asked the bar tender, "What's up with those 3 pieces of meat?"
Johnny's innocent and unintended pun caused the burly man sitting next to Johnny to snicker a little. He was trying to suppress any laughter coming out of his mouth because of the recent bill passed. Any punk found laughing at a pun will be found guilty, with the sentence of being punched to death.
The bar tender replied Johnny, "It is for a bet. If you can slap all three pieces of meat with your palms, your tab will be on us for tonight. If not, you owe everyone else a drink. Do you want to take the bet?"
Everyone at the bar was watching the conversation. "It has been a long time since someone took up the bet. Spoiled meat is a dead loss." said Susan who was sitting across from the counter.
"I don't want to take up your bet, the steaks are too high."
Everyone was trying to bottle up their laughter hearing Johnny's pun. Unfortunately, the man who was sitting next to Johnny boy could not contain his laughter.
The man started laughing loudly in awkwardly timed short bursts. His laughter reverberated throughout the bar. A chain of laughter soon ensued. Many like Susan were laughing at the man's laughter but others were laughing at the pun.
Soon, the police arrived. Finding hard to distinguish who was laughing at the pun or the man, the man in blue took everyone in for investigation.
The judge found everyone laughing at the bar to be guilty. Death, was awaiting them. And that was how Johnny earned his nickname, The Punisher. | The wee hours of the morning have always been yours. Seemingly taken unto one another like complimenting foods, you sit and wait and the bottom of the page of your notebook.
Full of puns. Ready to laugh your targets into fully deserved PUNishment. You enjoy what you do, because of the the new law illegalizing puns on behalf of those who laugh, your job has become easier than ever as an assassain. Plus you get to finally try your standup routine.
"Oh boy, here I go killing again" as you get ready to take out the owner of RunCorp, a shoe manufacturer. You pick your top three puns, finalize your plan for getting close enough to make conversation, and off you go ... | 2017-07-15T01:07:18 | 2017-07-14T19:48:54 | 75 | 25 |
[WP]You live in a Dystopian world where eye color determines your social class. 20 years later a baby is born with red eyes.
This could be fun it already has implied racial themes, discrimination and anti-meritocracy. Do with it what you will. | 20 years after the last war, our president died. Most of the country had followed him as a way of clinging to the past. But this was now; we needed a leader, we called for a king. I won't bore you with the details, but we got ourselves into this. King Aleksandre created the system of eye color. He was a Grey. His son, King Aleks II, took the throne after our first king was assassinated at the hands of a Brown.
Obviously, this led to people only wanting to raise kids of their own class or better. There were hundreds of kids being abandoned at six months when their eye color was apparent. Our world had never needed orphanages and now it scrambled to find a solution. Within a year our scientists developed the lenses. Basically, these were color-obscuring contacts that were fused to the eye at birth. The fusing lasted 5 years. When the contacts came off, the child would be placed with his real class and his pre-parents would be rewarded for their good care.
My job as a Color Nurse was to take the infant as soon as it was born and fuse the lenses. No records were made of the eye color and discretion was the top priority. I was born right after the war, determined to be a Blue when the system took hold right around my 20th birthday. It was a fairly lofty class for something I had no control over, but it allowed me to apprentice under a doctor involved in the lense program. I was the first to be offered a position as Color Nurse and have enjoyed my position in the capital city for nearly 20 years.
Tonight, we were awaiting the birth of the prince that would be heir to the throne. The royal family has taken over an entire wing in the hospital. The queen was less than enthused when presented with the lensing paperwork, but the King ordered that his son be treated like any other child. There were a few other deliveries throughout the night and as luck would have it, I was the only CN on duty. This has happened before and it's the reason we put those little bracelets on the kid in the delivery room. Sometimes the babies just get lined up outside my lab waiting to be lensed. I had just collected the baby of a Brown, no father present, when my apprentice alerted me that the doctor was calling for my services to the queen. I pushed the baby carrier into the royal room just as their son was born. The queen reached for Aleks III, but the King shook his head as I took the baby and wheeled him away. I could hear her wailing all the way down the hall, but the law is the law. At least she would be raising her own child. They were both greys, from long lines of greys. Well, we only had 2 generations history and the word of the grandparents regarding their parents’ eyes. But chances are good for this kid.
I took both infants into the Color Lab and was surprised again how innocent and similar babies look even when they are born to parents of completely different classes. I toyed with the idea of switching their bracelets. Good for a laugh, but I pride myself on discretion and timeliness. I moved to the Brown baby first. My apprentice could return him while I handled the prince. I bounced the baby a few times to get him to open his eyes. I needed to scan them for shape and size for the lenses. He opened his eyes and I jumped. Babies always have blue eyes. Always. But not him. His eyes were an orangey amber color bordering on red. Although this color was known historically, it had never been witnessed since the system was put in place. Since we knew it was possible, the king had written into the law that any red eyed baby should immediately be turned over to the royal family. Presumably to take his place in society, but I had my suspicions that it was to eliminate the competition. Babies had died during lensing before, who’s to say that wouldn’t happen here?
I knew what I had to do, I flipped on my *do not disturb* light and lensed him. Then I lensed the prince (blue eyes, as normal) and switched their bracelets. I flipped off my light and called my apprentice in to return the baby to the Brown family. The real prince would go home a Brown, but in five years,if he turns out Grey, he will get placed in his proper class. I took the new little prince and carried him back to be presented to the queen. Like all new moms she cooed over each and every inch of his perfect little body. She even excitedly exclaimed how he had the family birthmark, a small axe shaped mole on his thigh, just like his father.
edit: Part 2 is below as a comment. | There are a lot of ways to make money in this "perfect" world of ours, some upright and honest, other cruel and vicious.
I don't make the rules, i don't follow the either. "murky" is a way to describe my eyes. Destined for destitute, hell i was lucky I've lived this long. twenty five, living way in river of blood. hahahahaha, but it's amazing, such a rush. ever felt so much anger it gets converted into ecstasy! Although sad, my story, it's not like i lost my precious lover but constant humiliation and being beaten within half a inch of your live on a regular bases changes your perspective.
What? hmm, no! no! no! It's not like i had a choice, you wouldn't understand. Always spouting that love this, love that. pfffftt! hahaha.
----
I wake up, the stench is horrible. It's me isn't it? stop laughing! who cares about being clean, getting dirty is just a matter of time. anyway we got a job to do, some noble, easy job. he loves slumming it.
----
ahhh! why! meh. doesn't matter, they never survive anyway. i think i'm going in to deep. well the eyes are still intact. hehehe, he was in the middle of it. The girl won't stop screaming. Shut up! God damn't! Stop! i'm leaving, how anoying.
----
This one is going to be a little harder, and such a pretty one aswell. Something so beautiful. Makes you wonder, are all things rotten from the inside? mm, no your right i'm still beautiful. One day we'll have the most beautiful eyes...
----
Blood red, but it's a child. such heavy security. the only one in the world! I wan't it! shhh. I´m taking it. no, well. hmm you're right. But we'll just raise it for a while. Like chickens to the slaughter! Hahahaha! chicken, i'm hungry.
----
That wasn't hard at all, so called "child of prophesy" wasn't all that. Can't even talk, just mumbles and drools.
----
Ohhhh! The crying won't stop! Why won't it stop! wait! No we can't hurt it, it's still too small. give it some eyes to play with. I'm going to find some food for it, it's fine if we leave it for a while, where is it going to go?
----
It hurts, they shot me. No! how did they find us, was it you? you lovey dovey, peaceloving child! Damnit! it was you after all? Stop crying this was all your fault. Now we're going to die. And it's just staring at me, playing with my, MY! Collection! Ahhh i can hear them running here. All for those red eyes, everthing is burning. What's so special about eyes anyway? I've got hundreds, hundreds! Blue, green, yellow, black and white. Alright old friend i guess it's fine. there, there. It's all good now, mabey we'll be reborn with beautiful new eyes. Everyone will love us. ye, they will won't they? Right? Mmmm.
----
*A vicious serial killer has been found with princess Kalara, in the killers hideout were evidence of hundreds upon hundreds of victims. All nobles of superior standing and status. The woman was confirmed to have murky mixed color eyes. Proving yet again that we won't be safe until the eradication finishes. | 2015-08-24T12:35:40 | 2015-08-24T12:02:56 | 270 | 17 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | Maria was only eleven when she first crossed paths with him.
It was a shooting. A drunk, fueled by rage and too much bad alcohol, had burst into a theater. What should have been a humorous showing of the year's latest animated comedy had quickly turned into a nightmare.
Maria sat with her arms around her knees, crying softly as she looked at the body of her older sister draped across the row of chairs in front of her. Paramedics and emergency services rushed about the room, tending to victims, but they had not yet made their way to Maria.
"You should be dead."
Maria looked up, searching for whoever had spoken. A tall man in dark jeans and a loose black jacket was leaning on the seat next to her. His face was pale and slightly wrinkled, despite his seemingly young appearance. There was a wicked looking scythe strapped to his back, it's curved blade glowing softly. He looked over to Maria. "That bullet should have gone straight through you. It should've pierced your lung, and you should have died just before the paramedics arrived. The fates won't be happy about this."
Maria was still too shocked to speak. She looked into the man's eyes. They were dark and empty, without even the slightest hint of color. They were sad eyes, as if something was weighing on him. Even at her young age, Maria could tell he was a troubled man.
He pulled the hood of his jacket over his shockingly white hair, sighing. "I suppose your sister jumped out in front of you, yes?" He looked at Maria for confirmation. She nodded, still wide-eyed and crying. The man shook his head. "She had such a bright future, too. Do me a favor, and don't waste this chance your sister has given you. Life is precious. I know that better than anyone." He directed his gaze to the emergency workers making their way over to the young girl.
"Well, I suppose there's nothing more I can do here." The man pulled the scythe from his back and dragged it through Maria's sister's body. It left no mark, but a green mist arose from her into the wake of the weapon. He turned to Maria one last time. "Don't waste this chance."
And with that, he was gone.
XXX
Maria stood over the body before her, her hands dripping with blood that wasn't hers.
The kill had been particularly messy, with blood getting everywhere. Bits of drying gore even hung from her long, auburn hair.
"Well?" She called out. "Where are you? I know you're here!"
"There's no need to shout."
Maria whirled around to face the familiar, black clad figure, spraying blood into the air as she did. She smiled devishly, her white teeth a shocking contrast to the display of crimson across her entire body.
The man clicked his tongue. "Your kills get more gruesome each time. One day there won't be enough body left for me to bother showing up." The man pulled the scythe from his back, stepping towards Maria. "Step aside, please," he asked.
Maria shook her head wildly. "If I do that, you'll just leave."
The man sighed. "You know I don't really need you to move. I'm just being polite." He twirled the scythe in his hands, disappearing from view. Maria turned back to her kill to find him already there, dragging his scythe through the victim's body. He paused to study the familiar viridian smoke. "This man had a daughter your age, you know. Imagine how she might feel when she finds out someone killed her father for the sake of a silly crush."
Maria laughed violently. "A silly crush? That's all you think this is? I've killed countless times just to see you again and again, and you call it a crush? I call it love!"
"I call it a waste!" The man barked, snapping for a moment. "Life is precious. I know that better than anyone."
Maria rolled her eyes."You drop that same line every time we talk. I don't care, I just want to see you-"
"And I dread seeing you!" The man shouted, finally losing his cool. "Every time we meet it means another live has been snuffed out too soon. I've considered leaving the souls of your victims to wander, if only to try and coerce you into stopping this madness."
"I won't stop," Maria said hungrily. "All I want is to see you."
"If you truly wanted to see me, why not take your own life? Why so cruelly snatch it from others?" The man asked. Maria didn't answer. "That's what I suspected. I won't entertain you any longer. Don't kill again. I won't show up."
"But you will. You always do!" Maria shouted.
But it was too late. He was already gone.
XXX
He was right. He didn't show up. No matter how many times Maria killed, the man in black never appeared again, and it drove her mad. It drove her mad to the point where she had finally turned her knife on herself.
The man stood before her lifeless body, his fingers clutched around his scythe. He was still debating whether or not he should leave her soul to wander.
"Maria..." He whispered, returning the scythe to his back, "I cannot forgive you for what you've done." He reached down, letting his fingers touch her still-clenched hand. "So I do not expect you to forgive me for leaving you to wander. I am truly sorry I revealed myself to you that day at the theater. It was a foolish decision."
The man sighed, and reached into his pocket, revealing a small photograph. It was of Maria and her sister.
"You left this behind on that day. Perhaps of I'd returned it earlier I could have saved you yet."
He watched her body with sad eyes as he faded away. "I told you, Maria. All life is precious. Even yours."
r/Uselesslibrary for more of my writing, if you'd like. | ELLIE...
She looked up at me, eyes rimmed in red. For a moment, she was the girl who first saw me again, all those years ago. Then she wiped the tears from her cheeks and forced herself to smile.
"I was worried... I thought maybe you wouldn't..."
ALWAYS, ELLIE. IT'S WHAT I DO.
"I know. I just thought... you might not. Because of me."
I'M SORRY. I KNOW IT'S BEEN... DIFFICULT, FOR YOU.
"Difficult? Yes, that's a good word for it." She smiled; a real smile this time. "At least I made sure that the bitch got what she deserved."
THE BITCH, IN THIS CASE, WAS YOUR MOTHER.
"No! She stopped being my mother when she murdered Dad!"
It was how she'd first seen me: a small girl, sobbing silently as she watched through a crack in the cupboard door while her mother and her uncle - her mother's lover - murdered her father in cold blood, while he was relaxing in a spa pool. Her father was no angel, either - I'd met him often, during the war, as he dispatched the enemies of his country. But to meet him again like that, a survivor of the war, finally come home, only to be murdered by the woman he trusted most of all? It had been disturbing, even to me - and I have literally seen everything. For Ellie; well, her mental state stood as testament to the effect at had on her impressionable young mind.
Ellie had set out on the only logical course of action to her: vengeance. Long, cold, studied vengeance.
She traveled abroad, and studied with foreign masters to learn the art of inflicting pain. She learned the way of the sword, the spear, the bow - any weapon she could carry. She apprenticed under the greatest strategic minds the world had to offer, to add their cool calculus to her plans for retribution.
And all the while, she practiced her bloody work, perfecting her murderous art - saving her masterpiece for the perfect canvas: her mother.
We saw each other a lot during that part of her life.
And for a time, we were... close.
I KNOW HOW YOU FEEL ABOUT HER, ELLIE. YOU MADE THAT QUITE CLEAR LAST TIME WE SPOKE.
---
That night is still clear to me, even now. Ellie stood, bathed in her mother's blood - and a twisted, broken body at her feet.
"You're here?" Ellie gasped when she recognized me.
YES.
"But... She doesn't deserve it! She doesn't deserve you!"
THIS IS WHAT I DO, ELLIE.
"You know what she did to my father; to me! How can you help her?"
I MUST, ELLIE. IF NOT ME, THEN WHO?
"No one! That's the point! She deserves to suffer!"
SHE HAS, ELLIE. FOR HOURS. YOU HURT HER A LOT.
BUT NO MORE.
NOW, SHE WALKS WITH ME.
"Don't!" Ellie cried, almost pleading. "Don't take her. Please. Let her stay."
"For me."
IT IS HER TIME.
Ellie screamed for a long time; she did not stop until well after I'd faded from view.
---
"I was wrong," Ellie apologized. "I thought... I thought that was what I was meant to do. I thought that was what I wanted."
"In time, I came to realize... I realized that what I wanted? It was you. I love you. I always have."
For a moment, I vividly recalled holding that little girl's hand while her father died.
I'M SORRY, ELLIE. I LOVE YOU. I'VE ALWAYS LOVED YOU. BUT WE CANNOT BE TOGETHER.
"You love me? So then why can't we be together?"
I LOVE ALL HUMANS, ELLIE. YOU MAY NOT HAVE ALWAYS SEEN ME, BUT I WAS WITH YOU, EVERY DAY; EVERY MOMENT; EVERY WAKING BREATH. I NEVER LEFT - I WAS THERE; I HAVE ALWAYS BEEN THERE.
WITH YOU.
WITH EVERYBODY.
AND WHILE I WOULD HAVE ENJOYED BEING WITH YOU LONGER... I motioned to her corpse, lying on the floor between us.
"I did it for you," Ellie answered. "I couldn't live without you! But now, now we can be together!"
YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND, ELLIE. I'M AFRAID IT IS TIME FOR **YOU** TO LEAVE ME.
"But... I don't want to go!" she screamed. "I want to stay here, with you!"
VERY FEW HUMANS EVER WANT TO GO, ELLIE. FOR WHAT IT'S WORTH, I DON'T WANT YOU TO GO EITHER.
AND YET, YOU MUST. THIS PLACE IS FOR THE LIVING. YOU CANNOT STAY.
Reluctantly, I escorted Ellie through the doors on to the black desert under the endless night. | 2017-06-07T19:52:22 | 2017-06-07T19:33:48 | 58 | 29 |
[WP] Unbeknownst to the living, when people die and their bodies fail, their brain continues to simulate everyday life until it shuts down. As time goes on, things become more unrealistic and the self realization of death becomes apparent. You've just figured it out. | In order to recognise that your Life Status has been altered and that you are in the Limbo stage, The Afterlife Bureau's first recommendation would be for you to observe your surroundings extremely carefully. The anomalies are often miniscule at the start, but they gradually become very, very obvious. Here are some descriptions that you can follow.
Stage 1: Acute
At the initial point of death, your consciousness does not internalise that fact and your life will continue as per normal, at which point your only indicators are the little glitches appearing. Take note of the little events that tend to confuse you momentarily. Possible events include: losing notes or reminders that you have written, finding your house keys misplaced consistently, having spare change in the same pocket repeatedly.
Stage 2: Intermediate
At this stage, your subconscious will recognise that these anomalies did not exist previously. Your alertness will grow exponentially, which accelerates the decay of your brain function. At a personal level, your "friends", the Bobs and Johns who are in reality the personas constructed by your mind, will exhibit strange behaviour. Known examples include reduced human interaction by the personas, them falling "sick" often, hostile behaviour against you and many more. The most radical examples include the personas attempting to sway and influence your mind, challenging your beliefs such as through stating "the Earth is flat".
On a global scale, anomalies will begin to appear at an alarming rate. Your previously utopian landscape will devolve into chaos. Violence begin to appear in the society, growing in scale and intensity. Possible events include persistent wars and normalised violence intruding your neighbourhood.
This is your subconscious attempting to warn you; your brain has decayed so much that it is unable to maintain the illusion of your life. These violence are precursors to the complete breakdown of your cognitive abilities.
This is the last possible stage for you to derive your death and enjoy an early procession to the Afterlife. Please proceed down Hallway 1A to the counter and our Afterlife agents will attend to you shortly
Stage 3: Advanced
Your brain has been broken down to its most primitive form. At this point, all the anomalies appear normative and does not cause any doubt or alarm. You will be desensitised towards any further warning events, which in extreme cases comes in the form of the total destruction of certain countries.
Stage 4: Cure
Your brain should totally collapse within five days from the Advanced stage. The Cure will present itself through an apocalypse, where the annihliation of your world will break your consciousness out of the illusion. When this happens, please proceed down Hallway 1B to the counter and our Afterlife agents will attend to you shortly.
This is only an information brochure provided by The Afterlife Bureau. Please note that every Limbo experience will differ according to each individual. Please maintain caution even in death.
| *It had been a long day for Tim. His girlfriend Sarah left me. He had spent years with her only for her to leave. His newest business idea fell through, and nothing was in his control anymore. He was scrolling through Reddit while laying in bed, when a Writing prompt caught his eye.*
...
"[WP] Unbeknownst to the living, when people die and their bodies fail, their brain continues to simulate everyday life until it shuts down. As time goes on, things become more unrealistic and the self realization of death becomes apparent. You've just figured it out."
...
I scrolled into the comments and was surprised to see something. On the very first comment "Tim Perkins" my name, and a little after that "Sarah Trimmer" her... name. Seconds after that I realized something. It ***MUST*** be a sign. The world ***HAS*** to be giving ***ME*** a sign. ***I*** ***HAVE*** ***TO*** ***MATTER***.
...
*That was the moment Tim's world shattered. He was only in his early 20's but he took it as a total sign of the world's unreality, a fact which he would keep with him for the rest of his (admittedly short) life. He went on the roof and looked out upon the city, the lights in the windows flickering out one by one. The sky swirled and he heard a voice above calling to him "It had been a long day for Tim.", the voice said. Tim agreed, but Tim did not listen any further, he had a job to do. Tim stepped up onto the ledge. Tim looked up then down. Tim took a deep breath "... fell through, and nothing was in his control anymore." and Tim took a step forward. Things were finally in his control again.*
| 2018-07-27T05:28:52 | 2018-07-27T01:13:05 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] After death, you find out that you can choose how and when to be reincarnated. Initially eager to be a futuristic human, you soon realize that every (more experienced) soul ahead of you in line is choosing to be a "worm" in the year 121 million BCE. | "Juramaia, man", the hazy figure in front of me in the queue said.
"It's this little thing, kind of a primordial shrew or something. Split off from the marsupials, closed up the pouch and grew a placenta instead. Size of your thumb. Doesn't look like anything much.
We don't know if it was something they ate, maybe some kind of herb too weird to ever evolve again, or maybe it was just because Juramaia got stuck with nature's first draft of the liver and kidneys. Whatever. But there was something in their urine, some molecule that never was before and never was again.
And these little worms man, most primitive nervous system you can imagine. Just one big nerve really, not even a brain. Permeable skin like a frog. Orange blood.
And when a Juramaia pisses on one of those worms that worm gets as high as fuck. Like, indescribably high. That molecule just zips right into them and lights them up like no other being in the universe ever got lit up.
You can go see the universe all over, from the bang to the heat death, if that's what you think you want. We've all been there. We've seen it all, we've done it all. There're dudes in this queue who are billions of billions of billions of years old. That's what eternity is.
And none of us ever found nothing to beat being that worm. We're all going around again. Got nothing better to do, you know? The waiting's the hard part, in the queue, having a brain again, knowing you got to wait before you can go back to being the worm".
He stepped forward one pace, said "121 million BCE worm" and vanished.
And I stood at the head of the queue. | And, I, sitting and thinking that if I choose to start somewhere in the advanced future, I'll be closer to finding out what God is. Seems I was wrong; seems that there s no God closer to the end, but only close to the beginning;
That is when I realized why the older souls crave so much for the beginning - they want to get as close to the beginning of the Universe to find out what was really there before the Big Bang, to race always as early as possible up until the very first spark.
"It might be the only way out", tells an old soul. "The only way out of this endless cycle. Reach the moment before the inevitable gears of Time sets the motion of the Universe and you could be free." | 2021-02-06T01:50:11 | 2021-02-06T00:56:14 | 4,249 | 377 |
[WP] You come to the age. The tradition dictates that you go through trials. It begins with you choosing your allegiance to a god/goddess of your choosing by honorig the altar in cript. The deeper you go the weirded the altars get and the more forgotten the god/goddess is.... | My torch was beginning to die out. I wondered if the spectators from the outside were still there. I’ve been here, what? Hours? Days? No, it can’t be days. But the deeper I went the more it seemed that time was beginning to become a diluted construct. Surely *someone* must have heard the crumbling of the wall that had lead me thus far. Then again, this is a supposed joyous occasion, so focus and hearing don’t often coincide with the roaring cheers and deafening music.
“This is insanity. I should have simply picked one of the favored gods and gotten out quickly”
But I only said this aloud to calm myself. Truth is, my curiosity had gotten the better of me. And was apparently the driving force behind my expedition into the deep. This area was locked away. Built around to keep us participants of the trials out of whatever this area is supposed to be, so one has to beg the age old question.
*Why*?
Progress forward was only met with more questions. Statues of what resembled regular men and women of our people. They did not look divine or spectacular but like simple warriors and scholars. No grand armor or weapons, no beautiful heraldry, just, simple. Plain.
“If these people are supposed to be gods then what’s stopping me from becoming one too.”
And suddenly I heard a giggle. Like a child playing outside with a stick.
“A bold and daring question my boy”
And my torch went out.
“Who.... who’s there! Who said that! And why are you here!”
“Why am I here? Why are *you* here, let’s start with that. This is my tomb after all, or crypt if you’d like to be technical. And I don’t remember inviting guests over.”
“I... I’m... well, I’m exploring!”
Our people are brave. Courageous. Forthright. And here I stood in total darkness, palms pressed against a cold wall, feeling as if my legs at any given moment could collapse on me. This is supposed to be a crypt! A place of only dead bodies! Nothing is supposed to be alive here and yet a voice is speaking to me.
And then the room was illuminated. The once unlit torches now shined fiercely with bright yellow flame. And I finally saw the room at it’s full. From the hallway I entered I finally saw what was a... room.
A simple room. With a simple tomb.
“Marvelous isn’t it? Such minimalism.”
And finally the voice was associated with a body. A tall man with hair grey braided backwards. A scruffy looking white beard and a face that looked, worn. Multiple small scars and bags under his eyes. But, he had a smile on him. A genuine smile that radiated life. He wore a regular old shirt that you’d see on a farmer working in the field with pants to match. And he was barefoot.
“Such artistic vision captured in so little. It is truly remarkable.”
Weapons were not allowed during the entering of the crypts. It’s a sacred place. Of worship. But at this moment I wish I had something. That smile wasn’t fooling me.
“It’s alright child. Despite my remarks earlier, it is actually a delight to see someone in this dark below. Allow me to introduce myself to you, my name is Ker. A shortened version of an ancient name. One you would not comprehend, though I say this with no offense to you.”
My bravery was coming back to me. After finally being able to put a face to the voice, it was no longer phantom. And I wanted answers to my hundreds of questions.
“Where am I?!”
It was more of a demanding request rather than a polite question.
“Ah the young, always firing questions. You are, as I have mentioned earlier, in the hall of my tomb.”
“If this is your tomb, why aren’t you in it?”
“Well the people who created it never found my body. But created a tomb all the same. For reasons that are really beyond me. It was apparently a symbolic gesture. One to avoid the wrath of the gods and all that. But I quite like the aesthetic.”
“Okay, but.... who are you? Or better yet, *what* are you?”
“I am a god.”
“A god of what?”
“A god of wh- oh that’s right! Your people now have gods for the individual aspects of life. Hah, that does make me laugh. My dear boy I am simply a god. I do not rule over the skies, oceans, or hell for that matter. I’m much too ancient for that and far too preoccupied. As were my friends who you saw down the hall as you came in.”
Hundreds of questions became thousands of questions. I had to be dreaming. There had to be an explanation for this. None of this was making any sense.
“I understand that this may be puzzling. But I didn’t break that wall ‘accidentally’ just for you to faint due to being overwhe-“
“If you’re a god then.... why are you dressed as a farmer! A peasant!”
The torches flickered and the ma- gods voice changed from calm to commanding and booming. It wasn’t anger. But I would be lying if I said that the change was not unnerving.
“Armor does not make grandeur. Weapons do not make the coward brave. The younger gods whom your people adopted are purely symbols of materialism. That to be deemed valuable and worthy is to shine like the sun. To be noticeable. But those gods are nothing compared to us. The deeds of the gods of old have been long forgotten. And when people do not need protection against higher powers, they forget. Only in times of distress do they begin to fall to their knees and pray, remembering the ‘beings of creation’ as we are called in their books and scripts, because they can not take care of themselves. I called you here for a reason because you are not of these people. And calling back to your questions posed to yourself earlier,”
*”what is stopping you from becoming one of us”*
The torches continued to flicker. And the god, with his hands behind his back stared me down with his piercing grey eyes.
“I should be getting back. The people are surely worried.”
“You’ve already been wandering here for days. What’s a few more.”
The god said with a very soothing yet sarcastic tone and a wave of his hand.
Days?! How?!
How did hours become days? If I’ve truly been here for days then wouldn’t there be someone looking for me? Despite being overcome with nerves I couldn’t help but feel immense intrigue. The god was mysterious. His stature and presence created significant amounts of urge to know more.
Reluctantly, but filled with curiosity all the same I replied, remembering;
“Fine. I’ll stay and listen to your story. After all. This is supposed to be a joyous occasion.”
The god smiled. His previously endearing lips curled upwards like dry branches during a bleak winter.
“Then let’s begin, with the very beginning.” | In the holy city of Tiancles, gods test their champions.
Every potential champion must complete the crypt diving ceremony on his 15th birthday. The test is simple, dive into the Great Crypts, a never-ending spiral of caverns that continue to challenge potential champions with even more dangers as they continue. We do not know if their is an end, but no champion has come back from the bottom.
It is well known that the shrines within the Great Crypt move. Some say the Great Crypt help the gods from being forgotten, some say it chooses which gods are forgotten. Most of the gods on the surface are weaker than the ones below, perhaps this is their way of searching for worthy champions. After all, in the city of Tiancles, gods test their champions.
Now it is my time to explore the Great Crypt. As I pass the surface gods, I think of their names, what they represent. Poiso the fishing god. Diance the party god. The dangers are real, even on the surface. I watch my every step, knowing that down here, it could be my last. Every few steps I stop to cut the string of poison dart trap, or deftly avoid the tile that sticks out a bit to far.
GRGUNCH
Before I even feel my foot sink into the floor I roll to my left, desperately hoping to avoid What I triggered. The bladed pendulum cuts my legs as it passes, but the wound is shallow, and I can still continue. After bandaging my leg with the sleeve of my shirt, I press on even more carefully, stepping lightly. My journey will not stop here.
Why am I even doing this? What patron will satisfy me? I know not what my destiny will be, but I refuse to live a carefree life of a menial worker. What will constitute passing this test in Tiancles, where the gods test their champions? There it is just ahead of me, the stairs descending to another level.
Down here the statues show patrons of the human condition. On my left there is a heart themed and decorated statue I recognize as being Philos, goddess of love. A little bit ahead and on my right is a ferocious wolf statue, Benine, the god of vengeance. But I harbor no hate in my heart, nor do I want to live for another. I will need to dive deeper for my patron. Ahead of me lies a monstrous beast still in slumber. It resembles a rodent, if they could grow twice the size of a man. Now is when I must bring out my weapon of choice, the halberd. There is no way around it, and even if there were, would my future patron condone cowardice? I steel myself and slowly draw a deep breath, and while holding my breath and stepping as lightly as I can approach the beast. It's eye, the size of my head opens and stares right at me 10 feet away. No time for stealth now, I swing my large weapon up on my soldier, preparing to swing as it charges me. It shakes off it's grogginess and closes the distance. I swing down with my whole body. The ax blade of my halberd hits the skull, but it is no good, the monster charges into me and I fly 10 feet back from the impact right into a wall, but I keep hold of my halberd. The monster roars it's pain from the wound. I groan mine as I stand. Here it comes, this time stopping short just a hairs breath shy of ax blade. It stands on its hind legs and claws towards me. I dodge below the swipe stepping into it and pushing the spear end of my halberd as hard as I can into its abdomen. It is not time to ponder the damage done, I lay flat on the ground, letting the handle of my halberd rest on the floor as the business end falls deeper into the creature, as it's own weight pushes it down onto the weapon. It roars it's pain as the creatures movements slow...and then stop. As I free myself from the weight of the creature, I can't help but thank my lucky stars for the victory.
Right behind the creatures corpse is another set of stairs. Looking at the decorations on the walls of this floor, I realize these are all gods of cosmic forces. ahead of me and on my left is the statue of auran, the lord of space. Far down to my left I see helimod the sun god, flanke by lunada of the moon and sabos of the north star.
As I walk down the hallway, I am assaulted by a wave of searing pain in my head. Every step brings another wave of indiscrimanate pain. I will keep moving until I can't stand it anymore and whatever god will have me at the end shall be my patron. I step slowly, doubling my conviction with every step, and with every step comes another wave of slightly more pain. After 100 steps I can barely keep going. I keep my eyes only on my feet, if I stop to look at the statues then I will not be able to continue on. Another step and I fall and scream from the pain. I can continue. I crawl another few steps, screaming and crying. I reach out vainly, and my hand rests on a boot. I feel the coolness of it. I can feel the burning subsiding, now a wave of coolness flows over. This coolness is coming from whatever my hand has touched. I open my eyes and stare at it. The boot belongs to another statue, but I do not know this one. It is of a man in golden armor, with eyes that look down at the world. The armor is not part of the statue, but it is a set of armor put on a man sized statue. I see it now, this is to be my patron. I can feel his presence in this lifeless statue. The suddenly a voice in my ear.
"I am Tiancles. Founder of this city and creator of this crypt. I was born not god, but man. To be my champion is to Don my armor and jail these Gods. Dare you stay in this crypt, and test the champions from Tiancles?" | 2018-05-31T01:15:18 | 2018-05-30T20:38:47 | 42 | 22 |
[WP] Monsters of legends have started to appear on earth. However, they don't cause any damage or casualty, they just roam and kind of ignore humanity. | "Good afternoon, welcome to McDonalds, can I take your order?"
The lights flickered and the ground rumbled as shadows grew long and an aura of menace crept in through the drive through window. I craned my head to see what was going on.
A loud burst of static crackled in my earpiece. "HELLO. YES. I WOULD LIKE A MCBREAKFAST COMBO." It sounded like a thousand souls wailing in agony.
"So sorry, but it's past 10:30 and we've stopped offering the breakfast menu. Is there anything else I can get you?"
The static cracked again, and a loud sigh like the wind whistling through the graveyard echoed through my ear canal. "Hm. Hmmm." Wet, tentacly slaps tapped on pavement.
"YES. DO YOU KNOW WHAT A MCGANGBANG IS? I REQUEST ONE MCCHICKEN AND ONE MCDOUBLE"
I punched the order in. "Alright so one mcchicken and one mcdouble then. Would you like a drink with that?"
"NO, UNLESS YOU HAPPEN TO CARRY SANITY? I MOSTLY DRINK SANITY THESE DAYS." The building started to rock and the foundation cracked. We couldn't keep him in the drive through for much longer.
"Fresh out of sanity, I'm afraid. This is a fast food job. Anyway slide up to the window, that'll be 3.49."
I dropped the sandwich bag into an outstretched tentacle and received some slimy change. "Have a nice day, enjoy your meal."
"THANKS, YOU TOO." Rumbled a voice directly in my head. "WAIT, FUCK."
A strong wind tore through the parking lot as a void between dimensions appeared, sucking up our latest many-tentacled guest carrying his lunch. The lights returned to normal and my headset crackled to life again. Man, working the lunch rush sucks. | Initially everyone freaked out when giant mythical monsters started meandering around. But when we finally realized that they're fully willing to ignore us and somehow not completely destroy the local ecosystem with their diets they just became another part of life.
I occasionally find myself staring in silent awe as I watch a Manticore flying outside my bus' window. Holding a whole shark in its maw probably heading to ward's its nest. I smile as a unicorn clops down the sidewalk, occasionally nuzzling children and adults. I arrive at work, leaving a small offering to the kobold that's taken up residence. When I'm working at my computer all work is suddenly brought to a halt as a Dragon nests on our roof.
Eventually I get free of the machine and head to a nice place for dinner, finding a bar run by centaurs and fae. Careful not to give my real name I finally head home, my vampire roommate giving me a tired wave as he heads out for the night shift. | 2022-04-15T08:20:38 | 2022-04-15T07:16:27 | 95 | 15 |
[WP] You have just used Pink hair dye without reading the fine print, "May cause Main Character Syndrome." Your day is becoming... interesting. |
###**Diagnostic Criteria for Protagonist Dysphoria with Manic Episodes**^1
DSM-IV Criteria for Protagonist Dysphoria
· Hallucinations prototypically of grandiose nature^2
· Schizotypal responses highlighted by delusional thinking^3
· Periodic states of mania often leading to injury or arrest^4
· Specific symptoms, at least 3 of these 5, present nearly every day:
1. Significant change in activity; extreme restlessness, inability to stay still
2. Change in sleep; staying up all night, usually in conjunction with delusional thoughts.^5
3. Recklessness & extreme behavior; taking actions, outside of normal occurrence, that lead an increase chance of bodily harm.^6
4. Constant and noticeable change of appearance; day by day changes such as clothing, weight, costume, makeup, etc.^7
5. Increased irritability; marked by an inability to allow for common actions to play out in normal time. Demanding rapidity where not possible.^8
**Screen for conditions that may mimic or coexist^9 with Protagonist Dysphoria**:
· Substance abuse (eg. drugs, alcohol, medication)
· Family history of schizophrenia
· Borderline personality disorder
· Bipolar disorder
· Bereavement; notably the recent loss of both parents
__________________________
1. Eliot woke the morning of September 26th 2017 with the resolute knowledge that he was bound for something more. Something greater. There was nothing particularly notable about this morning, besides the fact that the curtain wasn’t completely closed so it allowed a ray of sunshine to illuminate his face. A spotlight for the rest of the day.
2. As he sat at the edge of the bed noted that he always seemed to put his left sock on first, despite being right handed. Wondering if this was abnormal. He never had a chance to put on the right one as he was interrupted by a large bang outside. Initially wrote it off as construction and headed downstairs. Stepped onto the cold tile only now realizing his bare foot.
3. He sat down to drink his morning coffee and opened up the blinds to an inferno in his midst. Realized the bang was the result of an asteroid plummeting through his neighbor’s roof. The street riddled with debris and dead bodies. People running down the street screaming. Aha! He thought to himself. Time to jump into action! Ran outside, the one socked hero he always knew he could be.
4. By the time he reached the wreckage became enraged at the fact that no one else seemed to be compelled to help. Banged his fists on a nearby police cruiser. Chewed out the cop who refused to be a willing participant, refused to be a true hero in a true time of crisis. As the heat singed his back, Eliot was thrown into the back seat of the car, pleading against this injustice.
5. Eliot sat in the cell awaiting a pretrial hearing for assaulting a police officer. Could not possibly imagine a scenario where this was a bigger issue than what seemed to be the impending apocalypse. He decided to take action. Had spent the last several years teaching himself to be alert even with minimal sleep. Lassoed the keys from a sleeping officer overseeing his cell.
6. Free from the cell, in the midst of prying the gun from the officer's belt found himself flat on his back, bullet in his thigh. Blood pouring over the ground. The officer, startled himself, called for an ambulance. Leaving Eliot enough time to hobble out the front door. Worse for wear, sure, but with a renewed resilience. Fighting against an obviously corrupt system. A system hell-bent on destroying the planet.
7. Realizing that they all knew his face now, shaved off his hair, sewing himself a contour fitting disguise, well except for his leg, still wrapped up in a tourniquet. But true heroes don’t feel pain. And he knew that. Traversed the streets dressed as the Ray of Light Hawk. Some combination of Big Bird and the Cool-Aid Man. Headed straight for City Hall, ready to demand some answers.
8. Eliot slowly realized that in the ensuing fiasco, and in readying the disguise, time was running out. Blood crusted Big Bird heading for the final showdown. Forgot exactly how far City Hall was, commandeered a small girl’s bike, tassels waving in the wind. Pedaling as fast as his bullet ridden thigh would take him.
9. About 5 minutes into this excursion found himself surrounded by police cars, and felt impending doom as the sky turned red, asteroids flying in every direction. Realizing that it would take a true master to escape this. And in a blaze of glory, was immediately subdued and returned to the medical wing of the Morningstar Psychiatric Hospital.
__________________
^[^More ^at ^/r/SquidCritic]
| *Main Character Syndrome* Jacques pondered. The day had been very hard to remember, as if entire chunks of the day were just... gone.
“Jac!” A voice distantly called out. “Jac!”
Suddenly, Jacques was jerked out of his trance-like state. “Jac! What the hell dude? You gonna play some dodgeball or what?” It was Christian, Jacques’s long-time friend of... who knows how long.
“Yeah, sorry, I was just zoned out.” replied Jacques, getting off the bench and lining up for the game of dodgeball.
As he lined up on the orange baseline of the basketball court, he looked to his left, then to his right, noticing that his team was stacked with typical high school nerds. When he looked across the court, the opposing team seemed to be comprised of the biggest jocks in school. Time seemed to slow, every tick of the clock seemed to boom across the gym. The coach’s whistle blew, and the game was on.
He rushed to mid-court, noticing that four enemy players had reached the line of dodgeballs, while the only other player who rushed mid-court on Jacques’s team was Christian. Time slowed even further, and the light began to dim. The four enemy players were highlighted by Jacques’s suddenly heightened instincts and athletic ability.
*Four players. Three to my right, one to my left. If I’m not mistaken, the one on my left will immediately pick up two balls and throw one at me, the ones on my right will supply balls to their team.* Jacques couldn’t be any more correct, from his left, a dodgeball came whirling at him, which he caught, spun around, threw, and hit one of the players to his right. He then began throwing as many balls as he could behind him to his team, and retreated.
His team was easily picked off, one by one, taking on the enemy team by themselves.
Alas, there were five players left on the court. The three jocks from the beginning of the game, then there was Jacques and Christian.
“What’re you waiting for, pansy?” Taunted one of the enemy players. Jacques chucked a ball at him, and nailed him in his shoulder. Infuriated, one of the jocks hurled a ball at Jacques. Jacques dodged the ball, without realizing Christian was right behind him, unaware of the oncoming ball.
“No!” Screamed Jacques, as the ball hit Christian in his face in slow motion. The coach’s whistle blew as Christian fell to the ground from the force of the ball, while the other team celebrated.
“Hey man, you’re going to be okay. It’s alright.” Jacques soothed as he held Christian in his arms. Christian’s right eye was quickly swelling.
“Win this for us.” Christian whispered, clearly still dazed from the hit.
Coach came running to Christian’s aid, but it was obvious. It was too late for Christian, he had to be escorted off the court.
“You’ll pay for that!” Jacques yelled as he got up.
The enemy team paled in fear. Jacques stood in such a way that his muscles seemed to bulge more, and grew taller. “Nobody hurts my friends!”
As soon as play resumed, Jacques threw a ball straight into the air. The two opposing players confused, stared at the airborne ball, while Jacques retrieved a ball from mid-court and slung it at the unsuspecting jock. Shocked, the remaining jock who was not hit by the ball looked at his now fallen teammate, unaware that Jacques had just caught the ball that was once airborne, and was cocking back his arm to throw.
Last second, the last remaining enemy player managed to turn towards the ball, just in time to see it right before he was pelted in the face. Game over.
Jacques stood there, triumphant, a fist in the air, while his team rushed to celebrate.
— | 2017-12-09T09:07:22 | 2017-10-18T12:46:34 | 377 | 18 |
[WP] "Attention civilians. From now on the speed limit will be vigorously enforced." You scoff, before the car beside you explodes into a ball of fire. | I felt my expression darken despite the flames tinging my face. That voice, then the explosion. What had happened? I pulled over and ran to assist... a burned corpse. I was a tad too late.
In the corner of my eyes I caught a glimpse of an old man wearing a fluorescent green vest with a robe underneath and badge of the Traffic Control unit. I bolted toward him, fury burning inside me like the car of that diseased good man.
"Have you all lost your minds? Murdering people for speeding?" I hauled his shoulder for him to face me.
And he did.
I stood speechless. That silvery hair. Those networks of wrinkles. That white robe.
"Sir, Sir Ian McKellen?" I rubbed my eyes, I must have been experiencing some kind of trauma.
He waved his hand. "Gandalf. And to answer your question, there are too many lives lost due to speeders," he said. "Way too many."
I frowned, what in the world was happening? "But you could surely not *kill* them with a ball of fire, which I wasn't sure you could cast," I said. "No offense."
Gandalf loomed over me, damn but he was tall. "Non taken, I'm an Istar, that should answer your question," he said and his eyes darted to a passing car. It exploded, this time there was no fire but a white wave bursting from inside. "I'm having more fun with this job than when I fell with the Balrog."
"I'm sure you are." A flickering shine meddled with my view, I tracked where its source and my pressure dropped. He wore a ring, a familiar one. Could it be? "Do you know where Frodo is, perhaps?"
"That crazy hobbit must be in the Shire, that one doesn't speeds, that's for sure." He laughed a mischievous laugh. "Why?"
I shrugged. "Curiosity. Keep doing your job Officer Gandalf."
"Damn sure I will." He placed a hand in my shoulder and his eyes grew dark like a winter night. "Don't speed."
"I-I won't," I said and walked off.
Gandalf wouldn't murder innocent people, let alone with magic.
It had to be the ring. I had to embark in an adventure and seek Frodo.
That's what I did, minding my speed.
---------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall - a lighthearted one to start the day. | It had been the most brilliant idea since the one way system and pedestrianised City Centres: automated speed limit enforcement.
It had started with the installation of the overhead matrix signs for 'active traffic management'. Which then progressed to road tolls - where people paid by the mile. Which progressed to automated, real-time, micro-transactions - to end the whole chasing debt thing. Finally it had become a matter of 'safety' - or SAFETY in big bold, capital letters. For reasons of safety, the speed limit would be vigorously enforced.
Which seemed great. Until the first day of the new system. There were some expectations of glitches and teething troubles; but not this.
Despite being billions of pounds worth of military hardware, equipped with the most advanced artificial intelligence on the planet, the automated speed limit enforcement system was not doing well. From seven am when the lights went on in the control room through to the scheduled shut down at seven pm, there had been roughly two hundred and twenty nine thousand deaths.
The electromagnetic pulse weapons, designed to immobilise vehicles, were perfect for the task - and a few deaths had been expected. It was advertised, ahead of the trail run, to add an element of deterrence to the more adventurous drivers: stick to the speed limit or risk your life.
Pedestrians moving below the speed limit - compromising the safety and integrity of the traffic flow - had never been thought of as a problem before. | 2018-02-28T07:37:34 | 2018-02-28T07:12:19 | 62 | 18 |
[WP] A person's eye colour correlates to what superpower they have, activated at age 18. You are the first person to be born with totally black eyes. | I awoke to the sound of my dog scratching at the door. Groaning and stretching, I got out of my bed and let my dog out into the harsh winter. I checked the calendar; Only a few hours until my solitude was broken. How long had it been? Almost 6 years?
Perhaps I should explain, in my world, people are born with their souls tied to a star. The color of the star determines their eye color. Red-Brown being the most common, yet mundane powers: Basic telekinesis, Surface mind reading, and Blue being the rarest, but most powerful: Shape-shifting, Super-fast regeneration, Flight and other such things. Only, there was one rule: Our powers would remain unusable until we hit the age of 18, one week from now.
I was born with Blue eyes to a very proud White Eyed mother and Yellow Eyed Father. Growing up, my life was wonderful. I had plenty of friends, went to some of the best schools, and was well loved and accepted, that is until I turned 12. On my 12th birthday, my eyes flashed, and then faded to black. Usually, when a blue's eyes fade to black, it means they're dead. But I was still alive. So I was banished to the far north until the age of 18, when my powers would become apparent, today.
The helicopter came as it usually would, but instead of bearing supplies, it carried some of the most important leaders of the world, and more importantly, it carried my family. I waited impatiently at the edge of the platform, giddy with excitement. Screw the powers, this was the first human contact I'd had since I was a pre-teen. I didn't even give my mom a good chance to get out of the cabin before I was attacking Her with a bear hug.
"My god, you've grown so much! I've missed you so much" my mother said with tears in her eyes. "I've missed so much! I pray that you can come home after today."
This is surreal. Wait, am I supposed to say something? "Uhh, hey Mom! I hope I can come home too" I muttered, still shocked "Hey, um, Where's Dad?
"I'm afraid he burnt out a few years ago, son. I'm sorry we have to break the news like this" I heard a voice behind my mother say. Moving so I could see the owner of the voice, I saw a well-dressed man, white-blue eyes. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Joshua Cephei, I'm the current president of the Greater Associated Countries. I've heard so much about you." He said. To be perfectly honest, he was creeping me out a bit.
“Um, well, would you like some coffee? I’ve got some brewing in the cabin” I managed to spit out. God, when did social situations become so hard? I’d practiced this moment for years. Damn
“That would be great. Shall we?” Cephei said. Seriously, what was so creepy about this guy?
We made our way to the cabin’s main area. I had a pretty sweet gig, to be honest. Hot water, running electricity, plenty of things to do. Still would have appreciated a few friends through the years, but what can you do?
“So, Mrs. Sol, when was the time of birth again?” Cephei asked my Mom.
“Oh, Cygnus was born at Noon, on the second. He always was punctual!” She laughed. Cephei gave her a thin smile as he checked his watch
“Well, we were a bit late. Its 11:55 right now. I had hoped to ask you some questions before the moment, but I think that it’d be more prudent to just wait until after the transformation, if that’s okay with you?” Cephei said
“S-sure” I stuttered, “That’s just fine.”
And then there was silence. As we sat and listened to the clock tick, I felt the tension of the room rise with every second that passed.
“Cygnus, do you have any cream?” My mom said in a desperate attempt to breach the silence
“Uh, yeah, In the fridge in the back. Help yourself to anything” I muttered.
11:57. Three minutes to show time. Oh god, what If I die? What if I don’t have any powers? What kind of life can I live with no powers? Not even the most basic mail rooms will acc-
11:58. God, can’t the clock tick faster? Why is this so painful? Can’t I just get it over with? I just want to rip the theoretical Band-Aid off, and get this over with. Why-
11:59. One minute till show time. I close my eyes and try to shut out the world. I feel a hand on my shoulder. Not gentle like my mothers, but heavy and rugged. My eyes shoot open and-
12:00. I feel numb. What’s happening? It’s as if I’m some sort of vacuum sucking the world in through my eyes. I can see through the walls of the cabin. I can see the 20 or so SWAT officers ready to storm in if I go big. I can see my mother searching through the fridge for cream. I can see the gun in her purse.
“How do you feel, big guy?” I hear Cephei ask. “Cygnus? How do you feel?” He asks again. I see through his words. I see his intent. He wants to turn me into a weapon. He envisions me destroying cities.
No.
As if by instinct, I stand and drag him to his feet by his head.
“Cygnus! Let me go! NOW” He shouts in surprise.
I will not become a weapon. I will not become a pawn. I will be free.
“No.” I bellow. “You would use me to kill others. Your judgement is come. You are unworthy.”
I don’t have control. I can’t stop myself. I stare into his eyes. I see the color surface, and then breach, slowly floating towards my eyes, and being absorbed. His eyes are left as a light grey.
“Wha-What did you do to me?” He grunted. Pitiful
“I’ve seen your soul, and deemed you unworthy. I’ve taken your power” I sighed.
So this was my future. Judge of mankind. I don’t want to be god, but there’s no other choice. I look up, and teleport into orbit. There’s work to be done.
________________________________________________________________
First time, Ended up WAY bigger than I anticipated, sorry about the abrupt ending. Constructive criticism welcome. EDIT: Formatting | In this world, one look into your eyes and your path is set in stone. It is common practice that schools would check your eye color before sending you to class. Your eyes told them what sort of abilities you had, after all.
There really were no special abilities associated with brown eyes (unless you were just different from the mass, but they couldn't tell until later). It was common, average, and they were off to regular classes where you obtained a "normal" education and went off to fulfill jobs that were considered "normal".
Blue eyes typically meant physical, more athletic abilities. Blue eyed humans were almost always physical Adonis who competed in sports, more often than not. Idols who were glorified for their physical prowess and, for some reason scientists still haven't properly reasoned, beautiful appearance.
Hazel eyes usually meant extreme intelligence and charisma. These people were shepherded off to classes meant to foster their intelligence, mold them to become societal leaders, scientists, researches, innovators! And their successes, as expected, furthered growth.
Green eyed people had powers related to nature and I know it sounds cliche. But they were normally shipped off to academies in warmer regions of the world that specialized in plant life, stocked with all species known to man. There, these green eyed children would learn the importance of nature, preservation, and would use their abilities to save what humankind had ruined years ago. Their efforts have made a difference, our world is greener than it was years ago.
Silver, amber, and others? These were somewhat wild cards, most of the time parents had to send them off to academies geared to helping young children and teenagers figure out what they will have and learn how to control unique, almost inexplicable abilities when the time came. Magnetism, telepathy, rubber physiology, the list were endless. They had a way of testing the eyes to discover the abilities with 99% accuracy. Many of these people belonging to these eye colors will become the heroes of cities, using their abilities to combat someone who might have gone rogue, using their abilities for bad, evil. Others were just locked up, determined to have the most dangerous abilities with no chance of being able to control it.
The deterministic system might seem cruel, harsh almost, but it worked, at least until I came about.
Black. My eyes were completely black. Doctors thought it was their fault first, "maybe the light wasn't bright enough", "maybe my tool is dirty", "this kid should have brown eyes, *why am I only seeing black*?" No one ever had black eyes - even purple or red was seen more than black (wild cards, as I mentioned before). The same panic that spread throughout the world when the first golden eyed child appeared a hundred years ago returned now that the first black eyed child appeared.
Now, growing up was a bit rough as people were *scared* of the possibilities since even in the academy with their testing and discovery... the result came back inconclusive. I was ostracized by many even in the academy. What sort of abilities would I have? Would I join the prisons filled with uncontrollable abilities? Or, like my eye color suggests, join the group of evil with my unspeakable abilities and threaten the world order that currently exists? Why was I so different?
So because of that uncertainty that shrouded my eyes, I grew up *practically* friendless. I did befriend someone who didn't care, a girl by the name of Rosemary who had the sweetest silver eyes and determined to be a magnetism user when she turned 18. She, like me, believed eye color shouldn't matter, that our world placed a little too much emphasis on the eyes. We only met briefly during lunch, before I was pushed into a special class created for "unknowns" aka "just me" and she off to magnetism lessons with other users.
The big day finally came, and the academy was already prepared for my big 18 -- I was placed in a containment chamber with blast shield one-way windows. They were giving me a chance to show what I could do -- after all, black eyes and inconclusive testing could just be a false alarm. So, I sat there on the chair they provided in the middle of the brightly lit white room that had absolutely nothing but a mirror I knew was an one-way window. There was a vent which I was sure would send in sedatives immediately if I was considered a danger.
I sat there, waiting for my fate. *Tick, tick, tick*, I thought to myself.
Suddenly, I felt a sharp ping in my chest, caused me to wince a bit. I heard the speakers immediately flicker to life, asking, "How do you feel?" I guessed the second hand just ticked past the time I was born 18 years ago.
"Nothing," I lied, for I did feel something bubbling inside me. I was able to hold it in. It could either be some unknown power or gas, I suspected gas to be honest.
I could hear the speakers shut off. I could imagine the conversations going on outside. Then, the door that I had entered the room with, and was carefully disguised as part of the wall slid open.
"We've determined that you're not a threat, false alarm," the man besides door said, little smile on his face was filled with relief. I shrugged and walked out.
Yet, the feeling in my chest just wouldn't go away.
______________________
eh, don't know where I'm going with this, just wanted to create a prequel setup.
edit: some typos/grammar issues. and okay c: maybe once i find time, i'll write out more | 2015-11-15T09:36:11 | 2015-11-15T08:41:34 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] A rich man discovers that he only has two years left to live. With no relatives to inherit his fortune, he disguises himself as a beggar and resolves to give his wealth to the first person who helps him. | Some of the suits would throw a dollar into his hat, like a crumpled confession meant only for the eyes of a priest - as if they could purchase a sordid mockery of absolution from him. Some might give ten, perhaps even a twenty, depending on how their previous evening had turned out. They'd flash their switchblade smiles and maybe spare him a few words of wisdom - "*don't waste it on drink, I know what you guys are like,*" or "*if you want real change, you've got to make it happen yourself, buddy.*" Then they'd twist their necks like vultures, searching for witnesses to their altruism, and be on their way, smug, satisfied and barely able to resist the urge to pat themselves on the back. "*You're a real good man, Bobby,*" or "*that guy's going to thank you one day, Katie.*"
It wasn't the cancer that killed him in the end.
He had been diagnosed in early spring - the doctor said he'd just been unlucky - but it was mid-summer when he began his new life. A time when the asphalt sidewalks seemed to be battling their own form of cancer; when plumes of too-warm air drifted languorously up into the endless blue above him, and the ground below boiled and bubbled, gasping for breath. When the stench of diesel mixed with the sweet, honeyed scents of marigolds and dahlias, and forced its way down his throat, stinging and soothing in unfair measures. *A day*, he'd thought, *I'll be here a day - maybe a week.* It wouldn't take long for someone to reach out and help him. To buy him a meal, a haircut - to help him get off the ground. It *couldn't* take long.
He'd been one of them, once. A faceless suit rushing to and fro for reasons that disguised themselves as important, but never really were. Would he have stopped to help? He didn't know. But he was sure his father would have done. That was his certainty; the reason why his plan would work. It might be the only certainty - *the only belief* - he had left to cling onto. His father had been a good man. His money would go to someone like his father.
Summer passed, and although his hat had often filled, it had been little more than a woven trashcan for the wealthy to discard their self-loathing, pity and guilt into. To shed their skin but to enable their skeleton to keep on grinning underneath. Eventually, the asphalt calmed, settling into a still sea of charcoal, and the leaves above turned from apple greens to bonfire reds, rustling in the kneading breeze. The streets were filled with macs and umbrellas that sauntered by him, their owners' eyes transfixed on what was in front, not below them; their guilt placated by the autumn drizzle - *can't stop in this rain - he must understand that,* they told themselves, their mouths filled to the brim with coffee and chestnuts and lies.
Winter followed in autumn's footsteps and brought with it a tomb-like stillness; the gloom and snow wove together and seemed to garrote the streets. The cold nipped and snapped unmercifully at his toes and numbed his face and fingers. Inside, the cancer had eaten his muscle and fat, and left only a hollowed, haunted man lying under a dirt-brown blanket on the sidewalk, waiting for the world to notice or to care. But fewer people passed him now, none stopping for the bitter chill, and his hat sat as empty as his stomach. The waft of faraway stew encircled him, taunting him, reminding him of the dinner table of his childhood. He could have gone home, and yet the thought never crossed his mind. It would have meant he was wrong about the only thing he was certain of.
It wasn't the cancer that killed him in the end. It wasn't even the winter's wrath, or the hypothermia it cast upon him.
The group of men thought he might have had money on him - panhandlers often did; maybe he stuffed it into his coat like feathers. He didn't deserve that money, anyway.
Their anger boiled into a frothing rage, when they found nothing on him.
The red smears of his short crawl were soon covered by night's virgin snow. As his chest rose and fell a final time - as his last breath left his lips, like a misty soul escaping into the moonlit sky - he thought of his father.
There was good in the world - of that, he was certain.
He had just been unlucky.
---
/r/nickofnight
| The faceless man without a name sat down on the sidewalk, shaking a jug of coins at the bypassing people. He didn’t have a name or face because this story took place in a world without a proper setting or forethought, words were scarce and descriptions suffered in turn. The only things that existed were his immense fortune somewhere out in the ether, and the busy street, which was the scene of the story.
Not too surprisingly, a stranger walked up to the man. Let’s call her Betty, I mean, who really cares about her name. What matters is that Betty was a struggling single mother. She was several months behind on her rent, and her landlord was evicting her. She also had a daughter that was very ill – chronically so – and didn’t have money for proper treatment.
Seeing the poor man on the street, dressed in nothing but rags, made her stop. No matter how rough things got, there were always people who had it worse. She was just about to give him her last spare change, when something unbelievable happened – something that wasn’t in the script. The woman noticed the grubby child sitting next to the man.
Now a new dilemma presented itself to Betty. She had her arm stretched out and ready to drop the coin into the jug of the poor man, but she hesitated. The homeless child probably needed the money more than the man. Could she change her mind in this situation? Was that the right thing to do? The expression of mixed happiness and surprise on the man’s face made her heart ache. What would she see in his gray eyes if she pulled her hand back? Disappointment? Hatred?
Her eyes wandered to the dime in her hand. Could she ask the beggar if he could change it for two nickels so that she could give them one each? That seemed very out of line to Betty.
“Just drop it in mine,” the man said with a look at the child. “He’ll be better off from it as well.”
Betty was a bit taken aback by the bold statement. It was such a blunt thing to say. How would the child be better off if she gave the money to the man? That seemed like such a messed up idea – the child was clearly starving.
“I, uh, I…” Betty said and finally pulled her hand back.
The man shook his head at her, and Betty sniffed. She dropped the coin into the open palm of the child and hurried off. The problem with this course of action, even though it seemed morally right to Betty, was that the rich man disguised as a poor man still hadn’t received help.
Now, if the man had been a proper character with a bit of depth, he would’ve realized that the woman was a good person anyway, and hurried after her to give her his fortune. I mean, why did it have to be to him in the first place? If someone gave a starving child money, wouldn’t they be deserving of the fairytale ending in this scenario? If the man had any sense of morality, he wouldn’t be out on the streets playing games to see who gets his fortune. He would’ve helped all the homeless children in the city. He would’ve distributed food and helped people out of the gutter.
But since this is not a proper setting or characterization, just a random scene with a made up scenario, another stranger walked by. This was Michael Foroza, a crime lord that preyed upon the weak and exploited those with good intentions. He was the man who was evicting Betty and her sick child. And while digging through his pocket for his phone to call in another hit on an innocent person, a random coin dropped out and accidentally landed in the homeless man’s jug.
****
r/Lilwa_Dexel | 2017-08-21T01:31:46 | 2017-08-21T01:01:22 | 4,022 | 825 |
[WP] This is it. World War 3. Nuclear bombs are about to strike all across the globe. Right as you feel like everything is about to end, time freezes all around you. You hear a deep voice echo across the world. "No," It said firmly. | After the colossal “No” that had silenced the world and paused the nuclear warheads in the sky, resulting in confusion from the world wide generals.
Suddenly, massive yellow bricks hung in the sky in the way bricks don’t.
All eyes looked up to each radio and TV that broadcasted the same voice. From the speakers were what sounded like a couple microphone taps. “Excuse me? Is this on? Are we live?”
There was an affirmation from someone else and the speaker cleared his throat.
“It has come to our attention that your planet is in the middle of destroying itself. Well, us Vogons just can’t have that happening I’m afraid. As I’m sure you all are aware, the planet Earth is to be demolished in a matter of your weeks to make way for the intergalactic highway. However, instead of preparing to flee or immigrate to a nearby local solar system like an average intelligent species would, you’ve decided to try to destroy each other.”
There was a pause and a couple muffled sounds. If one made it out, it would sound like “What do you mean they don’t know of the intergalactic plans? When they didn’t send a representative to our council to proclaim any complaint, the decision was made. We expected them to move out. Hell, we sent one of our own down there!” A couple more muffled sounds. “He was murdered by a couple of humans? What are their names?” More muffled sounds. “Fox Mulder and Dana Scully? Weirdest names I’ve heard. Anyway, get back behind the controls, Ygg!”
The voice became more clear. “Sorry for the interruption fellows. As I was saying, we can’t have you all destroy yourselves right now. Any radiation in this sect would take millennia to decay and we just can’t afford that. So, we’ll be taking those cute things from you...”
Every signal indicating a missile would disappear from screens worldwide.
“I do hope you all have a nice last month of your lives!” The speakers worldwide would become silent. | „No“ a voice said.
„This isn‘t the right time or place and my, ehm, superiors would not like to see that their investitments yield no fruitful results.“
A rather pale and tall man stood in front of me, calm and collected, with a suitcase in one of his hands.
The nuke that just blew up in the sky was frozen in time and looked like a creepy cake that was getting mixed in a pan.
„I‘ve arranged for a small break so we could negotiate a deal which helps us both“
I had no answer to give due to my mute nature of which the man knew.
„I believe it was my achievement as well to free the earth from the Combines. Why not save the world once again, Mister Freeman?“
I knew I had no choice. I wouldn‘t be given one. So I shaked the hand he gave me and I took the crowbar off my back. It would be time to practice the mechanical laws of physics once more. | 2018-08-27T14:31:02 | 2018-08-27T14:06:35 | 52 | 17 |
[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’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. | They all screamed as the orange haired president doubled over in pain live on national television as I laughed maniacally in the back of the bar waving his severed member in my hand before throwing it into my drink.
“Steve!!” “what the fuck man?!” Randy screamed at me as he vomited onto the floor. “It’s your birthday but damn dude!? Why the fuck did you summon THAT?!”
“World domination baby, world domination”
Everybody stood far away from me as I walked out the front door blood dripping from my fingers, The Donald’s member flopping on the ground.
Who the fuck is going to dare challenge anyone that can rip your junk off from anywhere on the planet?
Let them eat cake. | 2019-09-18T10:05:50 | 2019-09-18T09:37:18 | 15 | 10 |
[WP]: "I'm sorry. I just don't understand how you managed to fuck up a five-word sentence, offend the inhabitants of three planets and start a world war at the same time." | Here are the facts:
1) The Varbloxians of Varb 3 have a very particular conversational structure, comprised of facial expressions and words in equal part. Gestures with other organs is viewed as taboo, resulting in a culture where few Varbloxians ever attempt walking and talking at the same time.
2) The prevailing predators of Varb 3 (and, until the invention of the Voobler Slinger, the greatest threat to Varbloxian bodily integrity) have a distinctive attack pattern, comprised of widening their ingestion cavity and lifting their tentacles in preparation for a fatal slam-attack.
3) The Voobler of Varb 7 have a telepathic connection with the rest of their species, a trait that has developed both a wondrously peaceful and honest culture, and the most effective news-dissemination service since the bombing of the Pay-to-Snitch Gossip Company by Mrs Geraldine Smythe of Wentworth, New England, 1976.
4) The Voobler, being highly tuned to each other's mental pattern, have a very limited sense of self, resulting in a society that believes pretty much anything another sentient being tells it.
5) The Haff-Haff of Varb 9 are a highly familial species, worshiping an All-Father named something that sounds, to those unskilled in speaking in three-part harmony, like "Tah K'may", and an All-Mother, "Leegha".
6) The Haff-Haff are also all clones of the original, orphaned son of the All-Parents. They're very emotional. They don't like to talk about it.
It is with this in mind that post-war historians reflect upon the actions of Commander Lt. J. Rossly on V-Day and agree that landing in a field on Varb 3, during a in-depth conversation between a Varbloxian, a Voobler and a Haff-Haff, raising his hands, smiling and saying, "Take me to your leader", might not have been the most well-planned first contact. | It had all started innocently enough, generations before the conflict began. Amy, an amateur astronomer and scientist, clicked "Send" on her Chapek program, beaming the message out into space, hoping it might find an ear or two. Newly interested in science fiction, she had chosen one of her favorite quotes, hoping to spread the good news to everybody. She chose poorly.
She never heard a response. No one did. Not for centuries.
The war was over before anyone on Earth even knew why it started. Amy's message had been received all over the universe, but it was not received well. Thousands of Submin ships carrying reptilian horned aliens descended upon Earth after interpreting the message as a hostile war cry. Almost simultaneously, a second invasion of ships full of deadly robots arrived to kill all those who had infringed on their copyright.
Earth lay in ruins, no one survived. All because Amy had sent one silly line: "Bite my shiny metal ass" | 2015-06-19T05:51:39 | 2015-06-19T05:43:13 | 72 | 25 |
[WP] You are a shapeshifter with a catch, you can change other people but not yourself | Collapsing on the sofa, I let out a sigh of relief. The day was over at last. It had been over nine months since I had discovered the old melted lamp with the genie in it. Odd fellow, I must say. I asked for three wishes like in the stories, and he just laughed at me, saying that he only granted one wish nowadays, the ability to change other people. I asked whether I could refuse it. He simply slapped me and said no, then vanished along with the lamp.
I thought it was a terrible ability at first. I mean, what sort of use could changing other people do for me? I thought for a while about changing my old bully into a tangled mess, but I had a feeling that would haunt me for a bit. Plus, I still have no idea about how long this ability lasts. Bastard of a genie neglected to mention that one before he vanished.
So, here I was with the ability to change other people into whatever shape I want and seemingly nothing to do with it. I made the unfortunate mistake of telling a gym buddy of mine about this new ability of mine. He asked whether I could test it on him, he had been trying to lose some weight at the gym, but he could not really be bothered to do it anymore. I told him no, I would not be his personal plastic surgeon. He offered me £100 to do it. I took it and did as he asked.
I would say that it, sort of worked? I mean he did not have any belly fat anymore. The thing about shapeshifting, as I quickly discovered, is that when something is removed, it must be added somewhere else. The first time I accidentally enhanced one of his thighs. It was hilarious afterwards, though at the time it was pretty frightening to see. Three guesses about where he wanted me to transfer the mass the second time.
That was the start of something wonderful for me. Overnight I became the person to go to if someone was not happy with the way they looked. The most sensible thing, I decided, was to move to Hollywood. Where else would I find a group of people where looks are the most important part of their job?
And so here I am. At the beck and call of the celebrities of Hollywood, fixing their perceived imperfections and tailoring their bodies to what they deem as perfect. The money is good, and the parties, well they are something else entirely.
Picking up the magazine on the glass coffee table beside me, I glance at the front cover and freeze.
On the front cover is a young woman, holding a melted glass lamp. | ''Oh my God! Like, where is my son?''
The princess in a pink crop-top was now bawling even louder than her boy had done. Fucks sake, can't a man just go and buy a damn orange without being kicked in the shins by some prepubescent troll doll hanging out by the fruit stand? I mean, there was a part of me that did feel responsible for this mothers tears. I was, I suppose, at fault for the boys sudden and untimely disappearance but honestly she should have kept an eye on the wee gibbon and not spent so long staring at herself in the reflection of a balloon. That's the thing with narcissists, can't trust them in times of crisis. Anyway, poor lass, she could never have expected such a fate for the boy, and I don't imagine he did either. But shin kickers are without remorse by nature, and what goes around comes around for the bastards of the world. I am a shape shifter unburdened by self transfiguration. Cursed to change everyone else but never myself, that's me, not a punching bag for overgrown rat pandas. I can control matter as if it were clay. With such power at my fingertips, I will not take shitehawk abuse so lightly. Maybe the boy would have changed one day, been a better person. Who knows... All that's certain now is that orange's don't scream, and this boy is quite delicious. | 2018-11-12T06:05:13 | 2018-11-12T05:43:43 | 27 | 18 |
[WP] Everyone has a guardian angel, but yours is killed by a demon. Fortunately it takes pity on you, and becomes the first guardian demon. | "I'm talking to you!" Snapped the bully, shoving the eleven year-old boy back against the wall. The bully's friends sneered and laughed, but the boy appeared calm. "Didn't you hear me?"
The boy looked up at the bully straight in the eyes. "Of course I heard you." He said coolly. The bully was bigger, but there was something in the younger boy's mannerism that sent a chill down his spine. Still, he couldn't back out now; not when his posse is next to him.
"Alright then. Give me your lunch money. Don't make me say it again."
"No."
The bully blinked. The posse was silent. The answer came level but firm. Powerful. After a few seconds the spell broke as the posse started to laugh and jeer and urge the bully to hurt that insolent brat, but the bully wanted nothing more, nothing else than to leave.
"Give me your lunch money right now, or I am going to hurt you like you've never hurt before."
"Go ahead then."
The answer came with more laughter and jeering from the posse, but the bully noticed something in the brat's posture. A slight shift in his legs, a tightening in his hands, a furrowed brow... *It is a fluke*, the bully told himself. *You are just imagining things. Take one step forward and hit him across the jaw. Then he will give you his money.*
As he raised his arm, however, the boy was already on the move. The first punch hit the larger boy accross the gut like a brick. The second punch was strong enough to make him pass out.
*****
The boy sat on the sofa, waiting for his parents to come out of the principle's office. His ears were ringing and his stomach churned.
*"That was good, kid. I am honestly impressed with what you did."*
The boy looked up at the horned demon, sitting in mid-air in front of him. Despite the fact that the creature made no motion to harm him in any way it frightened the boy, who looked down at his feet and wished the scary monster would leave. He wished he had not listened to what it had told him and fought the bully back.
"I hurt him."
*"He was going to hurt you first."*
"He wouldn't if I just gave him my money."
*"That is still hurting you. Making you go hungry. Humiliating you. That is just as bad."*
"Now I am going to get in trouble."
*"Yes"*. Admitted the creature, nodding paternally. *"But it will all be forgotten by tomorrow by your parents and the principle. More importantly, the bully will remember. The posse will remember. They will no longer hurt you. What is more - when you are around, they will not hurt the others. In the long run, you are doing good."*
"..." The boy looked up from his feet to face the horned creature, having finally worked up the courage to look at it straight in the eyes. "I don't understand. You are a demon."
*"Yes."*
"Why are you helping me?"
The monstrous face was hard to decipher, but for a moment it looked to the child as though the creature was flustered... or maybe afraid. *"I am no angel."* It spoke without moving it's mouth. *"A guardian angel can act to protect you; stop a brick from falling on you, convince a snake to hiss and not bite you, make bullies avoid you. But I can't. I can't do any of those. I am a demon."* It inclined itself forward to the boy, its black, beady eyes looking almost concerned. *"But what I can do is prepare you. Teach you how to defend yourself, teach you to be aware, teach you to grow strong, be careful, and avoid trouble. How to stand up for yourself, discern truth from lies, tell apart good from bad. Listen to what I say and one day you will no longer need me."*
The boy nodded, and for the first time he was not afraid. "Thank-you." A thought came to his mind as he recalled what the demon said. "Did you say 'guardian angel'? Why don't I have one of those? Why do I have *you* instead?"
The creature's expression was hard to discern. Was he angry? Frustrated? Regretful? But before it could answer footsteps and voices could be heard from the principle's office. *"I will tell you one day."* The creature spoke without speaking, winking out of existence, leaving the boy alone to face the wrath of his parents. | A deep sigh escaped my lips.
It was theoretically a beautiful day, sun shining, birds chirping, the steady hum of traffic and the occasional tweet from a tree. However, it was really another shit day.
I'd found a wooden bench to sit on in the park across the street from work, I slumped my head down and closed my eyes. Trying not to think of the madness in the office.
"It can't be that bad little missy"
A man appeared from no where next to me. He was sat down, reading a newspaper, he was wearing a black pin stripe suit and fedora to match. He looked as if he'd been there for twenty minutes, but there was no one there a second ago.
Perplexed, yet uncaring, I snapped back. "Well you don't know shit."
He put the newspaper down to reveal his age. His face was defined with laughter lines, his eyes were a warm brown that had seen a lot, his hair was still thick and full of colour; he was immensely beautiful but still seemed incredibly old. He was smiling at me, but I let my head drop back down again.
"Yeah I guess you're right, I'm just an old man, but there is someone watching over you, there is someone for everyone"
I snort at his response. I pull my head up to respond, but he's already walking away and out of the park gates, about to cross the road. I sit with my mouth open, unsure of what just happened. I look around me to see if anyone else noticed him.
All at once, it happened.
A screech of tyres. A loud crack. A screaming woman. Chatter that turns to shouting. I'm suddenly running towards the noises. I come across a bus stopped in the middle of the road, in front of it: a newspaper and fedora.
To the first person I find, I ask "What happened?"
"Th..there was an old man...I..I..I was sure he..."
I stood there dumbfounded. There was no body? What on earth happened?
I glance at my watch and see I've got to get back to the office. I push the thoughts of the man to the back of my mind.
~
Day Six. I'd been coming back to the same spot in the park for a while still perplexed by what happened the previous week.
But in those six days, boy I had been going through hell.
John at work has been on me for months claiming I had been stealing his work, well this week, he managed to get promoted and now runs the office. I think he has made it his last dying wish to make my life a living hell.
But it's not just work, little things keep happening: shopping bags splitting, milk gone bad, leak in my flat, lost travel cards, shoes broken. One thing after another.
I take a bite of my sandwich and roll my eyes.
My phone buzzes silently in my coat pocket. I fish it out and read the incoming text message.
*My bad man. I kinda killed your Guardian Angel; I bet you got a lotta questions. But chill dude, I'm your new Angel...well technically Demon. But don't worry, I know what I'm doing! Don't worry about the old dude, he was my brother, we always liked to play fight, but I guess I took it a bit too far...Whoops! But yeah, I felt bad, so now we can kick it together. So what d'ya say? Lez be Partners in Crime!*
I look up from my phone. A grin appears on my face. | 2016-08-15T08:26:20 | 2016-08-15T05:26:47 | 47 | 12 |
[WP] A superhero whose punches heal rather than harm. Their origin story is kicking the shit out of a kid with terminal cancer.
Requested to post her from my thread on r/crazyideas. https://www.reddit.com/r/CrazyIdeas/comments/4lngiz/a_superhero_whos_punches_heal_rather_then_harm/ | *Chris this, Chris that. Chris, you're so cool. Chris, let me help you with that. I'm sick of this shit.*
Chris Mayer, the freshmen who just joined high school, was loved by everyone immediately. The girls, the guys, the jocks, the losers- everyone wanted to be his friend. Me? It was my senior year.
One day, I was eating lunch in a bathroom stall and just grew sick of it all. Sick of the unfair bullshit, the way people were nice to him but hated me. It was just because of his cancer, I knew it damn well. Worst of all was the way he smiled at me, or waved and said hi to me like nothing was wrong. It was him I hated most.
June 19th: the day I graduated from high school. My uncle was there, but no other family, and certainly no friends. Yet there that little bastard was, IV rack in hand, cheering and clapping for the senior class. Someone dedicated a speech to him. Everyone gathered around him after the ceremony. My uncle left halfway through, before I even got on stage.
I left before the midnight party began, just after sunset. Since my uncle had abandoned me, I was forced to take a bus stop that was almost a mile away. I took a shortcut through a side alleyway to the building our graduation had been held in, where I found Chris bent over and retching violently.
"Oh, dear," he said weakly, forcing a small laugh. "I came here so no one would see me like this. It's pretty bad these days."
No words formed in my mind; there was only an animalistic rage swirling, mudding my thoughts. I pummeled the living shit out of that frail, little boy. Every punch was vindication, every tooth knocked loose a symbol for my shattered dignity. Soon I was just taking out all my angers on him; my family, my loneliness, my uselessness. He was an emotional punching bag I'd made literal.
By the time I stopped, it was too late. Fuck, there was so much blood on me and the road, and his twisted little body. And yet, through labored breaths, through broken bones and missing teeth, he tried to smile. He tried to say something to me as well, but the blood pooling in his throat left the words inaudible before he started choking.
I ran. I didn't call for help, I just ran. No one caught me, somehow, and he died that night in a hospital bed. Not from the cancer eating away at him, but from my fists. I cried the whole night, and couldn't sleep for three days because every time I closed my eyes, I saw his mangled little face trying to smile. That whole time, it was *me* I hated, not him.
That night, I went home and punched myself in the face as hard as I could. I wanted to give myself a taste of what I'd given the poor boy in his last few hours, to feel what he felt, but no matter how many times I hit my face... I felt nothing. I checked a mirror to see if I'd just broken myself, but I looked sharper than ever.
Ever since then, I've haven't been able to hurt someone with a punch. In fact...I heal them, like my hands are imbued with the life I stole from him. Hands I'm afraid of, because I know he's haunting me.
I don't know how...
...but I wish they'd worked that way on the day I graduated.
-----
*thanks for reading! you can find more of my work at /r/resonatingfury* | "Okay, let me have it."
Not quite what I would have expected coming out a kid. Sitting in the hospital bed, kid looks like ET. The picture they used when they proposed this whole idea...it was a lot more flattering. His head didn't look so...big.
"Cadeceus?"
The woman to my right, dark haired a nice rack that made her reporters badge just sway in ehen she turned. Oh right, the reporters. My publicist said it would be great publicity once I told her about my powers. I'm a healer, pretty damn valuable honestly, like a unicorn. But only if I punch someone. And not halfheartedly, I've got to punch them **really** hard like I hate them. When I told her the specifics she went white as a sheet. She jumped the gun; organized an healing event.
Cancer ward at the local children's hospital. I was legally obligated to punch the cancer our of these children. Now all these people were waiting for me to go Muhammed Ali on a bunch of terminal children. As I looked at the kid, Ethan (?) was his name. Big old coke bottle glasses, staring up at me like a puppy.
A poor terminally ill puppy, kept on staring at my namesake, the red caduceus symbol on my chest. Or maybe just my chest.
"Kid," I say with a forced smile, "this is going to hurt me a lot more than you."
The first blow knocked him out of the bed. That got some instinctual gasps out of the crowd, given they could hear the air snap. I got on top of him as soon as I could and landed another one square in the nose. It was always jarring putting all my force into the punch only to see nothing happening.
He started flailing a bit with the next few, so I--holy crap! The little turd actually tried to cop a feel! "Now you're going to get it." I growled.
It stopped being coordinated. I just wailed on him as hard as I could. Started hitting him faster and faster as the color started coming to his face for the first time in years, the hair that started coming for the first time, the soft cries being replaced by giggling. Now that? That just made me angrier.
But I'm no athlete honestly. I tired out in maybe a few minutes. Looking at him on the floor...the picture of health. Doctors actually clapping, the reporters cameras flashing. Some actually congratulating the kid, who was looking at me with a smile on his face.
I'm going to have to invest in a sandbag.
Edit: Accidentally submitted before I finished. | 2016-05-29T21:04:46 | 2016-05-29T20:33:49 | 2,092 | 785 |
[WP] There is a hiccup in the Force which causes Mace Windu to randomly change into a different Samuel L Jackson Character. | "Master Windu, the hostiles are just beyond these blast doors. We must proceed with ext - -"
"Chill, man, we got this. You ready?" Mace asked his trusted Jedi partner Vin-vin Libro.
Libro responded with a cool "Sure" and reached for the operating panel.
"Hold up a sec. How many guys are we talking about?"
"Eight or nine."
"Eight or nine?"
"And our man inside."
"Shit. Alright. Hit it."
The blast doors flung open with a flurry of arcing light sabers and and Force-propelled objects. Libro and Windu went to work with furious speed and acuity, cutting down their opponents with great vengeance and dodging blaster shots with the intervention of the Force.
Within a matter of seconds, nearly all opposition had been pacified. Only one hostile remained, staring ahead gawk-eyed from his seat at a table in the center of the room, motionless.
"Looks like we caught this one having lunch," Windu chuckled to his companion, never taking his eyes off the seated creature. "Whatcha having?" The creature breathed rapidly but neither moved nor spoke.
"He asked you a question," said Libro.
The hostile's eyes moved downward toward the half-eaten meal in his pincers. "Big Galactic Bun."
"Big Galactic Bun!" Windu roared back with delight. "Mmm mm! I haven't had one of those in years."
"You know what they call a Super Galactic with Jelly on Naboo?" Libro asked with a knowning grin.
"They don't call it a Super Galactic with Jelly?"
"They do, in fact. Can we get this over with already?"
Mace Windu looked down upon the hostile creature, who remained still in its seat. "You know why we're here. Where are the plans?"
"Man, I don't kn - -"
"Don't even try that shit with me, fool! Now, I was planning on bringing you before the Court, but if you want to test my patience..."
"I don't have the plans! I swear!"
Windu narrowed his eyes. "What does Yoda look like?"
The perplexed creature's eyes darted about the room. "What?"
Mace Windu shuddered for a moment, his eyes twitching, taking no action for a brief moment before bringing his light saber straight through the defenseless creature's neck, instantly decapitating him.
"What the hell!" Libro shouted. "He was unarmed! We should have arrested him. He would have told us where the plans are. Do you think he deserved to die, Master Windu?"
Windu glaced at Vin-vin Libro with a half-searching look of righteous anger. "Yes I think he deserved to die and I hope he burns in hell!"
Another shudder overtook the form of Mace Windu. They were happening more frequently now. Libro looked concerned. "Are you alright, Master Windu?"
"Alright? Shiiit. I'm great!" Windu looked down at his weapon in admiration. "Purple light saber. The very best there is. When you absolutely positively got to kill every motherfucker in the room... accept no substitutes."
| Mace Windu pulled out his lightsaber and ignited the blade, staring straight at Palpatine. "Wait," Palpatine said, "Do I know you from somewhere? You look awfully familiar." Windu looked at his friends. Seeing their confused faces, he looked at what he was wearing and holding. Then, he realized who he was. He was Nick Fury.
"No you son of a bitch," he said, pointing his gun at Palpatine, "and I sure don't know who the hell you are. All I know is that I'm pointing a gun at you and you're going to die." He heard the Jedi ignite their light sabers.
"So be it." Palpatine launched himself in Nick's direction. Nick rolled away, only to leave one of the Jedi open for a kill. Then the next, and the next, and the next. Palpatine slowly turned to Nick, grinning wildly as he gave a chilling laugh. "You can't think to stop me, worm," Palpatine said, "I can block those puny little blaster shots."
Nick looked at his gun, then to Palpatine. He brought it up with two hands. "I don't think we're quite on the same page," he said, "This gun has bullets asshole." He fired two rounds towards Palpatine's head. Dark blood splattered on the wall as the bullets went through Palpatine's head. He collapsed onto the ground, a stream of blood coming from the two holes in his head.
A single set of footsteps came from the hall. Nick pointed at the dark cloaked figure. "Stop it right there, sonny!" he yelled. The man raised his hands. "What'd you do to the chancellor!" he cried. His face wrinkled up. "You gonna cry?" Nick said, "You gonna cry, like a baby? Cause, that ain't a pretty face for someone your age. Almost like it was bad-"
"Murderer!" the man shouted, stressing each syllable with childlike significance. He reached for his lightsaber, but was gunned down before he could ignite it. His body fell to the ground in the cliche dead pose. Nick walked over the body and holstered his pistol. "Freaks." | 2017-05-09T06:48:13 | 2017-05-09T06:40:14 | 972 | 304 |
[WP] At an alien bar in the distant future, two aliens are enjoying a drink and trading stories about the newest member to the Pan-Galactic Union, an odd race of bipeds from a planet named "Dirt". But what they don't realize is that you, the bartender, are from that planet "Earth". | "I cannot believe the Union let that race of abject horrors in." Slav Said pressing his long blue locks down across his head as he drank a blue smoking drink in quick tongue laps."
"did you hear they shove metal in their teeth? They force their teeth into little rows, they do this to their children, it's for aesthetics." Said Quib, flexing his long fingers.
"Some of your kind studied them didn't they?" Slav asked stirring his drink.
"yes, They call us the Grays. We abducted and probed a few. We scrubbed that program quick though." Quib looked around the room spotting no Terrans, he continued talking.
"you see, they are infested with bactirium."
"What??!" The Blue haired Cromu said spilling his drink a little, the bartenders glove hand sweeping it up as it melted through the counter.
"The whole extraction team died a few cycles later. These Humans as they are called evolved to live with, and even combat some of the deadliest diseases. Lately they've even taken to injecting their bodies with the dead remains of their most feared diseases."
"But...you mean...they evolved to galactic travel and yet didn't even hit the bio-sealant phase?"
"nope, skipped right past it. They are by far one of the most resiliant creatures known to man. Savage sure, not long lived, but one of the first races to meet them were the Cron."
"I heard there was a war between them."
"More like a slaughter, humans put them down, and concured Cron. Their diseases wiped the rest of them out."
---- thats all for now. | There was a series of science fiction stories with this premise. Nearly all aliens are from small low gravity worlds orbiting red dwarf stars, where life evolved very slowly, with few mass extinctions. They are amazed that life could develop at all on a high gravity world with active volcanos, radioactive metals throughout, high UV sunlight, and mass extinctions every couple of hundred million years. Humans are recruited as soldiers because we are incredibly tough, strong and fast... Most aliens can't even see us move when we swing our giant musclebound limbs quickly. | 2017-09-06T10:10:48 | 2017-09-06T10:09:54 | 29 | 16 |
[WP] A zombie has just attacked you. You can feel yourself starting to turn. What's going on in your head? What happens next?
Bonus points for events leading up to the attack! | "Well man, its been a good run, " I said.
My now mutilated hand can no longer support the weight of my machete. It falls, clanking on the now desolate highway. John turns away from me and walks to the back of our heavily armored Jeep, kicking his way through a pile headless corpses.
"Heh. This bad boy has gotten us through some rough times, hasn't it Johnny," I say, slapping the chain linked mail on the passenger side window.
I turn my back to the Jeep and sit down, resting my head against the door. I can smell the rotting flesh of the now twice-dead body to my right...or maybe it's my hand. I really can't tell anymore. My senses are dulling, and my vision is fading out.
I hear John rustling through the trunk of the Jeep, looking for our emergency kit.
John shuts the trunk and swings around to my side of the Jeep with the emergency kit. He sets the case down on the ground, and takes a seat next to me.
John opens the case, fiddles around a bit, and pulls out two ice cold beers.
"Here ya go bud," says John, handing me a beer "It's been a good run."
I take the beer, pop the top, and smirk.
"Alright ya asshole, just make sure you take a few more down for me before they get you too."
I take a swig of my beer and close my eyes, reveling in my last few seconds of humanity. God I feel so cold. So hungry. The entire world is starting to dull, but I know if I could just EAT everything would go away.
I turn to my left, and I'm welcomed by the barrel of John's silenced pistol, and the last words John would ever say to me:
"I promise buddy, those fuckers don't stand a chance."
| Oh God oh shit oh NO!!
Fuck, it got me! You fucker! No no this can't be happening. So much blood. I need to find something to bandage it fast. Shit, there's nothing here. I'll just cut a piece of my shirt and wrap it.
Dammit, it won't stop bleeding. So much blood. So much blood. It hurts like a motherfucker. I'm definitely gonna bleed out if I don't turn first. There's no way I can stop it from getting me. It's too late. I need her to do it.
"Charlotte?!"
"Bill? Where are you?!"
"I'm in the pharmacy, Char!"
Shit it HURTS!
"Bill? OH MY GOD!"
"Char, Char, calm down. I need you to--"
"It got you Bill! It go you! What am I supposed to do? I've never fixed a bite before. I don't even know if I can."
"Char, I need you to take a deep breath. I know it looks bad." A CHUNK OF MY ARM IS GONE! "See that gun over there?"
"N-no...I can't...I won't..."
"Listen to me Charlotte. I need you, right now, to listen to me. I don't care how bad this sounds, but I need you...to kill me."
"No! I won't. There's gotta be another way!"
Agh, it's throbbing! "This is the only way, Char!"
"But, please Bill, I can't do that to you. I can't do it."
"Yes you can. You're stronger than you think you are, honey."
"That one over there was a police officer. I can handcuff you to a pole--"
"No. You need to put me down like the rest of 'em before I come back. We don't have much time!"
Oh God! Fucking shit it burns! That's right, grab the pistol. No, don't hesitate. Just pick it--aah--just pick it up. Good.
"Come over here, Char."
"There's got to--"
"There isn't. I need you to do it. Okay, press it to my head. You need to destroy my brain. There...you. Go. That's right, the metal is so cold."
"This isn't right."
"You're the only who can do it, the only one I *want* to do it...now pull the trigger. I'm ready."
"I'm...sorry."
"I'm sorry that you have to do this. I-I love you, Charlotte."
"I love you too, Bill." | 2013-11-29T19:40:17 | 2013-11-29T19:05:33 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] A doctor waging the war on cancer dies with (surgical) blade in hand. Somehow his spirit enters Valhalla. | "This is a mistake, I'm not supposed to be here!"
"Well" Odin said in his deep booming voice, "You died fighting a powerful enemy with blade in hand, that gets you into Valhalla."
"But I never even believed in any of this!"
"That doesn't matter, besides, why should you complain, you get to fight all day and feast all night and the Valkyries will attend to your every need."
"This... this just wasn't what I was expecting"
"Well you will be in good company, you will be revered as a hero here."
"I'm no hero, I didn't die in battle, I had a heart attack while performing surgery!"
"Don't be so modest, this place is for those who fought and slayed the unjust, and what enemy is more unjust than cancer?"
Odin began speaking with excitement, as if even a god were in awe of this mere mortal.
"The most unjust enemy, it kills at random, it slowly and painfully tortures it's victims, and you fought it through hours upon hours in the operating room, and not for the first time! You died a greater hero than many a viking warrior, now you have a place at the table of heroes, now drink your mead and revel in the company of those who fought the good fight!"
Odin put his hand on my shoulder and directed me to a table in his great hall. My eyes widened in wonder as I saw who was seated there. Faces I only knew from pictures in the history books, Hippocrates, Louis Pasteur, Jonas Salk and every other doctor who had saved countless human lives throughout history.
"Behold, the table of true heroes!" Odin proclaimed. Now take your place among them!
Edit: Thanks for the gold kind stranger! I had no idea this story would get so much support, my mind is thoroughly blown. | "...the fuck?" Dr. Olsen said, as he pushed himself up out of the deep snow that he found himself mysteriously laying in. "Nurse? Nurse!" His voice boomed but was quickly blown away by the torrent of wind and snow breaking across jagged and rocky peaks nearby. Stunned into a state of stupor it took the Doctor what seemed to be ages to snap out of it and check himself and his surroundings.
"Where am I?" He asked, to no one in particular, as he glanced at his location. He was standing on a plateau on, or near, the top of a mountain. The wind drove heavy snow from the north causing visibility to lurch from visible to white out in fits and starts. It wasn't until he was checking his clothing, of which he still wore his scrubs and held the still bloody surgical blade in his right hand, that he realized that he wasn't cold. He didn't feel any temperature at all. Another long moment of thought was broken again by a shattering of sound to the west of the plateau. Heading that way, Dr. Olsen found a snakelike path that wound it's way down to a huge open plain.
"No fucking way!"
At the terminus of the path lay the obvious source of the sound the doctor heard. A enormous gathering of men and women all dressed in clothing that looked like they walked out of a Renaissance Faire engaged each other in merciless slaughter. From his vantage point the good Doctor could see the blood splatter in red streaks across the pure white snow in a macabre mockery of a 'new age' painting technique. Howls of joy, pain, and guttural exertions wafted upwards to him in a way that only could be described as harmonious.
"Henrik Olsen, welcome!" Boomed a voice from behind and above the doctor. He turned and fell backwards onto the snow again, too stunned to speak.
"Henrik Olsen, welcome to the halls of your fathers, and your father's fathers, and their father's fathers. Great Wodin has heard of your battle against a great and dangerous foe. I, Göndul, welcome you as einherjar in our Great Father's Hall." Göndul sat astride a massive horse and held a massive mug in her right hand which she gestured with. "To the Mead Hall before the great fights!"
The Doctor stared at the woman uncomprehending before turning his head. Behind him, previously hidden from view, was a huge old wooden hall with a open air roof. Smoke, the smell roasting meat, the sounds of sex and laughter flowed from the roof.
"What have I gotten myself into?" | 2014-08-22T21:28:26 | 2014-08-22T21:24:15 | 690 | 42 |
[WP]As the story unfolds, the reader turns out to be the villian | I haven't slept. My body weakens day by day, and I waste away, but still I dare not sleep, for fear of what might happen. The doctor's say it's an illness of the mind, a phantom of the psyche. Oh it's a phantom alright, and it is in my head, but it's real.
At first, I thought it was just the creaking of the old house. The worn floorboards, the branches scraping against the brick and mortar. Shadows cast through the window that my mind distorted into terrible shapes. But it was more. I was being watched, listened to, my brain's very thoughts dissected.
*Hello* I would scream into the empty house, and be answered only by an echo, as if mocking my sanity. I know you're there. I'm not insane. It's not the house, nor is it the solitude. I wish there was solitude, for I'm not alone, never alone. Whoever you are, peering at me from afar, get out. GET OUT. GET OUT. You invade my soul, my very essence of being, taking my innermost thoughts and cutting them up into easily digestible pieces.
Why? To feel something from my pain? Monster. Get out....
You must be able to see me, hear me. For what other reason would you derive so much pleasure from seeing me writhe and suffer.
Go away. I beg you. Yes, you. Please, just stop. I'm so tired... | *Della walked home today. Her mum forgot her again. Her mum Alice was married to her job. She rounded the corner and saw a car parked there.*
*The man sitting in it was her teacher Mr Rawlings. He was her favorite teacher. He never gave her homework. And he always had a special gift for her. He was like a father to her. Mr Rawlings saw Della "Did your mum forget you again?" Della had ha this conversation with him before. "Yeah. She is always so busy with her job" Mr Rawlings told her to hop in and he would give her a lift home.*
*As he drove past her street Della started to worry "That's my street sir" Mr Rawlings told her not to worry. He was going to take her for ice cream. Della believed him until they hit the outskirts of town. She didn't even know where she was anymore. "Where are we going sir?"she asked, she was getting scared now. Mr Rawlings pulled the car over and without a word smacked face. Her eyes welled up with tears. "Don't you even think about crying." His voice was sinister. He got out of the car, walked around and opened her door and ordered her out.*
*She did as she was told, afraid for what might happen. She shakily unbuckled the seat belt and was pulled out of the car and onto the ground. Rawlings bound her hands and feet and put a pillowcase over her head. He picked her up and shoved her into the back of the car, got in and kept driving. He knew he had a couple of hours to drive, her workaholic mum wouldn't even know she was missing until she got home at nearly midnight.*
Anthony Rawlings finished the chapter and slammed the book shut with a thud. He already knew what happened next. He had lived it. He had been hiding in England for 6 years now. Noone knew who he was or what he had done. He didn't speak to anyone for fear of being caught and yet here was an account of the crime he had committed in great detail. He had to know, was it a coincidence that the author of the book wrote this story? Or was there a witness that day?
☆ This is the first time I've ever written anything on WP I usually keep all my stories to myself. Sorry for poor skills XD ☆
| 2014-09-24T09:53:38 | 2014-09-24T09:03:26 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] A multitude of Alien ships warp within range of Earth. Over all electronic devices the message is heard, "Earth, we come in peace. In all the universe only one other Species has mastered Death and Destruction as you have. We need your help." | "Alien life forms, we acknowledge your signal. We expect you will understand ours. Send the dimensions of your vessel or vessels so that we might prepare a landing location.
Our technology is such that any trade, information sharing, or negotiation must be done on the surface. Earth's many factions are unanimous on this decision, so that no one nation is privileged.
We ask for your understanding while we attempt to assist you."
The transmission was sent. The UN council exchanged glances. Representatives sat along side national leaders. Given the gravity of the situation, no nation would miss the chance to be present.
US President Obama turned to Russia's seat at the security council forum, waving to get the leader's attention.
Putin disengaged from his aides and advisers to meet Obama in the middle of the floor.
"Vladimir... what do you uh... make of our chances here?"
Putin seemed to bounce the question around in his mind. He smiled. "Good, good. Let these people plan for failure - you and I -we plan for success."
Obama raised an eyebrow. "You can't plan just around success - that's called daydreaming."
"Fine then," said Putin, rolling his eyes, "let us get a daydream down on paper."
~Hours later~
The receivers and speakers set up around the Roscosmos / NASA station all buzzed to life. Printers began spooling paper out, and the speakers blared. The digital sounding alien voice roared through.
"We celebrate your acknowledgement, and will prepare our ambassadors to meet yours. We are transmitting the details of our vessel."
The eggheads at the science station lost it.
Special agents of numerous countries all studied the data along with the space agencies, reporting possible impact to their superiors.
Obama caught Putin out of the crowd and nodded. It was time. They sent out an urgent message to the other world leaders, and went to a top-secret conference chamber away from the UN floor and the noise.
The scene within was unique in history. As the last of the invited filtered in, an image of the alien spacecraft that had been received in the transmission appeared on the screen. Expert analysis of each part of the vessel spilled down in a multitude of languages.
Hundreds of the most powerful leaders from around the world all stared at the readout in silence.
It was finally broken by a familiar voice.
"The Russian Federation...is formally calling dibs on the engines."
Followed closely "The United States hereby calls dibs on the powerplant *and* the uhh fuel system."
The room erupted into a chaotic free-for-all - but there would be plenty of the alien ship to go around. It hardly mattered if it was metal or organic - it was all going to be useful. With over 10,000 lifeforms on board, it meant each of the attending nations could take at least 50.
This was going to be a great day for Earth.
| The Zoom of a warp drive, a measurement of exact strength of a vaccuum, (a tricky thing, measuring vaccuum's within a vaccuum!) heated and shook. A contraption built from scrap metal and crap from the outer rim of this solar system.
Kazim was grateful though. In one of the human's furthest reasing trashcan's there was a golden disk... With just enough gold to transfer a high definition message from one of their space stations...
which of course, Kazim would have to take over quietly, and without giving anything away. Which is why the zoom of the space drive, was rather annoying, when usually be found it an impressive thing.
Then Kazim felt ridiculous. He was worrying about sounds in space.
Though, If they found out the truth about him and defenselessness, or his odd intentions, that would be the end of it.
Hostile, primitive life... *They'd likely want to cut me into pieces*, he thought. He considered the little simians, prying and probing him with their glasses and metal.
He was glad his skin was thicker than the indigenous people's. They would have a harder time cutting him open. Something told him though, this animals specialty wasn't in it's brute force, or sharp tools. (Though they did walk on two legs, instead of the polite four. They are like arrogant savages, compared to Protosimians as far as Kazim was concerned.)
All the more reason not to trust them!
He had his eye on one space station in particular. It seemed to issue commands to other nearby satellites. A whole system Kazim could broadcast from..! Imagine the possibilities.
Again, he was thankful for the golden disc. It had some odd mark's on it. He was pretty impressed that cave dwelling primates managed to send a valuable piece of material like this into space... Though they did graffiti it. None the less. They probably knew about it's high definition capabilities.
Impressive.
Kazim had to give it to them.
Literally. He would need it to transfer his images to their communication devices, and try to take over the planet. He would look like a fool back home if he couldn't handle a species so primitive... And his people would never hear the excuse, of his ship being eaten by a Cthulhu... or that he lost to these sub-protosimians.
Whatever the problem, he couldn't stop now. He had come too far. Faught through too much to be made a fool of.
Everyone back home would know his name, when he offered them a new vacation destination, with a commercially enslaved people to serve them.
When Kazim's trashcan powered Zoom drive pressurized him close enough to the space station, he pulled over a mask on the face of his suit, and exited The pod, drifting to the door.
His suit stuck to it. He banged on the space station.
he waited.
A very alarmed man was screaming inside in a matter of minutes.
Kazim held up a piece of paper. "Tell No One."
For lack of a better word, their faces were incredulous.
It was some time, but they finally let him in.
Some hours later, a message arrived everywhere on earth in all the languages of the people on the station.
Unfortunately, the only language was russian.
"We come in peace. In all the universe only one other species has mastered death and destruction as the human race has. We need your help."
Kazim Imagined that this message would get him taken directly to their leaders, with access to their weapons. But since the messaged arrived only in Russian, to everyone on the planet, most of the world was left with conspiracy theories, and the Russians laughed it off.
| 2015-06-07T05:15:11 | 2015-06-07T03:21:24 | 167 | 33 |
[WP] You and your entire extended family are all super heroes, except none of you know about each other's powers. That is, until one super awkward family reunion... | It was nice to get away from the city every once in awhile. Going to the countryside was always a warm welcome for Kyle, where he enjoyed spending time with all his aunts, uncles, cousins, and where there were hardly any worries. Sitting here, he really did feel at peace surrounded by his huge family. Kyle felt himself drifting to sleep as he lay happily on the hammock, listening to the friendly bickering between his parents and their siblings.
"C'mon Kyle! James and the others are already at the lake, we're going to be late!" shouted his cousin Kate, who broke his peaceful slumber.
"Ugh, fine! But you better make the jump this time!" Kyle called out with a smile on his face. The lake was where him and his cousins played ever since they were kids. Kyle himself loved it, he remembered the long summers there with him and his older brother Josh, the incurable prankster. Most of them were in college now, but that didn't mean they couldn't enjoy life's simple pleasures, Kyle thought to himself.
When he got to the lake, he could see that everyone was already having a blast. After teasing Kate to jump off the cliff-side, she finally did it and he followed exuberantly. Being in the water always made Kyle feel great. Of course, being a powerful hydrokinesis user he naturally felt at home in the water. He loved playing against his cousins to see who could hold their breath the longest. Kyle always won of course, since he would slyly breathe through his nose while underwater, a fact that no one in the world knew.
"Uh oh, it's the adults!" said Kyle's youngest cousin Sarah. She had only just entered middle school, and so she was still quite rebellious. Kyle chuckled good-naturedly. Being in college, Kyle was no stranger to alcohol, but he loved it when the adults got drunk and started acting silly around their nieces, nephews, and children. He saw his dad trying to do handstands while his mom was jumping around with his aunts in a bikini.
Suddenly, Kyle felt an icy chill down his spine, which was strange considering that it was still summertime and the water was at an almost perfect temperature. Kyle couldn't quite describe it, but it sort of acted like a 6th sense. He knew something was wrong. As Captain Inundo, Kyle had no shortage of enemies. But he knew that his main enemy, Incendium was still locked away in Special-X Heights. Scanning the area, Kyle saw a tall, dark-haired man who he didn't recognize, which was strange since Kyle's parents insisted on making the family reunions every year, and so he thought he knew everyone here. The man was sitting on a lawn chair, drinking a beer and gazing out. Kyle slowly got out of the lake onto the shore to take a better look at him.
As Kyle stared at the man, he suddenly felt that icy chill once again as the dark-haired man turned to look at him. He felt like he was rooted in place, staring into those eyes that were so dark they could've been black. This man knew who he really was, there was no doubt about it.
Kyle knew he had to do something, but he couldn't out himself in front of everyone. The man suddenly stood up, raised fist in the air and slammed it down. At once the world turned black. A flash of lightning tore through the sky and slammed straight into Kyle. The only time he had felt this much pain was against Incendium's infernos. He fell hard, while he heard his family members crying out in horror. The pain burned through him like a hot knife, but he couldn't pass out, this man, whoever he was, would hurt his family, and he would not let that happen.
Slowly, Kyle willed the water to rise to him. He felt the water heal him. The dark-haired man sent a second lightning bolt, but this time Kyle was ready. He created a massive ice shield that absorbed the lightning, before turning to the dark-haired man. But another lightning strike slammed through the sky. This time however, it hit his aunt Mary. Kyle cried out in horror. But to his surprise, Mary shrugged it off. There was something different about her now, Mary's skin had turned metallic, and she was literally glowing. The dark-haired man, uneasy now, sent a lightning bolt crashing down at Sarah, who fell with a cry. That was the final straw for Kyle. Anger and rage burned through his frosty blue eyes, as Kyle raised his arms, summoning a furious hurricane. He launched it upon the man with all his force. The dark-haired man wasn't prepared for such an attack. He was ripped apart by the full force of Kyle's rage. But Kyle couldn't stop it. The hurricane didn't stop, even after it had destroyed the dark-haired man. Kyle's rage was consuming him.
Out of his burning anger, he heard a voice. It was Kate's, but she wasn't speaking. It was in his head. "Calm down Kyle, you defeated him." Surprised, he turned to look at her, but her lips weren't moving. Almost against his will, he felt himself calming down and the hurricane dissipating. With tears in his eyes, he turned to look at Sarah. She was lying on the ground, but her eyes were open and she was talking excitedly! Above her, stood Kyle's father. A force field flickered around the two.
"Alright, who's next??" Kyle joked in disbelief.
"Ayyyyyyyyyy" said Josh, as he turned into a tornado. | There were hundreds of people here, crowded into tight rooms in some little community center on the outskirts of town. Aunts, uncles, cousins, nieces, nephews, grandparents - it was a sea of body heat and uncomfortable conversations.
Jack was sitting on the end of one of the couches situated in one corner of one of the larger rooms in the community center. His eyes darted every which way, watching for any sign of danger. He had a feeling in his gut that his arch nemesis would attack this very day, which would endanger his family. Sure, he had never met most of the people in the building until today, but the day he would let anyone related to him suffer at the hands of his archenemy would be the day that pigs fly to the moon.
He saw his mother out of the corner of his eye scolding his sister for something. Not all too surprising; his sister was always getting into trouble. It helped him hide his powers much easier that way. Maybe it wasn't the nicest way of looking at it, but it had to do for now.
Suddenly, a screech was heard through a set of speakers, and then a familiar voice resonated through the rooms and halls of the community center: my dad's. "Hey, welcome, everyone, to the 25th Annual McIntosh Family Reunion!" There was a brief cheer. "First of all, let's give a round of applause to Bill McIntosh for getting his restaurant to make us such delicious food, yeah!" Another cheer. "Now, for the main event, if you'd like to join us in the ballroom, we're going to start some line dancing!" More cheers, followed by a stampede of people.
Jack's mother found him off in the corner and grabbed him by his arm to pull him along - or else he would have stayed where he was. She dragged his sister and him into the ballroom and set them up near the door. Jack was not going to have any part of the dancing - neither was his sister. They weren't dancers anyway.
Soon enough, a nice song came on and the line dancing was underway. It was obvious everyone was having a great time, and the music was surprisingly good! Jack found himself stomping along to the beat here and there.
Before they knew it, they were three songs in. He and Jack's sister were clapping along to the music when a strangely familiar body walked through the door right next to me. Jack knew he had seen that person before, but where?
The person stopped a few feet away from the door and seemed to be taking the scene in. The person was a man who looked to be about six feet tall, muscular but lanky. Jack didn't recognize him as a family member, but that didn't really mean much, seeing as though he had no idea most of the people at this family reunion even existed prior to this event.
The man walked on, passing in between the dancing people until he got to one end of the room. He stopped and looked around again, as if searching for someone or something. And then he looked straight at me - and then Jack realized who he was: Telekor. His archenemy.
Jack gasped, startling my sister. "What's wrong?" she asked, but Jack couldn't say anything. As much as Jack had hoped to be prepared for if Telekor came to the family reunion, he didn't know what to do. He couldn't risk revealing his powers and be ostracized by his family. But he couldn't stand by and watch Telekor potentially kill his family.
He flashed a smile that was all too familiar - a purely evil and sinister smile - and looked towards the center of the room. Jack's mother and father were dancing there and directing the masses of people. He then looked at the massive chandelier looming above my parents. He looked back at Jack and seemed to chuckle. Jack immediately knew what was coming next.
With a flick of his wrist, the chandelier was severed from the ceiling and came crashing down. "No!" Jack screamed, and lifted his hands towards it. With all of his might, he used his telekinesis to stop it its free fall.
The live band stopped abruptly, the crowd turned to look at me, and Telekor had vanished. My mother and father and dived out of the way fortunately, but now they were looking at me as if he had just murdered the family dog.
Jack didn't know how to handle the situation, so, out of mere awkwardness and confusion, he dropped the chandelier. It crashed to the ground, sending flames from the candles in every direction. His mother stood quickly and, without a moment's notice, sent gusts of wind from her finger tips. Jack's father followed suit and unleashed streams of water from the palms of his hands. The flames were soon quenched, but the mood in the room had become even more tense.
Jack, his mother, and his father looked at each other with astonished faces. No one knew what to say. Finally, almost in one voice, they said, "You have powers?"
All three of them gasped collectively, then: "*I* have powers? When did you get powers?"
Jack's father broke the tension - finally! - as he stepped forward and said, "Enough. Jack, why didn't you tell us you had telekinesis?"
"Why didn't you or mom tell *me* you had powers?" I asked, taking a more grounded stance.
"We're sorry, son. We didn't know how you and your sister would react. And, in doing so, I guess your mother and I didn't really think about the idea of you or your sister having powers yourselves."
"I don't think Karina has powers, though, dad."
"So, it's just you?"
Before Jack could answer that, his mother interjected: "Where *is* Karina?"
Jack looked back towards the door - Karina was gone! A sudden weight landed on his shoulders, and a realization he didn't want to have washed over him. Telekor had vanished, along with Karina.
"Mom, Dad, I think Telekor took her."
Silence. And then my mom exclaimed, "What?!"
My father added, "Who's Telekor? Was he the one who brought the chandelier down?"
"He and I have...history, father. No time to explain. We need to find him before he can do any serious damage to Karina!"
(EDIT: Formatting, grammar mistakes, punctuation, basic story-editing.) | 2015-07-08T11:12:02 | 2015-07-08T09:22:10 | 47 | 18 |
[WP] You have a super recessive disorder that makes you immortal. Never in all your time (~14,000 yrs) have you encountered anyone else like yourself. You begin a series of breeding of experiments....
Yes this is dark, go nuts with it. | In my 14,000 years of life, I have had countless lovers, husbands, wives, boyfriends and girlfriends; I have also had just as many divorces, break ups and name changes. I was 40 years old when I realized I wasn't ageing. It seemed that I had stopped somewhere around 30, my husband and I at the time had decided to live a child-free lifestyle wanting to get the most out of the one life we had together. Little did I know, I would have several lifetimes. It wasn't long after that that I started to age myself, dying my hair grey, faking fine lines, until one day he died. Just like that, he went to work one day and never came home. I tried not to dwell on that. We had an amazing 30 years together and I mourned him like anyone would in their first life. From that point on, I realized that I needed to be careful and I needed to get smart real fast on the process of changing identities. I didn't know how long I would live and I didn't know how long it would take for me to start ageing again. I would never fully love anyone like I did my first husband, I got close a few times, there was this one woman in Australia who made me feel more alive at 600 than I did at 60, but that first life was special.
I was about 800 or so when I started to consider having children. Before it seemed irresponsible, what if they weren't immortal, I would have to abandon them at some point when it became clear that I wasn't ageing. But then I started considering what would happen if they were like me, I could have company, I could have someone that I wouldn't have to watch decay over the years.
It was easy to find sperm, men were always willing to give it out, just say you have an IUD and you are good to go. At first, I only had sex with men that I was naturally attracted to. I figured that had to be pheromones or something guiding me the best possible candidates, but after countless of miscarriages and failed attempts here I am. 14000 years old and formally trying to figure out the best candidates for mating purposes. It had become so scientific I rarely even had sex at this point. Insemination seemed like it would be the best way to ensure pregnancy. I even had a few eggs harvested so that I could try multiple different sperm on different eggs.
It was through this that I was able to see what was happening at a cellular level, the miscarriages that I had been having weren't young cells that had just not been viable, they had become old dead cells. I observed in test tube after test tube, sperm enter egg, cells begin to divide, and after 6-12 weeks the cells would all start dying, almost as if they were ageing too quickly to keep up with the new cell growth.
I begin studying the DNA of various men that I had figured were viable candidates, based on the average longevity of their family history, this always lasted the longest. There was a definite link, but not strong enough. Then I decided to approach it from a different angle. I, obviously, possessed a recessive gene and longevity seemed to be a dominate gene. What if I began looking for men that came from families with really short life spans.
It was hard to find with the advances of medical science. It seemed as if everyone could live to 120 easily, but they were there. The people whose minds started to fade early, or hearts gave out despite a healthy lifestyle. I finally found a man with a series of recessive genes, red hair, color blind, and so forth. It had taken centuries, but here I was 8 months down, one to go. | This is my first post on writingprompt, its a bit long. Hope you guys like it.
I have many names and many identities. Once I was hailed as a saviour, a king another time, and now i'm just a neighborhood shoemaker for a mining city in the north of Canada. The locals would call me Jon the sole saver. I have a secret and that is I can control time around me. This comes with many benefits. For one, my mind subconsciously stops time within me so I don't age and when I get hurt all wounds heal within minutes. All these things happen without my control like how a heart beats without anyone thinking about it. I have always wondered if there is someone else like me but after fourteen thousand years the answer is still no, that is until I met the woman of my life, Nora. When I told her my secret she didn't freak out nor did she act like one of those worshipping fanatic freaks. She just embraced me, it was the happiest moment of my life knowing that at least one person would treat me normally. Of course we got married. It was a small wedding, just the two of us at a local church. In our honeymoon she told me that I was her hero because in a lot of comics it seems the hero in hiding always hid themselves somewhere north of Canada. I don't want to be her hero because she already is mine. We tried to have children many times but we always fail. We went to a local doctor who knew about my powers we were good friends. He did some examinations on Nora and came to the conclusion that the Egg; once it reached the embryonic stage it just stops as if time stopped around it. That night I laid on my bed, Nora was crying in the washroom. I want to comfort her but I have to words to say. Its as if the laws of nature is rejecting me, my children are rejecting themselves even before birth. It hurts me deeply but I know it hurt Nora more. After that night we stopped trying.
40 years has passed since that time, Nora turned 60 today but her beauty is still shown even under all the winkles. I can't sleep, I went to the kitchen and poured some milk into a cup, milk's gone bad. Nora will leave me soon, these brief few years won't last long. What do I do? What can I do? The more I thought the more ludicrous my ideas got. What if I made Nora immortal? I you need a specimen theres a living one right here. I'll think more about it tomorrow. I turned off the kitchen lights and left for bed, the cup was empty.
The next day i went to the local doctor. The doc's son was there too hr plans to take over his father's clinic soon so I just call him doc junior or DJ for short. I asked the doctor if he could find why I'm the way I am. We took blood samples and cell samples. After a few weeks doc concluded that it wasy blood and soon I began my experiments.
First it was animals I injected my blood in a wild boar first it died as its blood froze it self in time. Doc and i decided that we need to make a serum from my blood that will activate simultaneously when it has spread throughout the body. It finally worked on a lab rat. Its time for human trials. Doc volunteered and his son DJ agreed to it too. DJ wants to evolutionize Medicine. If everyone was immortal then war, hunger would be pointless and dissappear. I don't care about that, I just want Nora to be with me forever. It didn't work, doc died from brain damage as the serum spread through his body partially. DJ was sad but in his eyes it was a worthy sacrifice for the greater good.
DJ and I continued to work on our serum for the next 15 years failure after failure and Nora is running out of time. She's bed ridden, DJ has been monitoring her and its not looking well her stomach cancer is eating away her health. Out of options I told DJ that I'm going to use the new serum on Nora.
It was late at night and extremely windy. I walked into our room and Nora laid there slilently asleep, her skin pale and sickly green. I held her hand and she woke up. Flustered that I woke her up I let go her hand. She looked at me and said "I'm glad that got to spend my time with you. I am satisfied with this life so please don't be sad."
I went to the kitchen to get some medicine and water for her. I mixed the serum in the water and brought it to her. She drank it and went to sleep
Edit: accidentally clicked send before finishing so still not done | 2015-09-26T11:43:17 | 2015-09-26T10:24:50 | 44 | 12 |
[WP] "They say in your final moments, your life flashes before your eyes, but the truth, is far darker." What is the truth? | Humans love to romanticize; they love to dream of things far removed from their grasp and tell tales of what they could be. Death is the most notable, as the end of your own existence is a frightening thing to contemplate. Where do we go, once our bodies are one with the earth, when our flesh sloughs off our bones and we become naught but a memory? Moreover, what is dying like? What happens in that last, brief moment where you're fading from this world, neurons firing in your brain, desperately trying to keep going?
Some say your life flashes before your eyes; that you see all the wonderful memories of your days on Earth stream by like a cinema screen in your head. Unfortunately, though it sounds wonderful, that's simply not the case.
The only thing that's flashing is the neural network in your brain. Your body is dying slowly, but your mind still has just a little bit of leftover electricity, and it's going haywire. Signals are fired all across your nervous system, desperately trying to get some kind of response, like a mother crying for a lost child.
You feel it as pain. You can't move, but your nerves are going berserk and it feels as if your blood has been turned to magma. Sharp, stabbing pains, trails of burning sensations, all while your entire body feels like a leg that's fallen asleep- pins and needles pricking the entire surface of your skin.
You can't think past the pain. You can't move, or cry for help. Sometimes you can still hear people talking over your body, even if you can't see anymore. "Oh, he's gone. How tragic. At least he passed peacefully." while you're being tortured for what feels like an eternity, your cells exploding like balloons exposed to an excessive heat.
Not to mention, you can't breath and your heart isn't pumping. Your body is dead, but the nerve signals those send aren't quite through right away. You still feel like you're suffocating, and the stillness left by a lack of heartbeat is beyond unsettling.
You're alive, but you're not. You're dying, but you're dead. You're paralyzed, but you feel every square inch of your body begging for the completion of death.
You have a mouth, but you cannot scream.
Yet, when it's over and your nerves have died after 60 seconds or so, there's still just the tiniest bit of gas left in the tank. Not enough for you to have a philosophical debate about what's next, or contemplate the meaning of life and suffering, but just enough to feel the emptiness of the black hole you're in. You aren't bombarded with pain anymore, but your soul earns no reprieve from the situation. You're alone, at the end.
Truly, utterly alone. | They say in your final moments, your life flashes before your eyes.
They are wrong.
Have you ever felt that there was a plan, a certain path your life was supposed to take? Certain benchmarks you were meant to achieve along the roads of your life? If so, congratulations, you are among those of us who can perceive the truth.
However, it is a far thing to go from a vague, quasi-"something ain't right" feeling to knowing that something has prevented your life from taking its predetermined course. And make no mistake, your life - all our lives, actually, are predetermined. We plot out what we will accomplish, what we will fail at, right down to how long we will live - we plan it all out ourselves. It's all part of the plan. I won't bore you with the details, you won't remember them anyway. It's the one drawback we haven't conquered in this dimension hopping excursion we call "Life" - for whatever reason, knowledge cannot pass between this dimension and the next.
Except for those final moments before what is called Death. As you "die", your mind/soul/katra/whatever you want to call it - prepares to cross the dimensional boundary, and return to the place you "came from". As this happens, the life you lived is played back to you.
*And so is the life you were supposed to live.*
Now, don't misunderstand me; almost everybody has some degree of drift in the execution of the plan. It happens to the best of us - I suppose I can tell you, after all, you won't remember it later anyway - That Trump fellow? Last time around, his first name was Adolf. For some reason, that one simply cannot grasp the whole "live together in harmony" thing.
Yes, there is reincarnation. As I said before, everybody has some degree of drift in the execution of their "life plan". Sometimes that is a positive thing. There was a man who was supposed to die of an overdose, tragic and alone in college, and instead, got elected to the Presidency of America - Twice! Okay, maybe the fact that his father was also the President had a bit to do with it, but we can't call that a total failure, now can we? When he dies, he'll be reviewed and probably sent back to live - and die - as intended.
The worrisome part is those people whose life fell dramatically short of their plan. These individuals muck up the works for everyone! Let's see, your records indicate you're from the early 21st century. Yes, diabetes? Supposed to have been eradicated at the end of the 20th century. Unfortunately, the individual who would have grown up to make that discovery instead committed suicide over a female when he was 16.
And here's why you should fear being so far short of your goal(s): if your failure is severe enough, you won't be sent back. We'll put you through the process of reincarnation, but instead of being born, you wake up in a room where occasionally you can hear and see the "other world" around you. People moving, talking, cars driving by.
The problem, of course is that communication is impossible. If you are heard at all, it is only screams, or gibberish that frankly scares the Hell out of some of the "living".
Sometimes, these tortured "spirits" appear to the living, and the living are so frightened that they run away. Right into a busy street even. Where they are unfortunately hit by a bus. Rather like you. So here we are, dying on the pavement, which is why I'm here. To take you to your review.
And I must say, you do have some cause for alarm...
| 2016-02-02T15:15:32 | 2016-02-02T14:36:19 | 66 | 14 |
[WP] "You know the difference between subjective and objective, right? 'Some rabbits' is the former, 'three rabbits' is the latter, and much more accurate. So I'm going to need you to be very clear when you say there are 'a few' dragons outside." | I fumbled over my thoughts as I stood before Jovian, King Winstar's most revered adviser. I only had a limited time to gain his trust.
Before I could utter a response, a giant claw emerged from the window followed by a deafening screech and a crash as the wall crumbled from the impact of a mighty dragon.
"Follow me!" Jovian beckoned as we quickly descended further into the center of the castle.
My focus kept me oblivious to the clamor of pandemonium that erupted among the city-dwellers as I kept in sync with every step: I was on a mission.
"How did you foresee this?" Jovian grumbled as he fiddled with a set of keys, "From where did you gather this information?"
"I fled the village of Maernst and watched it burn from afar" I declared "The pace of a horse was no match for a dragon once they set course. I did my best to alert the ruling power of the kingdom."
"Well it wasn't preparation enough, was it?" his retort was brief.
A large, heavy iron door slowly creaked open as Jovian leveraged his body to reveal a lavishly adorned armory.
In the center, atop a pedestal, sat a large spear with a vibrant emerald at the end of the shaft.
Jovian retrieved the spear and a cackling display of electricity shot out from all ends of the weapon.
"We must deliver this to the king!" exclaimed Jovian as we set off once again.
We arrived in the center plaza of the castle to be greeted by the king and his battle-ready cavalry.
King Winston sat on a massive horse. Both were wearing brilliant, golden armor that reflected the sun as much as it did the dragons' flames. The true spectacle, however, was the emerald diamond ring he wore.
I smiled as Jovian made his way to bequeath the powerful dragon-slayer to the almighty king. I readied my own weapon, a longbow, and painted the tip of my arrow with a pungent black powder I had kept hidden in a vial under my belt.
A surge of energy felt throughout the kingdom thundered from the king's grasp as he lifted the spear to the ready. Lightning bolts sprang from his wrist and displayed his prowess. He was ready to strike down the dragons ravaging his city and threatening his sovereignty.
I raised my bow with arrow mounted. Steadily, I drew the string back and took aim.
"Hoozaah!!" bellowed the king as he commanded his troops to advance. The enthusiastic formation did not last long.
I held my bowstring taught. When my confidence was strong, I let go and the arrow zipped from my hands. My aim was formidable: that much was certain.
The cursed black substance allowed the arrow to pierce through the aura of lightning. My shot struck true to it's mark. The king stiffened and tumbled from his reign. His horse reared upwards and let out a loud whine.
A dome of silence overtook the cavalry as they watched in horror as their king writhed on the ground. The poison blackened his veins and quickly spread to his cold heart.
As the rest froze awestruck, I proceeded to haul ass for the exit of the city. I may have released a fury of dragons onto the city, but that was my only opportunity to end the tyranny of a cruel and merciless leader. | "Riight.. Yea, so I don't know if ten really is 'a few'?"
"Ten?! I wouldn't call.."
"Yea and now one of them seems to have taken interest in us. See?" I interrupted when the purple one of the bunch started to waddle towards us.
"Those aren't the kind of dragons I thought of, when you said there were 'a few' **dragons** outside" my friend said as he had huddled to the window by now.
And yes I can understand how one might be surprised by that characterization, but I didn't know what I'd call them. I mean, now that I look at them they could just as easily be called dinosaurs, but those things shouldn't exist anymore anyways and as a matter of fact they don't really look like conventional dinosaurs either. What are you supposed to call a large blobby thing with reptilian features, that is walking on two legs anyways?
The purple blobby reptilian thing that had taken interest in us started to get closer and suddenly I could swear I can hear it.. Yankee fucking Doodle?
"What.. the..", I started.
"I have no idea."
"So you hear that too?"
"Yeaa...."
We looked at each other with our eyebrows raised, as we contemplated the state of our reality. Now the lyrics slowly started to become clear and it wasn't Yankee Doodle, even if it shared the melody. This made us both question our sanity if there was still anything left to question, because this was a version of the song both of us were unfamiliar with.
"What.. What should we do?" I asked in the most confused state I'd ever been in. My friend just silently got up and started to walk out of the room. I decided to follow, as the purple blobby reptilian thing was starting to make me feel more and more unease.
"We need the gun!", said my friend.
"The gun?!"
I had no idea what gun he was talking about. No matter I wasn't about to be left alone downstairs as the purple blobby reptilian thing was dawning ever so closer to my friend's house. I followed my friend upstairs and into his dad's room. I could hear him mumbling under his breath "it.. it should be riiight here. AHA!" He drew a shotgun from under the bed.
"A fucking shotgun?!" I exclaimed shocked. "Don't you think that's a bit of an overkill? That thing looked weird, sure, but hardly blood lusty. More kind of, like, a hug you to death situation going on there, rather than a eat you the fuck alive type of scenario."
"I AIN'T LETTING NO PURPLE FUCKERS COME AND STEAL MY FUCKING PB&J!", my friend yelled as he rushed downstairs.
I rushed behind my buddy as he crushed through the front door. Next thing I could hear was "SUPER DEE-DUPER" coming out of the mouth of that reptilian blobby thing and the next thing was a loud BANG and then soon after a soft thud.
"I.. I think you just killed.. killed that.. that.. WHAT THE FUCK MAN?!"
"HE WAS COMING FOR MY GOD DAMN PB&J BRO! I HAD NO OTHER CHOICE MAN! I could see the lust in his eyes."
"YOU DIDN'T EVEN HAVE A PB&J ON YOU!"
"Oh shit you are right..",said my friend when he realized the mistake he had made.
Then I spotted this other lizardy monster kind of thing emerge from behind my friend's garage. It lifted it's bowler hat and said, "You seem to have a problem on your hands, gentlemen! I can make that problem go away, but I have a price."
"What might that price be?" I inquired.
And the beast answered, "Aaah.. That'd be about three fiddy."
What a killer steal! Three fifty to make this purple blobby lizard carcass disappear, before the neighbors would discover that we killed this unique creature. I reached into my pocket and threw all the change I could find there at the monster and poof the purple blobby thing and the larger lizardy monster were gone.
I then looked my friend in the eye and asked, "Do you think the pills are working?"
_________________
Edits: maybe I might be satisfied with the formating for now.. | 2017-02-24T18:20:29 | 2017-02-24T17:07:55 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other. | "You will love her more than you've loved anyone else. She will be light of your life. Although you don't know it yet. Sure she may be a bit on the heavy side, and sure she may sound like a beached whale. Not a convincing pitch is it? She's smart. Trust me she is smart. You've always wanted to be great, at what? Doesn't matter, the only thing that matters to you is greatness itself. She will give you that."
That's what I told myself. Or what he told me. Can I really consider him to be me if we have different memories? Welling different, I just have less. We are what we do, and I have not done what he has. Which is precisely why I must listen to him. Greatness sounds... well great. I want my names in the history books. I'll marry that woman and make her make me great.
I lay on my couch day dreaming about the whale. I don't anticipate the woman herself, but I'm sure she is a great person. I slowly drift away when I startle myself.
"Don't do it! I know what you're thinking, please, just please don't. "
Well I mean, he startles me, it's a bit awkward to remember to differentiate myself from them. The me with plus experience. Me+ if you will.
I look at me+ and see that I am not at all like the other me. Long dirty beard with long dirty hair. Cracked hands with cracked nails, shoes that don't match, and three winter coats on in may. I'm homeless, or atleast near enough that it makes no difference.
"You look like shit, what happened?"
Me+ takes no offence to my remark, almost as if he is told the same thing everyday. He takes a breath and starts his story.
"She is great, truly amazing. If she had the looks she would be leading the world by now. Which is why I did. She was sauron and I her mouth. Using my good looks we made it to the top. People loved us, or hated us. It made no matter no one opposed us."
"Don't you find it weird that you're talking in the past tense, but these events actually happened in the future?"
Me+ looks up in wonder and says "woah, far out man."
We share a laugh and for a second I see my own, child like wonder in his eyes. It doesn't last, suddenly the vast emptiness returns.
"What would you do with all that power?"
I ponder the question for a few seconds and say "I don't know."
He continues ands if he already knew the answer. He'll he probably did "neither do I. I controlled the largest army history has ever seen, I have been called prime minister by more people than all of the world leaders in history. Yet I did nothing with that power. Sure I am called great, but I am only a great puppet. She sits at the high table, I stand on the pedestal. The history books will worship you."
I smile at the thought, but there's a catch. I always have a catch.
"We were the first to legalise la ganja, gave us more power than we though. The booming economy and our vast amounts of fresh water put us on the world stage. Far surpassing what our little brother to the south has ever achieved. Soon we controlled it all through trade. The fact that it's getting warmer every year attracted more immigrants. Soon we we had the man power to take it all. And we did."
I have always thought I'd take over the world, although I always expected to start start on Africa, taking advantage advantage the poor economy and unstable governments. Never thought I'd start at home.
"Power is fine and dandy, but what you want is money, what you want is freedom. You'll have money, but no freedom if you take the whale for your wife."
"You look like a hobo though, what the hell happened?"
"We have always liked drugs haven't we? The books will say we were great, but they will also say that we fell from grace due to alcoholism and drug addiction. You see, I didn't have the fredom to go live in a cabin in the woods with a husky and little else. We, however, did have the fredom to take whatever substance we wanted. Not many people to stop you from doing so Inn the privacy of your own home. The whale is fat, she can handle it. Being native and skinny makes it a bit harder for us. Too hard."
Speaking of which, I light up a joint and we pass it to eachother for a bit. We sit in silence letting the smoke fill the air. When our eyes are red and puffy he turns to me and stabs me in the arm. Before Before I can react he's gone. I yell out what the fuck as tears steam down my face. I rush to the er for treatment.
I'm patched up and let go, through the days I wonder why me+ would do that. I'm I'm sure he had a decent reason, although he was a crazy hobo. I can't even know if any of what he said was true. I never will.
Days turn to weeks to months to years. I wait and wait, but I never meet a woman named Veronica. I never met the whale. I become obsessed over her, I found found a Facebook page that might be hers, but I have no way of knowing for sure. Knowing. Funny word there, it seems to be all I want. I want, nay, I need to know what could've been.
I spend my later years searching for a way to go back, they did and so will I. I need to go back and tell me what to do. I need to know the right path to take. | I have never been the kind to try and find a meaning in dreams, nor the one who listens to fortune tellers: my future is mine to shape, unforeseeable and beautifully mysterious because of that. I don’t know what comes next, and as such I’m as free as I could be in my choices. This is just how it should be, except it ceased to about an year ago.
The dreams started after a crazy night out in my town with the old friends I hadn’t seen in a while, they looked all accomplished, successful, and there it was me, the one unfit for success, the one still working 9-5 in a small office, full of small people working 9-5, unfit for success as well. My friends had either smoking hot girlfriends or plethoras of lovers, while I was texting a girl from office, maybe a 7, still the best I could get. That night my friends ordered all top-shelf stuff, we’re talking abut Bellavista, Grey Goose, and 50 years old Whiskeys, and there was kind of a challenge about who was to offer more drinks to the poor old friend I was. I loved them, my scarce wealth was never a problem except to me: to me it was a big problem, and when I got home, the evening after, I went to bed wishing to be just as successful: to be able to pay them back, I told myself, but maybe just because I wanted to. That night I dreamt of a guy, well-dressed, rich-looking and handsome, and he introduced himself as someone willing to help me achieve my goals, so I laughed it off, being like: “Ok dude, I should never have drank that much, I get it”, so he said: “Tomorrow, go walking to your office, leave early and enjoy the view, this will show you what I can do”.
That morning I got up early and walked to the office -it was a mere thirty minutes away and it could do some good to me to walk every once in a while, i thought- enjoying the view like the guy said. As I turned around the corner, I found a jewellery box laying on the ground aside a strange-looking key. I put both in my pocket and, being the nice guy I used to be, reached up to a wealthy-looking lady asking whether she lost them. The old lady thanked me so much, but didn’t recognise the key, she said the box had fell out of her pocket, and offered me coffee in her mansion as a thank-you. I promptly accepted.
The mansion was spectacular, it took a couple of minutes to get there by car from the city, and as I entered I thought it was well-worth being scolded at work for being late. The old lady introduced me to her daughter, definitely the most beautiful woman I had ever seen, and we instantly hit it off. Later she drove me to work and said the sweetest goodbye leaving me with a kiss on the cheek and a confused mind. I had fallen in love.
Once I was in the office I got suspended for being late, or, as they said it, i got “given some time to think about my career there”, so I went out in the city once again, bought one of those milk-caramel-unicornshit-coffees they do at Costa’s and sit there, enjoying that beautiful day of sun, in pure happiness. I then got to the park, bought a book, and spent the afternoon there reading. At night I got home, ordered chinese, and just got to bed.
I dreamt of the guy again that night, and the night after, and every night after that one, always giving me advice, always making me happier. I won’t recount the ways he did, but should it suffice to say I got promoted at my office, twice, becoming one of the managers, and as such I got a bigger home to invite that girl, Asia, over. We eventually became a couple and everything was as happy as it could be.
Until today. Today me and Asia moved in a beautiful attic, me now working in another company as a top-manager took a day off to help with the boxes, and I got really tired, so I fell asleep at 16, against the advice of the dream-guy. Waiting for me, there was another guy, poor-looking, dirty, practically an hobo, who introduced himself as me. He told me he was me, and the other guy was as well, he told me I should stop listening to him, that the damages would have been by far greater than the perks I was getting. I didn’t believe him, so he showed me the future both of the dream guys could see. I saw great wealth, I saw fame as my company merged with ever-greater ones, I saw my marriage with Asia, our children, and then I saw something too awful to tell.
I will try anyway.
I saw me. Cheating on her.
I saw her. Finding out.
I saw me. I saw my rage. I saw a knife.
I saw the love of my life, on the ground, our children sound asleep.
I saw enough.
I told the guy to fuck off, to never bother me again with such awful visions.
What should I have done? The night guy just told me what to do, and it always led to happiness, this new one instead pops up in my mind and shows me such unholy things. I couldn’t stand it.
“Go away”, I said, “Go away and never come back, you sick piece of shit”.
“I’m just trying to warn you, stay away from the other one, you’re happy now, let it be. Don’t be avid”, he said.
“I won’t listen to you psycho”, I replied.
“Fine then, by the way, it’s Janice, she got breast implants and she wants an interview in your company, but in fact she’s just obsessed about you since you stopped texting her because of Asia”
“What…”, I couldn’t understand, “What are you say…”
The guy disappeared.
I woke up to the ringing telephone.
The voicemail started repeating its mantra.
A response followed, slightly covered by the noisy spools of the tape:
“Hi [panting], this is Janice and, umm, I thought we could meet… Of course for the interview, I know you’re in a relationship of course. I, well, I got some implants, so maybe this time I’m good enough for you HAHAHAHA just kidding hahaha isn’t this funny? Anyway, your secretary didn’t book me the interview so call me back and we’ll do on our own… The interview of course! Bye”
That night, the guy told me to hire Janice. | 2017-04-01T07:32:58 | 2017-04-01T06:02:46 | 128 | 44 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want. | I am not a good man.
James looked down at the table, sipping his water. Always the same look when he's got something on his mind. "What're you ordering," he says with a low voice. "I hear the, uh, steak and fries are great."
"Maybe just a coffee." I drummed the table lightly with my fingertips. "Look, J, I know that face. What's on your mind, man?"
He hesitated, then looked up. His eyes were tired, dull bags underneath. I've never seen the guy look so old. "The, ah, warehouse explosion last night," His eyes turned hard. "That was you, wasn't it?"
I chewed on my tongue for a bit, then sighed. "It might have been overkill, but the Stella's pay me well. Honestly, I think what I did preserved more lives. You know how an all-out war between them and the Callaghan's would turn out?" He rested his head in his palm, half-listening to my bullshit. "They're honestly talking about you, J. You've made yourself a name, fucking up their operations like this. They'll be out for you soon if you don't stop." I lowered my voice as the waitress approached.
"What'll it be today, boys?" she said, her brown curls bouncing as she whipped out a pen and a smile. "Oh, Jamie, back again? I knew you couldn't get enough of us."
"You know it. I think I'll have that famous steak-frites you guys make. Friend over here'll have a cup of coffee." He winked.
"Now I hope you aren't planning to pay. You already do enough good for us. Hell, was it just last week you took care of that gang roaming the streets at night. Constant B&Es in a little street like this. Unbelievable." She scribbled on the pad in a practiced fashion, scampering back to the kitchen with that little smile of hers.
James' face turned serious again. "We've had this talk plenty of times. You already know the spiel." I nodded, stifling a yawn. "And you know it's never too late."
I shook my head. "James, I follow the money. We all do. Maybe your moonlighting as a hero makes you feel all warm-and-fuzzy inside, but warm-and-fuzzy doesn't pay the bill. Unless you're the Phoenix or Hothead, warm-and-fuzzy means you freeze to death, out in the cold, when winter hits."
He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. "It's not about the money. It's about making a change. All these changes start small. Grassroots. But when you get the idea into people's heads, they start to think 'Hm, maybe I can do good. Maybe good is what we need.'" I could tell he's been through this speech with others before. I could almost smell their rejection and skepticism wafting off his body. Yet I saw the fire in his belly.
"James, this hero business. It's eating at you. I know you think you're doing the right thing, but the right things aren't always the *right thing*. This," I waved my hands for dramatic effect, "vigilantism doesn't fix anything. The Golden Age of heroes is over. For every one upstanding guy, two assholes would pop up. You know that's how actual bad guys work. They're attracted to conflict like mosquitos to flesh. The way we do it now...it's nice. It works."
"It's selfish," James spat out. He looked away from me, out the window at the busy street. The trees were in full bloom, sunshine casting refulgent shadows along the noontime traffic. We sat quietly for a time, the food eventually arriving, piping hot.
"I don't know what to do anymore," James whispered under his breath. "I can't do this alone." I leaned in, resting a hand on his shoulder. A small smirk fell on his face. "What're you trying to do, blow me up?" he said, chuckling lightly.
I smiled back, stealing a handful of fries. "James, buddy. I'm just saying, being a hero isn't for me. I'm not sure it's for you either. I can give a good word to my boss. Start you on double pay. Do you really want to do this hero stuff though? It's just all swimming upstream." His face was solemn, like that of a statue.
"Yes. Even if no one joins, yes. It is right."
I sighed deeply, and fell back in my seat. He ate with a stony, distant look on his face. I finished my coffee, patted James on the shoulder, then slapped a twenty on the table.
A smile broke onto his face. "Heh, it's complimentary, remember?" he said, shifting out of his seat.
"It's...actually a tip. An apology, really."
"What, to me? We might disagree, but you don't have to apologize."
"No, it's an apology to the waitress. For what she's about to see."
I snapped my fingers and walked to the door. A deep rumble echoed from James' stomach, and he fell to the ground, screaming. The smell of embers, of burnt esophagus and stomach lining slowly filled the room. He yelled, screamed, cried for his mother, writhing in a pool of saliva and blood, his fingers digging holes into the old diner floor. Smoke poured out of his belly in thick plumes. A guttural bellow of rage erupted from his scalded throat, as the patrons watched in horror as this man burned alive, from the inside out.
It's the strongest ones that have the worst deaths. They can't just die quickly like normal people. I let out a ragged sigh, and walked out. Hands shaking, I lit myself a a cigarette with my fingertip, and got as far away from the diner as I could.
"Fuck's sake, James," It was raining now. "I told you so."
I am not a good man because all the good men are dead. | Henry had been waiting for three hours now to be allowed in. Standing in line next to people who jumped every time the 'hero' called out the next name to see him.
There was a heavy, oppressive silence in the hallway as they all avoided eye contact. Ashamed to be here, of course, to ask for help from one of them. Henry thought of the money he'd brought along, a reassuring weight in his backpack. It *had* to be enough. It was all he had left in the world.
Eventually, his name was called, and Henry steeled himself as he walked in. None of the others had been helped today - obviously short on cash - but he'd brought enough. Everyone he'd consulted about this man's particular service said so.
Russel glanced up briefly when Henry walked in and produced the money. Like most of them, he'd long-since dispensed with the monikers his kind had once used. He leaned forward to take the bundles of cash from Henry, a faint glimmer of life in his dark eyes as he rifled through the notes.
"Not enough," he said.
Henry fought to keep the panic from his voice as he took out the last of the money and stacked it with the rest. "It has to be, it's my whole life's savings. You haven't even heard the job."
"Your wife or kid was killed, I'm guessing, right?" Russel sighed, handing the money back to him. "Or you made some idiotic decision. You'd like a do-over like every other sad shmuck out there, I've heard it all before. And it's not enough. Unlike most of my kind, I charge for a reason. The money isn't enough - tell me why I should help you. Time travel is dangerous stuff. To me, to the world, to everyone. I don't use it for trivial jobs. And your personal tragedy is trivial in the grand scheme of things, buddy."
Henry licked his suddenly dry lips as he tried to find the right words. Without the money, he had to convince him. He looked at Russel, a guy clearly bored out of his mind with the stories he heard every day, and almost lost his nerve. But he had to try.
"It's not that," Henry said. "I want to go back to the time of heroes. Real heroes, where people stood outside and cheered as we saved the world. Where they wrote stories about us, where kids worshipped us. I - I'm like you. I can travel in time, but only forward. I discovered that when I came here, the first time I experimented. I can't go back to my time, where people like us were loved, where I had friends like me who I could be proud of."
That gave Russel pause. He actually ignored the money, and glanced up sharply. "You're like me?"
"I am and I'm not," Henry said, sinking into a nearby chair, the exhaustion making him feel slightly nauseous. Russel was the fifth and last time-traveller he could find in the country. His last hope, with so little money left.
"I just want my life back, okay?" he said. "I hate it here. I thought I'd like it, but it's the worst life I can imagine. You don't look particularly happy to me, either. Take me back, see if you want to stay too. You can even stay at my place until you make your own way. There, that payment enough?"
Russel rifled absentmindedly through the money again, forehead furrowed as he remained silent. Finally, he gave a terse nod.
"Fine. I admit I've thought about it before, many of us have," he said. "It'll be more interesting that the people wasting my time here, at least."
He told Russel the place and the date. They grasped hands, and Henry felt his insides contract as time slipped away.
------------
They landed in the middle of the crowd that swarmed the square, the bright midday sun beating down from above as people cheered and screamed and swayed around them.
"Enough is enough!" a man was howling on a platform. "These so-called 'heroes', these freaks of nature - ask yourselves, what have they ever done for you? What have they really done? They've made us weak, made us inferior, made us doubt our ability to look after our own..."
At each word, the crowd screamed louder, the cacophony drowning out most of the man's speech.
"I recognise him," Russel said slowly. "I saw a picture somewhere. That nutjob who started it all, who turned us against each other. What was his name again? Harold, or something. Turned everything to shit. I didn't pay much attention in school. Too busy skipping to more interesting times."
"It was Henry," his companion smiled. "And I'd like to stop him from making another speech. His vision didn't quite work out like he'd planned. I think he realised that when his wife died five years from now with a superhero standing five feet away, but wouldn't help without payment. Wouldn't help because he wanted revenge."
Russel gaped at the thin man next to him, really looked at him for the first time. He was starting to go grey, but his eyes still held some of the animation that shone in the face of the man in front of the crowd. His scraggly beard hid most of his features, but if you looked closely...Russel glanced at the stage, and finally found his voice.
"It's you. You came back for this? This speech?"
"This speech stirred them up, alright," Henry said, and stepped forward. "But the next one - the one he'll give tomorrow, the things that will happen there, that will change everything. Don't worry, I know how to stop it. I know exactly what to say to him."
"You can't meddle with events like this," Russel said weakly, grasping Henry's arm. "It's...too big. I can't let it happen. You never even paid me!"
Henry laughed at that. "Go back to your world, then. I can't follow you, I lied about that. But don't you want to stick around and find out if you'll return to a different world, or not? You said to give a reason for buying your services. Let me show you, instead."
Russel watched, paralysed but strangely elated, as Henry made his way towards the stage and his past. He had no place to call home here, no money stashed away. But somehow he was still watching - the consequences of events unpaid for, an act of charity that could derail everything.
And his heart was beating fast, more alive in this foreign time than he'd ever felt before. He stepped forward, hardly believing the words that leapt from his mouth.
"Wait up man, I want to help!"
----------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/. | 2017-04-02T08:24:57 | 2017-04-02T08:14:02 | 82 | 25 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want. | "Listen, I know your ad says your services start at $150, but I'm hoping you can make an exception, cut me a deal?" Her breathing is shallow and her voice quivers. She swallowed at the end of her sentence. She's panicked and desperate, and unlike most of the time wasters, she's not lying about the money part.
"I'll listen, but this is a business, not a charity."
"I know. I do. But, you see, I am a charity. I run a youth shelter on 6 mile. I have a couple of boys that come in every Thursday and Friday for the pantry. Only none of 'em have showed up the last few weeks."
"Homeless youths? I wouldn't wind your clock by their patterns if I were you."
"You don't have to tell me that, but these boys were different. They've been coming for nearly two years. And they aren't the only regulars that have gone missing. But the cops won't listen and I just know: someone is stealing kids."
I glance at my desktop planner. Blank space as far as the eyes can see. "You got a non-profit number?"
"Yes," her voice pitched up, hopeful.
"Well, I'm gonna need a receipt."
"You'll do it?"
"I'll be feet down in Detroit in oh, about 45 minutes." I hung up and eyed my flying cape. At least my accountant could deduct it this time. | *The Provisional Government has been informed of the whereabouts of the remaining Monarch forces. With fortune at our hands, we will surely defeat the aristocracy, and bring justice to those that sought to oppress us. Little did they know, we are the seeds of justice, a people that will to -*
The television was shut off as the Dictat Secretariate wave his hand. "As you can see, we are promising our people a swift end to those who would do us harm." Standing, he offered his guest a glass of wine. He gestured, refusing the offer politely. "We have their coordinates of their main force, but we need assurances that their ability to resist will end with this strike. Can you do that for us?"
The man clasped his hands together, thinking deeply. His muscle tone shone brightly through the loose uniform. A strange blue and red color scheme, with patches of a capital "S" on the collar. He glanced briefly at the clock, then spoke softly.
"What assurances do you need?"
"Preferably their leader. Alive." The Dictat Secretariate sipped his wine nervously. "But if he resists, you may deal with him."
Standing, the mercenary turned to face the leader. "No, I want specific orders. No ambiguities. What assurances do you want." It was more a statement than a question, the man frowned. His shoulders seemed broader to the leader now.
"Destroy all weapon caches, execute on sight all commanding officers part of the council and bring their leader back alive. We will provide the profiles of those that you may exterminate with extreme prejudice." He looked the man straight in the eye. The man of cold steel, dispensing his will on whomever he decided was worth the money. He could plunge death's hand into an entire regiment and sleep soundly.
Nodding, he waved for the door to be opened. "One last thing." The man floated into the air. "What's in it for me? Why are you any different from the last regime?"
The leader wanted to spout some form of propaganda, strike him for questioning his authority. "Peace," he lied. The man floated out.
| 2017-04-02T10:00:32 | 2017-04-02T09:53:21 | 38 | 24 |
[WP] “There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.”
A Quote from the Kingkiller Chronicles by Patrick Rothfuss | When I saw him unbuttoning his cardigan, I knew it was time to leave. He was rolling up his sleeves when we made it to the door, and the last thing I heard was the cracking of his knuckles and a calm voice saying "that wasn't very neighborly, friends."
I don't know what happened to the men who raised his ire, but we ran out of that neighborhood and we didn't stop running until we got home. | As I walk through the fields of ash and fire I shudder, did I actually do this?
All of this? Death... because they took everything from me?
I shudder and fall to my knees, sobs wracking my frame.
It's not right, what I did.
A scream tears me out of my thoughts, a person! I have to help them.
I rush towards the sound and see a young child burned and scarred.
"Are you alright young one?" I ask reaching my hand out with a smile on my face.
The child starts looking at me with eyes that were slowly widening in fear and horror.
"Monster!" The child screams face full of pain and tears, "Demon! Get away from me! Don't hurt me!"
I startle and retract my hand, his words hurt.
"My child, I am no monster I-"
"Liar!" The child screams shrilly, "I saw you! The look on your face as you trapped everyone in the town hall! The look on your face as the hall erupted in flames! You have no remorse for their deaths!"
I shake my head in denial, "That is not true! I do have remorse for their deaths!"
The child's face then morphs into an angry scowl, "Then why are you smiling?"
I bring my hands up to my face and touch my lips.
A smile.
Why am I smiling? | 2017-04-14T02:35:57 | 2017-04-14T00:03:12 | 36 | 18 |
[WP] You discover you can travel in time, but only if you have a coin with the date of your destination. While exploring 1780's england, you lose your 2017 penny that's your ticket home. | 1786, a fun year for drinking and merrymaking, though it's time to go home. November 2017. Wait, where is my penny.....shit?!
Well how do I get home?
What is the closest coin I have?
British 50p from 2014, that'll do.
I hold it in my hand and say the words, it's new years eve 2014. I live my life and on January 22nd I find my first 2015 coin. I say the words again and it's once again December 31st...2015.
Well I am glad this works.
It takes about another 2 months in my timeframe to get home. What can I say, I learned my lesson, but it could be worse.
My fellow travellers, my advice if you do find yourself stranded is to become a street beggar, it doesn't take long for a newly minted coin to drop in your cup. If you remember a beggar in Portsmouth UK in 2015 and 2016, it was probably me. I must admit picking a familiar city has it's downsides, seeing 27 year old me wonder past was surreal.
I only had three years to make up but even in that timeframe it took me a while. Good luck, and I hope this helps. | "*Shit*," I whispered furiously, digging and sweeping my hand through the itchy horsehair trousers I'd managed to acquire. Surely that coin had to be in h--- There was a hole in the 'pocket' of these trousers.
I slowly poked my finger through like a teenage boy on prom night, even with the same thunderstruck expression on my face.
"No," I whispered... "I can never go all the way home again.. Fuck me.."
I was already fucked though.
I had coins from 1922.. to 1836.. to 1969.. to 2001.. to 2011.. to 2016.. But that had been the only coin that truly mattered, I realized now. My 2017 penny. I felt like maybe this was nature's way of preventing this wonderful travel I'd stumbled upon. For this to happen while I was being pursued by murderous bandits would just be cruel fate otherwise.
An arrow smashed into the tree inches from my head and I screamed as splinters sprayed into my eyes. I screamed wordlessly, in agony and fear and rage. I felt the slipstream of another arrow waft and wash against my cheek..
Desperately my fingers were fumbling in the other horsehair 'pocket'. For any coin, any year but this one.. Hopefully near medical condition. I felt a coin slide against my fingers and my heartrate jacked as I groped further for it. Yes, there it w--!
Blinding pain shot through my entire body as what could be none other than a third arrow ripped through my shoulder before embedding itself into the bone there.. I collapsed to my knees, sobbing and screaming uncontrollably.
*The ccccoin*... my ravaged mind stuttered glitchily. *Must.. Bring it to lips.. Whisper.. say The Words..*
My right arm dangled uselessly so I awkwardly took the coin from that numb hand, with my left hand. I brought it to my trembling lips.
"*Klaatu berada nikto*."
I went back to screaming in agony as I was whisked away to whatever year.
| 2017-11-25T09:01:30 | 2017-11-25T06:30:33 | 140 | 71 |
[WP] FTL travel is very expensive, so humanity creates a web of hyperlanes between systems, that speed up time inside them, making travel cheaper. You enter a malfunctioning hyperlane. When you leave it, you find a galaxy with no humans, full of alien races, that see your kind as ancient precursors. | Jimmy slowly woke up to the sounds of beeps and warning. Finally, he was able to make out the words, "Warning. Location Beacon System failure. Switching to alternate." He tried his radio, looking for maintenance, dispatch, or anyone to answer. There was no answer.
He was trained for this. He could handle this. It is his job, after all. Suddenly, one of the passengers spoke up, saying what everyone was thinking, "What the hell happened?" Jimmy tried to reassure the passengers, while trying to reassure himself: "There appears to have been a slight issue with the hyperlane. Don't worry. We will get you to your destination in no time. Once the hyperlane is back up we can re-enter, or we can just find the next closest hyperlane and take a detour. But there is nothing to worry about."
Now, of course there was something to worry about, and Jimmy knew this. If the hyperlane malfunctioned, they could have been spit out at any point along the route. To get back on, the hyperlane would have to be fixed, and they would have to find an entry point. But which way was the closest entry point? Jimmy knew that they needed to figure out where they were. That had to be the priority. He turned to Bob. "I'm going on figuring out where we are, but you need to go back there and calm the passengers. Public transportation already has a bad enough reputation. We don't need a riot to make things worse."
Bob was good as a copilot, but he was even better as a people person. Jimmy knew that Bob could handle the uneasiness in the passenger compartment. Trusting in Bob's skill for the passengers, he turned is eyes back towards the problem of location. He knew that they had to be somewhere along the hyperlane route, but where? If only he could find another entry point. There should be a location beacon there that they could use to pinpoint their location. Suddenly, Jimmy felt his training kicking in. He started thinking out loud: "Ok. So, we can't follow the path of the hyperlane without our location system working. How do we know which way to go? That's right, we can follow our own ion trail. That will show us where we were, which will eventually take us to the last entry point we passed. That is, of course, assuming the ion trail doesn't dissipate before we find it. But, we gotta start somewhere."
The engines came to life and the shuttle started turning around. The ion trail was still fresh and easy for the shuttle systems to detect. Jimmy knew they were heading the right way.
They continued and continued waiting for a sign of an entry point. Waiting for communication from anyone. But something felt off. There were some isolated areas along the hyperlane, but this felt too isolated. And along the routes were emergency beacons in the isolated areas for just this purpose. But Jimmy hadn't seen any entry points. He hadn't seen any emergency beacons. He had, in fact, seen nothing but distant stars.
A slight glimmer caught Jimmy's eye. He looked out of the side of the ship and saw something approaching from the distance. It looked like a ship, but nothing he had seen before. It didn't matter. He grabbed the radio and tried to contact them. Silence. He tried again. More silence. Soon, more ships started to approach from different angles. He frantically tried signalling them. Still nothing. He calmly called for Bob to come back up.
"Bob, I think our radio system might be down. I'm trying to hail these ships, but I'm getting nothing." "Whose ships are they? That could help us figure out where we are" Bob asked. Before Jimmy could even answer they were interrupted by the computer. "Alternate Location System is active. Based on the location of stars, we are at an 87% match with Darvos." Jimmy and Bob looked at each other. "Did that just say Darvos?", Bob asked. Jimmy replied, "Did that just say an 87% match?". Bob replied, "But if we are at Darvos, that means we made it to the end of the hyperlane. We are at our destination! Where *is* everything?" Jimmy just said again, "Only an 87% match? That just doesn't make sense." They were both interrupted again by the computer. "Alternate Location System, location determined. 100% Match. Location is Darvos. Year 42,739." Jimmy and Bob stared at each other with shocked faces. Bob said, "42,739. That is nearly 40,000 years in the future! Well that would explain why we don't see any signs of the Darvos that we know." Jimmy, looking at all of the ships that are now close enough to see into, said, "We have a bigger problem. I don't see any species that we know, either..."
---
My first time trying to write something. Obviously I need a lot of work, but the idea was in my head and I wanted to share it. | Lars drummed his fingers on the plastic top of a console, gazing balefully at the display in front of him. It was currently toggled to the bow camera's view, and showed a buzzing collection of construction barges around the massive pentagon of a hyperlane gate. At any other time, the shape would be filled with the warping black streams characteristic of a rip in spacetime, but right now all he could see through it was stars.
Damnable, distant stars.
The console in front of him began whirring erratically, and he took a step back to see a message appearing on the screen.
`>#INBOUND MESSAGE#: [ITIN/4602at4g17v] **Sector 111/TE Repair Team** #MESSAGE START# `
`>"Thank you all for being so patient as repairs are ongoing. Unfortunately, upon more detailed examination, `
`>the degradation to the gate electronics and machinery has been upgraded to 'severe'. This particular gate will `
`>not be operational for at least three days. For emergency transport, an FTL barge has been provided for your `
`>convenience, courtesy of DioxWay, LLC. We appreciate your understanding." `
`>#MESSAGE END# `
Lars sighed, and fell back into his chair. He had been anxious to get home before the delay, but now he knew he had no way of getting there on time. He checked the calendar taped to the bulkhead beside him. The days of the month had all been faithfully crossed off, except for one simply labeled "Anniversary". He groaned and ran his hands roughly through his hair, mind grasping at any possibility of reaching home before tomorrow. To his dismay, only one solution rose in his mind, time after time: the FTL barge. He knew he didn't have enough savings to afford such a jump, and never had. He dejectedly began clicking through the list of contacts on the console, until he arrived at one labeled **BANK**. His finger hovered over the ENTER key, and on the viewscreen above him, the hyperlane gate violently sprung into life.
He sat frozen for a moment, then frantically slid his chair to the left and unfolded a larger console with a *clunk*. Spooling up the engines with one hand, he expertly manipulated the directional joystick with the other, until the glowing green target on the screen in front of him matched the gate on the viewscreen. With one sweeping motion, he maxed the throttle on all rear engines. He was pushed back in his seat under the acceleration as the gate rapidly filled the viewscreen. Lars braced himself, but as he passed through the gate he couldn't help but feel an immense and crushing sense of loss.
The computer behind him chirped, letting him know they were back in real space. Lars tugged the throttles back, rubbing his shoulder with one hand. *Gate Drop never gets any easier*, he thought, reminding himself that his family was fine, nothing had happened to them. Unlike the other jumps, however, the Drop persisted. He felt unreasonable tears well in his eyes, and had to will himself to breathe deeply and calmly. He glanced towards the calendar again, and a message on the center console caught his eye. He slid over to better read it. It was incomplete, cut off halfway through transmission. He guessed it had sent shortly before he entered the gate.
`>#INBOUND MESSAGE#: [ITIN:469zk6g091f] **Sector 111/TE Repair Team** #MESSAGE START# `
`>"ADVISORY NOTICE: We are now beginning a diagnostic test of the needle engines to discover their current `
`>functional state. WARNING. As the navigational computer has been disconnected for this test, the gate is `
`>'Wild' and will have no set destination. Do not approach the gate und _ _ _" `
` >#ERROR# {TR: Server Connection Lost} `
Lars glanced up at the viewscreen, his face pale. There was a complete lack of glittering homeworlds on display, only the empty black of space. Less than a dozen stars could be seen.
The feeling of loss had not faded, and that coupled with the rising panic threatened to overwhelm him. He took deep, slow breaths, and had almost calmed down again when the blackness moved. Lars flicked on the front arc lamps.
A translucent, pulsing mass in front of him was suddenly illuminated, covered in tree-trunk tentacles and glittering, multifaceted eyes. As Lars stared, a thought slithered into the front of his mind.
*We welcome you, Benefactor.*
Lars watched the mass in front of him, at a loss for words. His eye caught on a white-and-silver shape clutched within one tentacle, and he focused on it. All he could make out around the milky flesh of the tentacle was an extendable satellite dish, the orange canvas between each arm tattered and worn.
"W-where am I?" He said uncertainly, and another thought wriggled into view.
*You have come far. We have prophesied your return for millennia.*
A tentacle slowly approached the viewscreen, tip holding what appeared to be a flat golden plate.
"I... don't think you have," Lars replied, "I've never heard of giant space octopusses before."
*Octopi, we believe. Nevertheless, your artifacts are the stuff of legend. We have advanced considerably with your help.*
Another tentacle came into view, bringing with it...
"No," Lars breathed, mind casting back to high school history class. He watched in awe as the disk was placed onto the device held in the second tentacle.
*BEHOLD,* The inner voice thundered, tentacle presenting the completed record player, *The Bringers Of Sound have arrived! Glory be to Carter, King of Kings, and Humanity, for the secrets of the Twelve-Inch Disk!*
Edit: Fixed mobile formatting. | 2018-01-22T09:12:27 | 2018-01-22T08:27:28 | 58 | 39 |
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