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]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win? | "I am the Fuhrer. I demand you release me."
"And you've been a bad boy, Adolf," I whispered in his ear. "I'm here to punish you."
He looked around the hotel room. Strapped to the bed, he cut a pitiful figure. I could see a change come over him and his mustache started to quiver.
"Who are you?"
"Annabel Goldschmidt," I said.
"You're a Jew." He was suddenly accusatory, and suddenly afraid. "Is that why why you're here?"
"Well, yes and no, honey. I'm a collector. I collect dictators. And I have to say-" I glanced down at where his trousers had been, "-compared to Stalin and Mao, you just don't measure up, baby."
The trail of his clothes from the hotel room door to the bed told a sorry story. Sometimes a girl disappoints.
"I'm sorry," he said. Gotta give credit to the man, he almost sounded contrite.
"Sorry ain't good enough, babe."
I took a long drag of the cigarette and blew the smoke into his face. He coughed, and tried to move his face away. I slapped it back.
I double-checked the GoPRo to make sure it was still recording. My YouTube followers were going to love this one.
"What are you doing," he asked, as I poured the oily liquid into a geometric pattern with him at the center.
"Lubing you up, baby," I said.
"Please..."
"This is for you, granny," I whispered. I flicked the stup of the cigarette onto his body, and the flaming swastika engulfed him. His screams grew and I stepped out into the hall.
A Gestapo officer was running towards me. "Hey, whore, stop. What have you done to the Fuhrer?" He started to raise his revolver.
"Oh, I think he got what was coming to him," I said. I twisted the dial on my time watch, and disappeared just as the bullets started to fly.
---
*Read more brutal murders at [r/jd_rallage](http://www.reddit.com/r/jd_rallage).* | After months of careful planning and pillaging of the German ranks, America's Lt. Aldo Raine and his two brave friends of the infamous bastard company have taken their seats in the theatre. Hitler and all the top-ranking nazi officials will be watching germany's proudest soldier star in the fatherland's greatest propaganda.
Aldo waits in the lobby eyeing out recognizable war criminals. spitting his best Italian speak he can muster. "Errrr... quattro punti." he whispers under his breathe with peeled eyes.
The two disguised Allied soldiers drop their hidden bars of bright pink soap and head for the projector room while the movie starts. A blast is heard by none as they execute one of the last steps of the plan and invade the projection room to set up with the other conspirators.
Below in the lobby, Hans Landa (dubbed The Jew Hunter) has uncovered the Allies plot and kidnaps Lt. Aldo. "I heard you counting, Luitenant." Hans exclaims in an overly loud and serious tone. "You think you're going to impress the judges? Call them, see what they'll say." Hans slides an old rotary phone and waits for the american's reply.
Lt. Aldo sits there for a moment with hands tide behind his back, and eyes the two guards behind. He stares back at the German before him, and spits the most american lugi, soaking the phone as he laughs in his face. "Fuck the Judges, the Hitler game's are corrupt! They trade the freedom of killin' for corporate greed, taint the world with sponsorships and branding, Fuck the system!"
"Excuse my french, but do you not want to win? from the looks of it you're only a measly eleven points behind. Would you not.."
"HAh! I'll be taking another two from you for revealing yourself, Mr. Punkt Hure. i never was too good at math, but i do believe that puts me a respectable NINE points behind! catching up!" Aldo retorts, soaked in his inflated pride.
"I was Going to propose we work together and join forces. You want to stick it to the Judges? This is your golden opportunity."
After a moment of silence and clarity "And we split the prize, fifty fifty? no play?" Aldo asks hesitantly.
"Bingo!" the german shouts, giddy with his winning shady business, having just betrayed his plans.
"Just one more thing you Nazi fuck." Aldo whispers. A chilling mood takes the room. Hans is spooked and confused. Aldo takes a sip of his starbucks coffee, and Hans knows someone's about to die because he reads clickbait titles about David Fincher. "You broke the first rule of Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club." The whole theatre explodes into an all consuming fire. Hitler is seen in the rubble, Tyler kneels down and picks up an unexploded bar of soap. "You don't talk about Time Travelin' Killin' Hitler Club."
Cue credits.
| 2016-02-20T08:49:24 | 2016-02-20T08:40:02 | 147 | 23 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like. | *This is my first post please give me feedback!*
The loud hiss of compressed air flooded out from the spacecraft as a ramp extended and the metallic doors slid open; two aliens appeared followed by a gasp from the crowd.
It had been two weeks since the space ship was in range of NASA’s detection and the entire Earth was buzzing. Buzzing with speculation, excitement, and a slight fear. The media was having a field day with the discovery, weeks of live news dedicated to nothing other than our alien ‘visitors’. Segment after segment of guest scientists gave their best guesses as to what the aliens might look like and what they will want. It was a common thought that they would fit our depiction of a small green alien with big eyes and a bigger head, yet scientists were vigilant in dampening people’s expectations. “Do not be disappointed when the creatures do not even vaguely resemble a humanoid.” Despite this, everyone secretly hoped for a little green figure with an antenna and three fingers.
By tracking the course of the spaceship, NASA determined the landing site. A large crowd had gathered the day of the landing. The United Nations had created an order of the first people to meet the aliens ranked by importance; near the top were the president of the US, the leaders of other first world nations, top NASA officials, and other important UN figures.
The crowd was dead silent as the spacecraft landed, anticipating the first look at otherworldly beings. As the two aliens emerged, excited expressions turned into faces of pure confusion. Weeks of nothing but speculation, nobody predicted what walked out of that spaceship. The “aliens” looked like humans. They were wearing business casual attire. In the midst of the crowd’s confused silence, the taller alien opened his mouth to a strangely Canadian voice, “Hey thar soorry ‘boot the trees we knocked oover,” gesturing towards a pile of toppled trees.
“False alarm everybody,” said a NASA official through a megaphone. “These aren’t aliens, they’re the Canadians!”
You see, the Canadians colonized mars back in the early ‘20s; they decided to move their entire country to the red planet and lived glorious lives full of hockey and Tim Horton’s. Over 100 years later and now they've returned, a number of disappointed sighs occurred as the crowd dispersed. | Mleep rose from his slumber. Today would be the day that this planet fell to the mighty wrath of mleep. Mleep was a hero, a soldier and a magnificent lover, the later being proved by countless sighs of tender pleasure. Mleep had been sent to earth by his overlords to do one thing. He knew what he had to do and he reveled in the fact that today this small blue planet would fall. Mleep put on his exo suit and picked up his galactic plasma blaster. He ventured out of his space ship and breathed in deeply. He would begin in this field of tall plant matter, he would murder and plunder his way through every being on this planet. He would start with this small furry being.
He sauntered up to it and spoke the words. The words were but a formality and he knew them by heart. Quickly he muttered them "bow before me being, you have been conquered, chose your death. " the small furry being did not react nor did Mleep expect it to. He aimed his plasma blaster and started to activate the death blast. Suddenly he paused, was it, was this thing, mocking him? It was just laying there licking its appendage with not a care in the world. Mleep became angry "bow before Mleep, lesser being"! He bellowed. The small furry creature just stared at him and continued with the appendage grooming.
Mleep decided he would dispatch this creature by hand. He put his hand in the place where its heart should be and instantly recoiled with shock. It was warm, it was warm and, what's this, are those the toes of beans? He was astounded at how this creature so much resembled the revered and much honored thronax of his home planet. He steeled his reserve and went to rip out its heart, but the thing merely rolled onto its other side and made a slight noise. Uncanny how much it reminded him of a thronax. From its sharp little ear flaps to its long rear whip fluff. Mleep thought back to the teachings of the great ones. It is said that the thronax must not be harmed, the thronax are the gatekeepers and as such are to be tolerated and cared for. Mleep wondered if this was some kind of trick. Was this an ancient ancestor of the beloved thronax? The creature gazed at him and Mleep slowly allowed himself to stroke the small furry creature. Then the most amazing thing happened. It started to vibrate and Mleep knew he couldn't harm this creature. He knew what this was, it was a test from the ancient ones. Mleep bowed to the revered one and slowly backed away. He was so in awe of this finding that he went back to his ship and sat down, his faith shattered. He had traveled so far yet he couldn't find it in himself to harm this planet. For if the beloved and revered thronax made its home here, surely this was one of the chosen placed just like his home planet. Mleep pushed a button and the reactor drives rumbled to life. He was halfway to sector 23 when it finally dawned on him, that the creature was part of a conspiracy, surely a trap. | 2016-02-22T11:32:18 | 2016-02-22T10:30:41 | 43 | 20 |
[WP] You are in a zombie apocalypse, and are attacked by a horde of zombies and bitten. As you panic, you notice the zombie turning into a human. | The woman sank to her knees, clutching at her neck. She looked up, into the eyes of the zombie that had bitten her. Slowly, its bloody eyes cleared up. Its irises turned from dirty yellow to a bright shade of blue.
"You're - human," she said, before passing out. A mob of zombies descended on the woman, tearing at her exposed throat and limbs.
One figure stood still, staring at his hands. Decayed, rotten flesh was restitching itself, the wounds sealing up.
"That's impossible," the man said calmly. Suddenly, he remembered his name. Robert Hunter. And he remembered everything else.
"Oh no. Oh, no, no," he moaned, sinking to the ground.
He remembered turning on Kylie, after she futilely tried to reverse the virus. Her face as he ripped into her flesh. She had stumbled off shortly afterwards. Where was she? What had happened to his wife? He trembled as he started remembering everything else that had happened. All the other faces.
Around what was left of the woman, the mob suddenly stopped their feeding frenzy. Robert watched, dazed, as all the zombies who'd taken a bite of the woman turned back to humans. He felt cold as he thought of something. What if the woman had been Kylie? Her left arm was still left. And Kylie had a birth mark on her left wrist.
"Get out of the way, out of the way!" he screamed, knocking away the stunned people surrounding her body. A staggering relief swept over him as he checked her wrist, and didn't see a birth mark.
"Robert?" he heard someone say, and turned to see Kylie staring at him.
Her dark hair was matted and filthy. She had dark circles around her eyes. But it was her. Alive, and human. She smiled slightly, and began to move towards him. A heavily muscled man standing behind her suddenly lunged forward and grabbed her around the waist. She screamed, clawing at the man's face. He only gripped her closer.
"What are you doing?" Robert shouted, trying to fight through the mob.
The man sneered at him as he dragged Kylie away. He picked up an abandoned gun lying on the road, and pointed it at Robert.
"Am I the only one who've realised that we can all probably cure zombies now? I need that to help my little girl, and don't particularly care where that comes from. No way is my girl staying a zombie," he said.
"Let her go! Are you insane?!" Robert screamed, frozen at the sight of the gun. He hadn't gone through all this to die from a bullet.
"No," the man said, clapping a hand over Kylie's mouth to shut her up. "Just been through an apocalypse. And have a girl to save. It's that simple."
He began dragging Kylie backwards, never taking his eyes off Robert.
"Help me!" Robert appealed to the others. They stared back with blank eyes, as if they didn't understand what he meant.
| The skin around the bite mark turned an awful shade of dark blue. I panted, and looked down at the teeth marks on my arm. The zombie’s right canine was sharp, and where most of the teeth didn’t break my skin, a tiny, red dot appeared where this one punctured me. I only noticed it because I felt the sting of the disease move up my vein and a pulse rise in my hand, as if the blood flow was blocked.
*Shitting shit!* Out all the days it would be this one, of course. If I had been attacked yesterday, I’d be glad for the inconvenience, but today I met a group of people who had fed me, clothed me and provided hot water for me to bathe in. For the first time in three weeks, I might add!
It lay on the ground, secured by my foot, and slapped its stiff arms against my thigh. I didn’t really have to keep my leg there—the rigor mortis kept them rather stiff in the arms and legs so getting up was not an option for the bastard—but precaution kicked in. *Precaution.* I snorted.
The zombie groaned something inapprehensible in a hoarse dry voice. I looked down with my lips pursed up in anger. My leg swung back and returned with full force, kicking it in the gut. “Look what you’ve done, you stupid thing!” I said, frowning at it and lifting my arm for it to see.
“Ssss…” a hiss escaped his lips, “ooorehhh.”
I winced. “What did you say?”
“Ssss…” It lifted its head up this time, but the rest of the word did not come from its lips.
I dropped down onto my knees. “Can you understand me?” Looking around, I scanned the trees for movement. If a person was to walk by—well, that would be rather bad for me. The group that I met had a camp up on a hillside, and it was my job fill some jugs by the river.
He looked back at me with his faded pupils and turned his chin down. A crack came from his neck and his head fell back.
“Is that a yes?” Panic rose within me. The disease made its way to my neck as the stiffness spread from the bite up.
The Zombie looked up again. I gasped. His eyes were half filled with color, the bright blue of a sunny sky.
“Listen,” I said. “If you come back from the dead, you better find me a human to bite. I won’t be stuck like this! You hear?”
I doubted my theory. Perhaps, I saw him differently because of the disease, but if I didn’t… Then the cure was in my flesh—or human flesh. A switch of sort must have occurred.
My other arm grew stiff, and a desperate hunger settled in my stomach. I was turning, alright, and quickly. Much quicker than he was. I saw his middle finger bend and twitch, and knew that I was right.
The ground below us was bare of any grass. I scavenged around for a stick. With an arm that froze straight, I wrote him a note on the ground beside him.
“Human bite fix me. Wait by river—one come. YOU OWE ME! –Libby” I looked down at it frowning. It was comprehensible enough. I couldn't bloody well write him a letter with the solid sticks I had for arms now.
“Oi!” I swung my leg out—hip and all tagging along—and poked it into his side. “Read this when you’re back.” I couldn’t take a gamble on his memory for this, but the note was clear and big enough for him to see it.
Limping away from him, I sat down on the other side of the message I had written, and then lay flat on my stomach so that I wouldn’t pose a danger for him when he changed back.
*****
Thanks for reading!
/r/AlinaKG | 2016-04-14T06:48:56 | 2016-04-14T06:04:41 | 59 | 24 |
[WP] The hero was killed, the princess was sacrificed, and the evil king rules the land. For the average citizen, though, things have taken a turn for the better. | Channel 5 news reporting on the scene earlier today after Link was immediately assassinated by Ganon, and Zelda was executed in front of the citizens of Hyrule. John Ramirez is on the ground getting the people's reaction to today's events.
JR: Excuse me sir, how has today's events made you feel.
Random Citizen: well actually I couldn't be happier, that little shit always ran around breaking my pots.
JR: But what about princess Zelda? Surely her death has come as a tradegy to all in the kingdom?!
RC: Nope, not really. I mean we are expected in this day in age to maintain the societal hierarchy that allows for a ruling class, in which a young boy, annoying may he be, can sacrifice his life to save what? A figurehead of the aristocracy? I tell you John, what kind of leadership allows random citizens to fight and die for it all because the idea of castle security is a foreign fucking concept?
JR: Umm okay sir thank you for your comment. Miss would you mind commenting on the tradegy that Ganon's rule will surely be?
RC2: I like him, Ganon I mean, he gives off a sense of structure that we have not enjoyed here in a very long time. He will be the king that finally secures our borders.
JR: Wow, okay it seems that the local populace are not very upset after today's actions. Alright, back to you in the studio, Tom. | My fellow Americans, Mr. Speaker, Ladies and Gentlemen of Congress and members of the press, thank you for joining me this evening.
It is with great sadness that we come together this evening. For the past eight years, it has been both an honor and a privilege to represent this great nation as your President. As you are all well aware by now, I have been asked to formally announce that the 2016 Presidential Elect, Donald J. Trump and Vice President Elect Carly Fiorina, lost their lives this afternoon upon their arrival for tomorrow's scheduled inauguration events.
I am not here to discuss the details of this tragic event, however the media will work to keep you all informed as more information becomes available.
I am here tonight to discuss how our nation will move forward. It is a great challenge for us all to face this untimely news, and it is my responsibility, along with Congress and the Supreme Court, to determine the appropriate course of events.
This evening, I signed an executive order to extend my term as President for a minimum period of 12 months. Prior to signing the order, I met briefly with bipartisan representatives of the Senate and the House. In addition, I met with Vice President Biden, Speaker Ryan and select members of our National Security Team. I believe that during this traumatic time, this decision will provide stability and continued security of the American people.
We, as a nation, have faced horrific events during my tenure as President. We have seen an increase in global terrorism, as well as terrorism in our homeland. It is a terrible tragedy that our newly elected President and Vice President have been the latest victims of the efforts of those who seek to undermine the security and well-being of our great nation.
I therefore, cannot in good conscience, step down from my responsibilities. I do have a few details about my extended tenure to share. Vice President Biden has decided that he will not continue as in his position. In lieu of an election, in the interest of continuity, I am appointing Hillary Clinton to the Vice Presidential position.
I am ordering that our nation's flag be lowered to half mast, for a period of three months. In addition, Vice President Clinton and I will be meeting with Congress and cabinet members over the next several days, in order to ensure continued government operation in light of the events of today.
I cannot take questions at this time, however my office will be releasing periodic updates as they become available.
Thank You. And good night. | 2016-07-10T11:12:55 | 2016-07-10T10:46:19 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] the damned souls in hell crowded near the entrance, and Satan himself is at the gates. They are all awaiting the arrival of a unique soul -- the first man since Biblical times who was killed by God Himself. | The buzz was real, the hell was upside down, and Satan was pacing back and forth restless.
"Where is he? Why is he taking so long?"
"He moves slowly".
"How dares he makes me wait!? No one makes me wait IN HELL!". Satan was losing his cool, a visible twitch on his eyebrows, his hands wet with sweat.
"Sorry Satan, nothing I can do!"
The public, lost souls and demons, Hitler and Killers, everyone was afraid, that someone worse than Satan would come, someone that would make Satan Himself afraid, someone that would bring the fury of Jesus and God, someone that would rewrite the history of the world.
Rolling in his wheelchair, a placid brow, a illuminated smile, a bald fat middle aged man, without legs, coming down through the Hell Gate.
Gasps of surprise went through the crowd, someone heard Hitler ask
"Oh my god, what did he do!?"
Satan himself came down to answer him:
"He built a car workshop on his garage!"
Oooooh, the crowd roared.
"He was fixing the cars of his friends for free...."
Everyone started to scream, All Hell Broke Lose.
| A young man came down the stairway to hell. His walk was slow, his view broken and mindlessly focused on his own feet.
As he came nearer the markings on his neck became apparent. His face had a lovely purple hue which beautifully contrasted his black clothing. When he reached the gates, he didn't even look the Unholy One in the eyes.
"I... I... don't... I don't understand", the lad said.
*Silence*.
Satan might not have shown it, but the oldest souls noticed the confusion the Lord of Hell must've felt. And that was already the second time confusion spread this week. The last time was when this other guy *almost* entered the gates and then abruptly disappeared, leaving only part of his soul behind.
"He... He... He never... How could he do that?", the hanged man's voice was only a whisper.
Unimpressed and in a deep and bone cracking voice Satan announced for all souls to hear: "You are accused of mutiny and subsequent murder in your petty life. You may now spend your eternity in the hellfires of darkness for that."
The broken man mumbled something unintelligible.
The muscles of Satan relaxed visibly as he continued, much calmer: "So much for the formalities. Now tell me true. Nobody has been sent here by the creator himself for ages. What did you do to incur his wrath?"
"He even... How could... He swung..."
Satan *sighed* and turned back to the auditorium that was assembled behind him, "Give this guy to the others at Level 1, we're not getting anything other than denial out of this one. Everybody back to their business!"
Satan raised his voice, this time towards Heaven: "Ehem..." A slit in the ceiling opened, holy light flooded the gates to hell.
Satan, this time mildly annoyed: "George...?! Why the hell did you send this poor lad down here? Did Dan and Dave fuck up again?" | 2016-10-14T07:23:26 | 2016-10-14T05:48:38 | 122 | 53 |
[WP] You are immortal, but a quirk of your condition also renders the person nearest to you immortal as well. A selfish king obsessed with living forever has gone to extreme lengths to keep you as the closest person to them at all times. | For centuries, the two immortals stared each other down, neither moving nor willing to let the other. In the isolation of their tomb, both had long since forgotten which was the immortal and which the king. They had both wielded power unlike any in the world. For one, his words were like the incantation to a spell. Everything he commanded came to fruition. The other, his will was divine decree. Everything he wanted, he eventually got.
But now, the king had nobody to speak to and the immortal had shared his gifts with the one person who had bound him inside this tomb.
"Charles," Leo said, though he didn't know if the name referred to him or the king. They had switched names quite a bit. The last time they had re-established roles, the iron on their cuffs had finally rusted through. He was pretty sure that he was the immortal. "Why go through the effort?"
"To keep you from this world," The supposed king, Charles, replied. Though he also wasn't sure if he was the one being kept from the world.
"That's not what happened when we had first met."
The immortal always had a flair for the dramatic. Life was of no consequence to him, nor pain and suffering. It was all just something to fade from memory. So when they had first met, he had stabbed the king through the heart, just to prove his worth.
Charles closed his eyes. "I thought that together, we could do great things, build monuments the world would never forget, spread wealth and wonder to the edges of the sea."
"And what have we done?" Leo asked.
They both turned to the hieroglyphics. In the countless years that had passed, those carvings were all the connected them to the written word. Every hour every day, the sun came at just the right angle to highlight one. It spelled *The Great Pyramid of Giza*.
"Is that not enough?" He continued.
"At the cost of thousands of lives? At the birth of sacrificial rituals to some pagan god?" Charles shook his head. "You forever stained my legacy."
"But you have a legacy because of me. It is written in the walls of our tomb, forever kept for your readership."
Charles breathed out a sigh. "Why introduce me your rituals? Your power did not come from any of them. The people we killed, for what?"
A smile curled onto Leo's lips. "For fun of course."
The two stopped talking because through the stone walls, they could hear the muffled echo of footsteps. Then, the walls quaked and a metal hammer sliced through, crumbling the rock. The two turned and caught blinding light. They were thieves, here to ransack the pyramid.
"Don't let him out!" Charles screamed, but it was already too late.
Leo sprinted past the thieves and their magic hammer and immediately fell to the floor dead.
Charles stared at the corpse, his lips quivering.
He was the immortal.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day plus continuations by popular request.
| The chain was chafing again. It wasn't really a big deal, but after four hundred years it was the little things that got you. The best food, staring at the most beautiful women and immortality. It wasn't a bad life, but the chains that attached my neck to that of the most powerful kings that had ever lived was getting on my nerves. He was nice enough, a bit obsessed with conquering and killing for someone who couldn't die. Not as long as I was the closer to him than anything else. I was damned lucky that he treated me like an animal rather than an object. Four hundred years we'd been together and I was like a cat. He'd had to get rid of those because of me.
If he really wanted to live forever he could have bronzed me into the throne. It would have been gruesome, horrible and extremely effective. My list of efficient ways that I could be better used as an immortality talisman was not going to be shared anytime soon. Certainly not making me into a living coat. That one had been a little difficult to cope with for a couple of weeks. But it put the chain in perspective. All the same it chafed something awful. Anyone that crossed the line in front of the throne was shot, so the only conversations I got to experience were with him. Honestly if he could do without mortal pleasures I probably wouldn't get the best of everything. I was especially lucky he didn't fancy me. I turned to watch the large TV that was twenty feet away.
It was a large TV and the king mostly let me use the remote. He was too busy directing a war that had gotten out of hand recently, something about nuclear weapons. He had to shout most of his instructions, but he didn't mind. The king liked shouting. The king had tried a number of experiments to spread the immortality around. After all if he could keep the same generals and ministers alive forever and ensure loyalty with a few toes on strings who could blame him. But anything that got cut off disappeared and reappeared in its rightful place without so much as a pop.
So I left him alone, except when he wanted to talk, and he let me do my thing. After 400 years there weren't any secrets between us and we were well on each others nerves. Still I was invaluable to him as the only person he didn't suspect of wanting to steal his immortality, so that created a bond. Besides I was better at technology than he was, so I had to translate the cyber warfare divisions messages. Almost half the digital world was under his rule, so it was going pretty well.
Besides He and I switched off sleeping, and neither of us snored. The various assassins and politicians that tried to win me over never got as far as the third trap. There were 57. Honestly I was more impressed with the compression of traps than the extent that the king had gone to keep us separated from the rest of the world. Besides an underground bunker that had been made entirely of the hardest stone and metal that 400 years ago could provide. Still it was very deep. And the king wouldn't have lasted so long if he wasn't obsessed with his own survival. It turned out that living 200 feet underground surrounded by traps was pretty safe, but also pretty bad for running a constant war against everyone. I wasn't sure he was even really in charge anymore, but he thought he was and plenty of people were still trying to kill him.
Well I was in for the long haul, I'd been immortal for a millennium before the king had found me and I'd live long after he was dead. I was going to get a friendly dog and live in the forest. It would be glorious. I'd have to find a way to get food delivered, but technology had gotten pretty far. I'm sure it would be fine. I'd give it another fifty years before I pick locked this damned chain and headed East, into the sunrise. | 2017-05-13T06:50:28 | 2017-05-13T06:16:05 | 1,785 | 259 |
[WP] You're immortal, but you can die. Upon your death, however you will be "reset" to age 5 with a perfect memory of each life you've lived before. | "If you're here to join the pity party, I don't want to hear it." The sergeant drained the rest of his tumbler and lined it up with the others.
"Wasn't planning on it." The commissioner took the stool next to him. "I've been getting an earful from everyone else about... what you went through, but I wanted to hear it directly from you."
"Oh yeah? So what have you heard, then?"
The commissioner shifted uncomfortably. "That you 'went crazy'? That you saw some weird stuff. I know you're on leave, but there are rumors they're going to find you unfit for duty."
The sergeant chuckled. "Yeah, that sounds about right. But I know what I saw. It wasn't any post-traumatic flashback, or what-the-hell-ever that fancypants psychologist was talking about."
"They said you saw children? That they were caught in the fire?"
"Not children -- a child. The same one." He stared hard at the knotted wood on the surface of the bar. "And he wasn't 'caught'. He kept... He kept running in."
"You know all the civs were evacuated fr--"
"Every few minutes, like clockwork, he'd come running down the street. Slipped under the police tape. Just made a mad dash right into that blaze. Tears streaming down his face. Couldn't have been more than five, six years old. But the look on his face... that kid was on a mission."
The commissioner hesitated. "You know they didn't find any children in the remains, right?"
The sergeant chewed his tongue. "Yeah, I know. I found the only body in there myself. Just that poor young woman trapped under the beam." | When once I was in the infinite beginning, chocolate sunrise mango moon it all comes back to me. Apoptosis, all my neurons dying to make it to 15 pruning away more than half. I had lived and will again. Each successive generation pushing more and more memories to the part that isn't pruned. My amygdala, my accumbens, my hippocampus - all swell with the endless caching of a constant stream of memories. I can no longer learn what is new since everything seems the same but with a new yellowed cellophane glaze. I am a water-logged brain, sodden with train rides, horrible deaths, insipid orgasms, thirsty-two ouncers, crumbling castles in Stadt Whelen. Bastei, I saw enough I can't go on. I can't move I can't speak for fear I'll find another endless stream of pulses waiting to be archived. How many times do I have to watch Ground Hog Day? It resonates but enervates. Oh to be 20 again, and I have innumerable times. I am a vampire without blood lust, a broken clock right twice a day. There is no point in anything, your conversation bores me. I am nihilism embodied. I am Rudra. Shiva’s doppleganger, the destroyer, all this experience and I can’t create much beyond the usual biologic detritus. All I have created is an overwhelming urge to taste nothingness. I tried learning how to parse Wile’s proof but even RSA encryption is greek to me. No matter how many times I have seen evidence of Benford’s rule I still don’t know why – and yet there are skraelings who do and it bothers me to no end. No fuckin’ end. I get to die a thousand deaths. Some grim, some gripping, some jejune and when I’m slipping yet again into the grip I grimace knowing what I about my future, but no other future.
I am entombed in my own essence. I am sick of myself. I want to be a better pianist, painter, driver, poet – but no, yet again I am stuck with me in a millennial echo chamber listening to the same song, walking the same path. There is but one respite and I realize there must be some higher power saving me for something else. But when I search for someone else in this same casket of existence I draw but blanks. Can you help me?
| 2017-05-25T17:59:55 | 2017-05-25T11:43:02 | 45 | 31 |
[WP] You've been cursed. Every lie you tell bends reality to become the truth. At first this didn't seem like a curse at all, but now you've made a grave mistake. | It was a curse I was born with. Unlucky as I was, I rather thought it to be a gift, a blessing. I could lie my way out of anything and I would still be alright. It was infallible, since reality changed with my words. I cured my smoking and drug addictions with my assertion. Literally everything and anything could be bent by me.
But no. I finally saw why the medium said it was the worst of all curses. Because a single slip-up meant grave consequences.
All those who had been cursed were often failures, people with the lowest self-esteem of all. The evils of the city often targeted the cursed as additions to their forces. But when they came for me, I wasn't going with them. I had a life to lead, and a gift to utilize. I rejected their request.
Then they smiled. The leader came up to me, and, smiling, held a blade to my neck. "Will you join us?" he snarled, the blade drawing blood from the tight grasp. I saw my life flashing before me, all the experiences so dear to me. A tear slipped down my cheek as my answer was forced out.
"Yes."
And with that, even as a lie, it became true.
______________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request! | It was a gift, of sorts. Any lie I tell changes the reality around me so it becomes truth. If I say that I am rich, boom, I have cash piled around me. If I say I've dated Beyonce, I just need to show them the album dedicated to me. Hell, if I said I was a bloodthirsty werewolf, I'd tear them apart on the spot.
I loved it. From the earliest parts of my life I could live out any dream, no matter how fantastical or ludicrous. I could do anything I wanted. No one challenged me after the school bully "disappeared". I became one of the brightest students after a little fib. I felt-knew- that I was powerful.
Then came the love of my life. I met her at college. She was everything I wanted. More. I couldn't dream of her. I would do anything to get her attention, yet she always seemed so far, so distant. She finally allowed me to take her on a date. I made sure not to disappoint. I put all my heart and soul into this. She walked in and I knew I found the one.
I got married soon after. Our honeymoon was in the Maldives. Empty beaches, stretches of sand for miles. It was there we first conceived. A baby boy. Emile. My love. I put in enough effort to make him the perfect child. But then I realized he had the same power. I only noticed it when I lied about me knowing about his powers. Then I became scared. I didn't know what he could do to me, my wife. I panicked. I immediately lied about his powers altogether. As his powers disappeared, his anger towards me turned into frustration. He used himself to ruin my marriage. Driving a wedge between us. In a fit of rage, I made him disappear. But my marriage faltered. I drove myself insane. I couldn't murder her. There was nothing left. I stared out at the foitball pitch. A man came up to me, "Are you alright, man?" I stared at him, took a deep breath, and closed my eyes. "I don't exist." | 2017-07-14T05:09:16 | 2017-07-14T04:57:57 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You are a recently hired psychiatrist at a mental hospital. Some of your patients insist that they were once staff, but are being held prisoner by the actual patients that now run the hospital. | Stick-thin isn’t an exaggeration for Maren Greenwich. He looks like someone had stretched his face over a skull and made the walking skeleton smile and be extra nice to everybody. So, despite his ghoulish appearance, he is the only patient to always ask about my day and even save me some chocolate pudding from lunch. He is quite the sweetheart. Except to the cook. He hates the cook. Every day, the cook comes to his room to offer him his meal and every day, as soon as the man turns, he rushes over to the bathroom and purges himself of it. Smiling of course.
I’m told the two have history, but when I ask Maren about it, his eyes go wide and his smile grows so far I’m afraid he’ll pull a muscle. Once, he actually did. And still he smiled, wincing in pain, but still smiling. My professional stance, as a psychiatrist, is that his smile is his shield and sword. It protects him in the illusion of happiness and spites some unknown force, desperate to make him unhappy. It’s very common among patients like him—to believe that someone or something is out to get him and that’s why Maren Greenwich smiles so much, to beat whatever that is at its own game.
However, my personal stance differs. I once saw him stub a toe and his lips dipped for just a second. When he realized, his eyes widened and he redoubled his efforts to smile. That was when he pulled a muscle. I begged him to stop smiling. He refused. In the end, we had to put him under to stop himself from tearing his cheek muscles.
There is a desperation in the way Maren Greenwich smiles. Seething, bubbling, boiling, like a volcano waiting to blow and as soon as those lips collapse, I know the destruction will come. Though I suppose, that’s why he’s here. That’s why I’m here too. To save him.
“Maren,” I say and yawn. My breath catches. How did I let the yawn escape me? Smoothly, I say “How is your day?” as if I hadn’t just yawned in his face.
He looks around us and then at me, studying my face. For a second, I believe that I’ve also left some spinach in my teeth. Then, I realized that I skipped lunch. Perhaps hanging around Maren so much has rubbed off on me.
“You have bags, doc,” he tells me.
I look on the ground and find none. My pen hovers over my pad, ready to scribble *delusional*, when I ask, “tell me more about these bags you see.”
“No, not like that.” He shakes his head manically. “Under your eyes.”
I brush my eyes with fingertips. Wipe powder sticks to my finger. I had thought my makeup good enough to hide my fatigue, but clearly not. “That’s very observant of you.”
“I used to have the same, back when I was sitting in that chair.” His smile dwindle and his eyes glaze over.
I take note. With Maren, reading facial expressions change. The dwindle of a smile isn’t actually him growing sadder, but him managing a real, but feinter grin. His cheek-to-cheek smile is his frown.
“And what did you do in this seat?” I ask, playing into his fantasy.
“Exactly what you’re doing. Helping. Counseling. Prescribing.” He angles his chin up, thinking. “Starving. Not sleeping. Dying.”
My pen flies through the legal pad. “Mmhmm,” I hum without looking up. “And how did you end up where you are, here?”
Five bony fingers latch onto my wrist and I nearly drop my pen in fright. His fingernails are like talons, digging into my flesh. I look up and breath sticks in my throat, too afraid to emerge. He is no longer smiling.
“I’m here because I’m not dead, yet,” he whispers. “Write on your pad that I’m happy. As long as I haven’t become as miserable as I made them, they won’t kill me.”
“Okay,” I say in breathless voice.
With a nod, his smile slowly returns and with it, the usual Maren, back on the couch, talking about his day and how wonderful life is. “You won’t believe how tasty the pudding was in the cafeteria today, doc,” he says, almost singing the words. “I should’ve saved you some. You know? Next time I will.”
I nod—more a twitch than a nod—and look down to write my notes. My eyes catch a scribble on the side of my page and my brow furrows. Maren looks at me, calm, content, smiling. “What is it, doc?”
Patients here have no personal possessions. It was too easy for them to hurt themselves with one. So they had no toothbrush to sharpen, blankets to tie around themselves, or even pencils. Except, Maren apparently, who in the time he had grabbed my wrist, had also scribbled into my pad a single command.
Run.
---
/r/jraywang
| "So, this will hurt only a bit," I said with a quiet voice, as I was putting the needle into his arm.
"They want me to stay quiet, huh?" asked Jamison from me.
"What are you talking to me this time, Jamison?" I asked him.
"You know very well. I am actually staff member. They are holding me here as a prisoner. You need to help us. It is not just me, its all of us. We are all prisoners."
I sighed.
"I will secretly notify superiors, don't worry!" I said and patted on his shoulder and left.
"You are mocking me... It will be soon too late!" she shouted at me as I left.
Every single person, similar story. I went for the final patient, with the same medicine. It was very suspicious that all of them required the same drug. I guess it is just something what calms them all down.
"Hello, Ned. How are you doing today?" I asked as I entered.
Ned didn't respond and was just sitting in his chair, looking out of the window.
"You aren't very talkative, I see," I responded as I took the medicine. I was actually happy that one of them was quiet and didn't start talking about that certain topic.
"Does it matter? You will soon join us anyway." He said.
"What?" I asked.
"They will not let any newcomer stay here for a long time. First, they drive you crazy and then they will lock you down," the man said.
"And why do you think that?" I asked while pushing the needle into his vein.
"Because I was the last one," my hand reacted to it a bit, but not noticeably.
"All done. Make sure to have some sleep, alright?" I say with a fake smile.
Ned says nothing and keeps watching out of the window. I exit the room and walk straight into my staff room. Every single person had told me the same story. It was crazy and spooky.
"Boooh!" suddenly Kelley came in front of me, as I was entering the staff room.
"Ahhhh. Shit, Kelley, don't do that," I felt how my heart skipped a beat.
"I am sorry, you just were so out of place," she said with a smile. Prettiest woman in the hospital. Too bad, I had already a wife.
"So, you are staying overnight?" I asked.
"Yeah, and John."
"You know, how did all these guys manage to get the conspiracy going?" I suddenly asked. Kelley increased her eyebrow height.
"You know, them being staff and all of you being the real patients?" I said just in case. I mean, it is logical that they might make up so many stories, that she didn't know which one. But it made no sense, that they ever could get together to decide on the same story.
She just stared at me, and that was unpleasant.
"You shouldn't take what they say seriously," she responded, staring at me.
"Of course I won't take it seriously? I am just int-"
"They- are- crazy- after- all," she said with really weird spacing and with a long smile.
"Ookay," I said with a long voice and went to my desk, to put stuff into my bag.
"Do you wanna go out sometimes?" she suddenly asked.
"Oh," it was obvious flirting. "I am married, so I have a wife waiting at home." Plus, it was too weird right now to accept either way.
She kept staring at me. Instead of the usual *I am sorry* reaction, she just smiled.
"What?" I asked.
"Ah, nothing, nothing."
"Either way, I'll be going, see you tomorrow!" I left the room and could feel the stare on my back. I almost could have heard a *'not for long'* from her. As I left the building, I discovered I had left my gloves back in the staff room. I turned around and went back. As I entered the hallway leading to the staff room, I could hear screams from a distance. I stepped slowly closer to it, still planning to go to the staff room, hearing: "YOU WON'T SPEAK OF IT AGAIN!" It was a woman voice.
"Nope," I whispered, turned around and knew that this was the moment when I should get the fuck out of here. No person in the right mind should investigate anything. As I turned around, John stared at me.
"Hi, Mihail," he said. "Leaving?" he asked.
"Yeah," I responded.
"Why you came back though?" he asked.
"Ah, I forgot my gloves," I said while feeling shivers.
"Ah, I think I saw them on your table. I'll get them for you."
He left and came soon back and gave me gloves. I was impressed I managed to wait for him to return.
"Thank you?" I said.
"I'll see you tomorrow," he said with a smile.
I turned around, left the building and as soon as I got around the corner and wasn't visible, I ran. I knew that I am not going back and that I am going to quit. I think I have never gone home as fast as I did today.
As I arrived home, my wife was cooking in the kitchen. I quickly went there and confirmed that she was still there. It felt like it was in the horror movie. It was indeed her, my very own Jaina.
"I missed you so much," I said and kissed her on the cheek.
"What happened, it seems like you saw a ghost," she said with a smile, still cooking.
"Today work at the mental hospital was really intense. I think I am gonna quit from that place," I said and took off my jacket.
"What mental hospital?" she asked and stopped cooking for a moment.
"What?"
She turned around, looked at me all confused.
"Mihail, you have been working as a programmer for past 20 years. What are you talking about?"
----
/r/ElvenWrites horror :O | 2017-11-30T13:55:26 | 2017-11-30T13:20:03 | 3,104 | 132 |
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next? | It has been too long. I have wasted 5 years of my life on this job. If it weren't for the timely salary payments, I would have been certain it was a prank.
Until one day, the phone rings.
"Hello?"
"Hello, I was told to call this number to finish my transaction."
Finally.
"Ah yes, ma'am. Which version of Winrar would you like to buy?" | Dave never expected it to ring.
He thought it was all a joke at first, but how wrong he was.
It almost gave him a heart attack when it rang.
He picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
The silence felt like an eternity.
“Hello~?”
He nearly hang up just before they spoke.
“Is this Dave Smith?”
“Yes.”
In the background he heard someone writing something down, as if they were taking notes.
“I am Aven Gretto, director of [REDACTED].”
He felt a bit confused.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch the last bit.”
“I am the director of [REDACTED].”
He heard a giggle in the background, but ignored it.
“What? My hearing must be going bad.”
“I am the director of [REDACTED], okay?”
He heard someone laugh quite heartily.
“This isn’t funny, I have to get back to work” he threatened.
[Voice cracking] “IS yOuR reFriDEratOr RunNinG????”
He heard at least 3 children clearly crying with laughter, then he hung up.
He was later informed he got the wrong number and went on to be a multi-millionaire.
| 2017-12-16T22:37:51 | 2017-12-16T21:55:00 | 3,752 | 65 |
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next? | I keep questioning why I took this job because I'm going crazy. Is the money really worth it? Does the phone even work? How did I even get to this position?
Suddenly the phone goes off.
"H-hello?" I tentatively answer.
"Uh is this the Krusty Krabs?"
"No this is Patrick," I said and hung up. | Dave never expected it to ring.
He thought it was all a joke at first, but how wrong he was.
It almost gave him a heart attack when it rang.
He picked up the phone.
“Hello?”
The silence felt like an eternity.
“Hello~?”
He nearly hang up just before they spoke.
“Is this Dave Smith?”
“Yes.”
In the background he heard someone writing something down, as if they were taking notes.
“I am Aven Gretto, director of [REDACTED].”
He felt a bit confused.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch the last bit.”
“I am the director of [REDACTED].”
He heard a giggle in the background, but ignored it.
“What? My hearing must be going bad.”
“I am the director of [REDACTED], okay?”
He heard someone laugh quite heartily.
“This isn’t funny, I have to get back to work” he threatened.
[Voice cracking] “IS yOuR reFriDEratOr RunNinG????”
He heard at least 3 children clearly crying with laughter, then he hung up.
He was later informed he got the wrong number and went on to be a multi-millionaire.
| 2017-12-16T23:39:18 | 2017-12-16T21:55:00 | 173 | 65 |
[WP] You accept a job paying $1 million a year to sit in a room, waiting for a phone to ring on a table. After 5 years at work, it finally rings... For the first time.
What happens next? | Office of police oversight, you say?
Yes. That's right.
And you're sure about all this; one million, guaranteed, no background check, free pizza?
Yes. All of it.
And what if it *does* ring?
Well, that will never happen because we won't be publishing this number anywhere.
Then why bother even paying me?
Because it's the law. We have to have an oversight committee.
Ah, and you're sure everybody is cool with this?
Yup.
Well...alright. Let's do it! But, just for my sake, what should I do if it ever rings?
Run
| Damn, it's hot in here. How'd I even get myself in this situation?
I guess most of the days in which I found myself sitting in that white plastic chair were much the same. A bit of thumb-twiddling and whistling favorite tunes helped out a bit, but lord was that job *slow*. But, y'know, who wouldn't sit their ass in a spot all day, every day, three-hundred-sixty-five times for a sweet million? Sure, it was boring work, if it could be called that - at the end of the day though, who cares?
Even so, those long, drawn-out days have a way of wearing down a man. Most of those tired days, I spent a whole lot of time slouched in that chair, thinking about my days with the Company. When I wasn't twiddling my thumbs, I was wandering my daydreams about the future where I'd actually get to spend that cash. Those daydreams had a way of passing the time. At some point, my eyelids got the better of me.
I drifted off into the dream land of plush leather chairs and Lamborghinis, and a ring-a-ding-ding nipped at the edge of my consciousness. The void called stronger.
That day, yesterday, made five years. Coincidentally, it was also my last day of work for the Company.
It's a shame that they take being fired so literally. | 2017-12-16T23:22:44 | 2017-12-16T21:53:13 | 117 | 31 |
[WP] “You’re not allowed to die, okay?” She makes you promise, tears still flowing down her face. That was 200 years ago now. You don’t know what she did but your promise still holds strong. | Connor woke to pitch blackness and the sound of a woman humming, echoing with a metallic sort of ring against the walls of his makeshift bed. He sat up - and immediately regretted it as his head banged against the low, hard metal roof directly above him. He laid back down, swearing loudly.
From outside his little chamber, a woman gave a shriek.
"Shit - sorry!" Connor knew better than to scare the poor morticians that happened to get saddled with him. "I'm in here!"
The door to the body drawer opened and he sighed in relief as it flooded with light. The table rolled out and he rubbed his head, seeing stars as he sat up. Blood flow was a bitch after he first woke up, every time.
A tiny brunette was staring at him with a scowl on her face, hands on her hips. The badge on her lab coat said 'Katherine Herrera' and her picture had the same look as her face.
"How many times is this now, Connor?" She asked, huffy and irate, her cheeks still flushed from her scare. "You're going to kill me one day, and I can't come back!"
"Sorry, Kat." Connor smiled sheepishly, rubbing his chest. A fresh line of autopsy scars lined his chest, neatly overlain against the already healed ones. "I hit my head again."
She only tutted and walked away, tying her hair into a ponytail and muttering darkly to herself. Connor suspected that she was quietly insulting him behind his back, but that would be nothing new. With a groan of effort, he hopped off the table, wrapping the sheet he'd been covered with around his waist.
"Your clothes are in a bag by the coffee," Kat said, motioning towards the autopsy room. "You're lucky. I snagged them from the others before they could burn everything."
"New guy?" Connor followed his nose to the smell of coffee and reached into the bag, rummaging for his underwear. Kat nodded.
"New guy."
"Ouch. Thanks. I owe you one." Connor finished pulling on his clothes and immediately went for the coffee and the sandwich on the table. "Or a dozen at this point."
"Just stop scaring me, asshole." There was no venom in her words. In actual fact, there was something close to fondness. Kat was quiet for several seconds, fiddling with something on her computer. A loophole, he guessed, to explain away why they were once again a body short. It was kind of hard to write 'the body got up and left' as an excuse.
Finally, after several moments, she spoke.
"Did you see her again?"
Connor went quiet as he laced his shoes. He swallowed. "Yes."
Kat's shoulders fell and a deep sadness crossed her face. She looked down at her hands as they typed, then cleared her throat.
"I hope it works next time." She said softly.
Connor pulled on his jacket and finished off his sandwich, heading to the door. "So do I." He said. "Goodnight, Kat."
"'Night, Connor." | So prior to reading this, I am not normally a writer but have always wanted to get into it. Any constructive criticism is greatly appreciated!!
It was quiet, the only sounds a faint hum coming from the emergency overhead lighting, and a steady click as the ship rotated. Gravity was steady, the screens along the wall calculated and compensated fully automatically, and oxygen was flowing. I closed the maintenance panel and latched it shut; everything was in order. Of course it was, the *Ranger* had been fault free since its launch two hundred years ago. I honestly don't know why I still checked, the system would alert me to any malfunctions within nanoseconds.
I moved down the hallway, casting a brief glance into the long-unused galley. Cans of freeze dried food sat in the cabinets, uneaten and unspoiled, but I stopped eating and drinking years ago. I couldn't even remember how long it'd been since I last tasted anything; decades? It didn't matter now. I continued my shuffle, towards the main bay. The glass ceiling and walls here looked out onto a vast, black expanse. Light from distant stars taunted me with every twinkle, but I was immune to that now too. I was immune to everything...
The console at my station showed the *Ranger's* current position, but we were so far away from anything that I was nothing more than a pixel in the center of a void. I'd lost everything, and all I had to show for progress was a steadily increasing number in the corner of a panel, showing the many hundreds of millions of miles from Earth that I was. The distance I was from her.. It didn't matter now, she'd been dead so long I doubted her grave was even still marked; it along with everything else probably been covered by the dust a century ago. I toyed with the chain in my pocket briefly, but removed my hand and turned my attention to the ship's life support systems. Stable, as always. Everything had gone into this ship, the culmination of seventy five years of human cooperation. It was all we had left as a race, and I was the Caretaker. The ship could maintain a course, repair and sustain its own systems, and store the vast database of human knowledge that had been entered into its database. By all accounts, it was perfect. If only I had been.
I couldn't get her face out of my head, though. The dying sunlight glistening in the tears on her face, the slowing heartbeat I felt in her chest.. And her voice, echoing endlessly in my ears. "Promise me." she had said. It wasn't a request, it was a command, one that carried the weight of a dying mother."Promise me you'll live. Promise me, that no matter what, you will see this through." I had nodded, a simple, silent affirmation that I'd do what she asked. Only then had she handed me the tray; six, small embryos, frozen in saline and sealed to the outside world. On top of the tray, she placed a silver chain; it had once held a locket with our daughter's name on it, but even that was lost. "Do it for her, don't fail us..You're not allowed to die too, okay?" I had promised her, and somehow, inexplicably, I'd kept that promise. I was alive, and God only knows I tried so hard not to be.
I closed my eyes and squeezed, trying to remove the image from my mind. Two hundred years, and I saw her face every day. I turned to the cold chamber entrance, now open as it had been for seventy five years. You see, by all accounts the ship was perfect, but only in that every program still ran smoothly, perfectly. I, on the other hand, was imperfect; a Caretaker for the last six chances for us as humans to continue to live. And after one hundred twenty five years, I made a mistake. Just one; but by leaving that door open, I had doomed everything..
*Edit: Formatting | 2018-01-05T15:15:02 | 2018-01-05T11:55:42 | 1,055 | 654 |
[WP] 1 hour before someone dies their loved ones are teleported to them so that they can enjoy their last moments. You don't have any more loved ones, but suddenly you are teleported into a crowded room. | I wasn't expecting it. You never do, really. But I guess I was hoping he'd make it.
My best friend had gone missing a few days earlier. I figured something awful had happened on his morning run in the forest behind the suburb we both lived in. Nobody had seen anything, and there was no sign of him.
I couldn't bear the thought of not finding him. My wife passed away years ago, and with no children or other real family, he was all I had left.
And then I felt it. The rush, the dizziness, and the sudden appearance somewhere new. A cave in the side of a hill, and he was lying there, bleeding. Something had attacked him, clearly. He was weak, shivering. But he looked at me and smiled.
I knew he wasn't going to make it. He must have known too. There's no way I could have gotten him back to a doctor in time. We knew that the timer couldn't be beaten like that. But he looked resigned to his death, and smiled just because he knew I was there for him. I guess we both just realized that all we could do was spend one last hour together.
I sat down next to him, holding him. He was shivering, and could barely move. I cried as I held him, telling him stories of all the good times we'd had together. Telling him how much he meant to me, how much I'd miss him. I didn't know how I could go on without him in my life.
He couldn't speak, but I think I could see him smile, just being close to me. There wasn't anything we could do to stop it, but we could at least be there for eachother at the end.
As the timer reached it's end, I held him tighter. I didn't want to let go, I didn't want to accept it. But I had to.
And as he breathed his last breath, I whispered into his ear, "Good boy, Rex. Good boy." | My body shunted forwards and back again like I'd just slammed on the breaks going 40. The grass and trees of the park dissolved into white walls, and suddenly where there had been no people before, now there were many. It'd been a few years since the last jump but I recognised the phenomenon immediately. During his final hour, a man on his deathbed could pull his loved ones to his side.
There were certainly more people at this final hour than at my brother's hour, or than any hour now that I think about it. Any hour of any day I've ever been a part of, even. I hopped up to peek over the crowd, I was in the centre of a sea of faces. It was more like a stadium than a hospital ward. Though I couldn't put my finger on what kind of stadium, whichever sport had the biggest field I suppose.
'Don't suppose you know who’s we're at, do you?’ I asked the man next to me.
'I haven't a clue. Not seen anyone in a hospital gown about, have you?’
'Nope. No cars or smashed bikes about either. Bit weird isn't it?’ I said.
The conversation had decided it was a brief one and ended itself there. One of the troubles of the hour was that there was no indication as to who's hour it actually was. Every now and again you'd get an awkward situation of two people dragged together with both of them unsure who was about to pop his clogs. I continued looking around, hoping for a clue as to who I was about to disappoint with a vague goodbye and a handshake. Then the clue found me.
'Hello, Mark,’ said the clue, a voice from a direction I wasn't sure I could name, let alone point to.
'H-hello,’ I replied. 'I’m sorry, but who are you? And where are you?’
‘You know who I am.’
'I think I do,’ I convinced myself.
'There is little time left. I have brought you all here to allow you all a peaceful moment before I go.’
'I didn't think death really applied to you?’
'I wish that were true. There few things we do not share, you are not as my reflection, you are as I am. I was as much alive as you are now.’
'Whatever killed you, can it kill us too?’ I asked.
'It can.’
'Will it?’
‘Eventually.’
'Oh. Thought perhaps we'd be in for an inspirational pro-humanity pep talk. Thought perhaps you'd tell us how we don't need you anymore.’
'Ah, no. No one stops this horse once it gets going.’
'Oh.’
'And technically there's four horses.’
'Of course.’
'Four unstoppable horses.’
'Yes, got it thanks.’
'...and horsemen. Of the apocalypse.’ | 2018-05-20T11:47:02 | 2018-05-20T10:26:44 | 416 | 23 |
[WP] 1 hour before someone dies their loved ones are teleported to them so that they can enjoy their last moments. You don't have any more loved ones, but suddenly you are teleported into a crowded room. | I was 50.. My parents had long passed.. my wife died in child birth, and I could never bring myself to marry again... I had no pets, or friends... I worked. That was all. I didn’t love anyone.. I had just turned off he TV Saturday night to start getting ready for bed when I was suddenly teleported to a crowded room. I didn’t understand. There was no one left that I loved, so why was I moved?
As I was looking around the room, a pair of arms wrapped around my waist, holding tight. I turned around and saw it was Emily. The little neighbor kid. “Emily? What are you doing here?” She was in her pajamas. She must’ve been in bed when she was teleported. “I don’t know, Mr. Stevenson. I was in bed, and suddenly I was here. I hope whoever it is passes painlessly.” “Me too.” I say, as I give her one of those side hugs you give someone you don’t fully like, but you don’t hate. I start scanning the crowd for familiar faces. To my surprise, I see a lot.
“Mr. Anderson? Is that you!?” I say, as I see my old football coach. He must be at least 80 by now. “Stevenson,” he says as he squints through his thick glasses, “is that you? By god! I wonder who is the lucky one that gets to pass today.” “Me too.” I say still perplexed. I keep walking through the crowd, a lot of people clapping me on the back saying their his, hellos, and the occasional who do you think it is?
Finally I come across another familiar face. A face I hadn’t seen in 35 years. “Mrs. Hughes? I haven’t seen you since 4th grade!” She squints her eyes and comes walking, slowly, towards me. “Carl Stevenson? I can’t believe it!” “You remember me?” I say, not expecting her to. “Of course I do! You were one of my favorites. I loved having you in class.”
It was almost as if a bulb went off in my head. I remembered reading something on reddit a few years ago.
‘If the soon to be deceased’s current location is not large enough to hold all the people, then they shall be teleported along with all those that love them to a place that can hold them all.’ | There is a nostalgic feeling in the air, a heavy feeling weighting down on me as a group of children whisper to each other. They were scared, crying. I couldn’t help but feel out of a place in a situation such as this.
In my line of work, those kinds of feelings are extremely common, no matter how many eons pass, and no matter how many people you meet on the job. But, if I had to point something that changes within this continuous line of work it would be…
The people… their behavior, their personality.
No soul is ever the same. Humanity never ceases to surprise me.
“I’m going to save them.”
The words of this child didn’t allow for uncertainty. It was a statement, and he wholly believed his words. There was so much confidence in them that I wanted to laugh out loud.
In the distance, I could hear the sound of explosions, the sound of buildings crumbling down, the sound of souls screaming in pain, longing for help, or at the very least for someone capable of taking them away peacefully. The noises got closer and closer with every second and the room itself vibrated with every detonation worrying its residents more and more.
But there was no point, none of this is real, it is only a representation of the past, a representation of the memories of an old man who had nothing to live for and no one to live for him. Someone who lost everything due to his own actions.
“In a place such as this, there is no place for hope, everyone here will be eliminated, and the souls of this place will never find comfort. This is not only a place for Death, but a place for Eternity, and that outcome is something that will never change”
*he knows this, I know this, but even so… he is... still going to try...* I thought *just what does he think he can do in a single hour?*
“I don’t care” he states, in a tone that is abnormal for an eleven-year old “I’m going to save them, you’re the one who said it, it’s my last hour in this world, and I get to do what I want with it."
More detonations in the distance, more souls are screaming. Their screams are trying to carve their way into my head.
*I can’t help you*
“I’m a coward," his voice cracked as he said that, but his voice regained his certainty the more he spoke "I couldn’t save them back then, but now… there is a chance, a chance to create a different outcome, even if *I’m* not the one who lives it.”
“Impossible, none of this is real, it doesn’t matter what you do, your actions will have no impact in this world” I said, loud enough to keep the screams in the background “all you're doing is… self-satisfaction”
“Yes.” he says, while he caressed the head of a small girl on his lap, she couldn’t see me, but knew that something was in there in the room with them. Children were always susceptible to this sort of thing, and even more so when every child in the room had experiences with death before, even if they were nothing but fabrications. “But granting that self-satisfaction is part of your job… isn’t that right Reaper?”
| 2018-05-20T11:13:10 | 2018-05-20T10:08:35 | 174 | 37 |
[WP] The "violent videogames teach you how to use a gun" thing is true for you. Literally. Everything you learn in videogames, you can do in real life as well. You realize you have that power when you drink an energy drink after a bad injury and you find yourself completely healed. | I remember the end of my life. I lay in my bed, surrounded by family and friends, rattled my last breath, and closed my eyes. After that... blackness.
I awoke in a cold sweat, in a bed in what I knew to be my bedroom. I was in a house I recognized from my memories, but recalled I hadn't been in this room since I was 8 years old. I glanced around the room, noting how everything was so much *bigger* here. There were bars on all sides of my bed, each with about an inch and a half's worth of space between them, and every movement I made resulted in a strange crinkling sound and odd padded feeling around my groin.
I looked down at myself, and could clearly tell I was not the 85-year old man I had remembered myself to be. I was dressed in a onesie, with clear signs of a diaper sticking out of the legholes of it. I couldn't have been more than 3 or 4 years old.
My last memory before being in that bed was of my unique life. I had powers. I had a secret persona. Anything that could be done in a videogame, I could do. I wondered if those powers transferred over, but I didn't know. My mother used to gush about how I was mostly potty trained by 2 years old, but would have nightly accidents up until age five, so I was made to sleep in a diaper. If I was replaying my life, then...
I stood up on my feet and clung to the top of what was unmistakably my crib. The morning sun was rising just outside the window. The air conditioning was already running full blast in the house, so I guessed that today was probably one of the last days of summer. Preschool would be starting soon, if I wasn't already enrolled. *Was I really going to relive my life?*
My bedroom door opened, and in strolled my mother. Her eyes were full of life and her cheeks red from laughter- she must have been awake for a while already. I hadn't seen her smile since her death when I was 20. I reached up for her and she swiftly lifted me from my crib.
"I had a strange dweem, mommy," I said, clearly understanding how to form words and sentences but not having a full command over my tongue. Her eyes widened... perhaps I wasn't much of a talker at that age? I had a hard time remembering that far back.
She slowly set me down in my crib and backed away from me. "I'll be right back, honey," I heard her say before she bolted out of the door. I thought I'd done something wrong before she returned, my father and a camera in tow. I remembered that camera, and few of those memories were good. She picked me up out of the crib again and turned towards the camera.
"Okay, James, tell us about your dreams..." she stated, looking directly at my father and the camera he held.
"Don't wanna..." I said, and both my mother and father gasped. Clearly this was different from my original life.
"Don't be scared, James."
"D... Daddy kilwed you wif a knife and used that camera to wecord it." While it wasn't a dream, that was exactly how my mother had died in my first life. "Then he twied to blame me."
My father paled, and my mother raised her eyebrow. "You had a nightmare, James. Daddy would never do that to me."
*Not now he won't,* I thought to myself. This time I would make sure that bastard never hurt her or anyone. This was my new beginning. My new life. My new game, plus. | Where the fuck am I???
I remember where I had been perfectly. A second ago I was crossing the street, chatting to my coworker, on our way to our latest favorite lunch spot. The conversation was the same tired work-related frustration we repeat at least once a week.
Now I'm somewhere else. Time feels paused in darkness.
NOISE. A swirling chaos of light and sound suddenly surrounds me. And some kid is talking to me and sucking on an energy drink, it's dark, neon everywhere, music. I have no idea who this kid is.
"Fuck, what just happened to your eyes?", the obnoxious kid said, misting my face in spit and energy drink and unidentifiable pungent meat odors.
I don't have time for him. I need to understand where the fuck I am. I'm terrified and confused but my face is blank. I'm in shock.
Okay, neon, shitty dubstep on cheap speakers, young adults everywhere, and way too many computers. This is a LAN party.
I was here maybe 11 years ago? The redhead in the corner... that's Naomi and Jon! That's them 11 years ago, though. So a memory, then? A dream?
No, no. No, definitely not. I can feel the gravity of my body on my feet, the slight ever-present discomfort on my right foot in my shoe from that foot being slightly larger than my shoe size, I can discern the cold smooth concrete through my shoes. Pixel perfect vision: no fading, no locus of attention. I've never had such a visceral dream or memory, nothing even approaching this acuity.
The kid in front of me had been ranting to me for the last minute but I was in my own world. Suddenly his words drowned out my world.
"...you're so wrong man! Sure Tomb Raider was difficult but that's what made it legendary, quick saves are ruining platformers, that's why TR3 was way much better than Anniversary. I'm not even going to buy Underworld if it has them."
The insanity of the eureka moment took a moment to process: because it was a ridiculous idea. But then this was easily the most surreal moment in my life. Maybe?
Let's see. I had been in the street, and we had been j-walking, like we do every day, but it's a tiny one lane street with almost no traffic. We had been caught up in the usual rant though, maybe we didn't notice a car coming? And I died? Probably a sneaky fucking electric car. Damned Elon Musk, he murdered me! But Tesla's are awesome.
Okay asshole. Focus. Quick saves. This moment was a semi-delirious conversation I had about quick saves in one of the last LAN parties I ever attended. I'd been up for 2 days. I still have no idea who this kid in front of me is - but I faintly remember? Or at least could see a younger me vehemently defending the introduction of quick saves in platformers with some nerd.
So hypothetically, this is me, 11 years ago, debating quick saves. How did this become my quick save point?
This is fucking stupid shut the fuck up, there aren't quick saves in real life. Let's Occam's Razor this shit instead - one of my dick co-workers probably put drugs in my coffee, I'm probably high as balls, hopefully I'm not collapsed catatonic in the street outside the office. I've done mushrooms before, but I have no fucking clue what would do this...
Sure, sure - probably your co-workers with a prank that went way too far. I agree that's likely. But here's the thing, you also probably haven't spoken the words "Quick Save" out loud in 11 years. So if - I'm just saying if - Quick Saves are real, this would be where yours would be set.
You know what. Let's run with that. Reality is going to suck even if I could get back to it. I'm either dead hit by a truck outside my office. Or mortally wounded in a hospital. Or about to lose my job to some asshole poisoning my coffee with god knows what. Or etc. And even then? Life isn't what I expected it would be after school.
So sure - it's probably the drug thing - but let's see what damage I can do while I'm here?
"Quick Save", I announced loudly and awkwardly to no one. No one cares.
Now, where to start? | 2018-08-14T13:16:04 | 2018-08-14T10:52:11 | 54 | 25 |
[WP] Twenty years ago you summoned a demon. It is super cool and has been your friend for the last two decades, using its vast powers to help you achieve all your dreams. Today though, its bill came due. It needs to return to hell with you - it has dreams too, and it needs your help to achieve them. | On this morning, I was surprised to find my demon unusually excited. Over the last two decades Balazar had, despite my best efforts, been supernaturally moody and withdrawn. I thought perhaps, after a period of adjustment, he would acclimate to the scenery of Earth. As my riches grew, I got him appointments with the best therapists money could buy. But nothing quite worked. Until, quite suddenly, this morning, I found Balazar bouncing around the living room like a demon possessed.
He picked up the children and danced around, letting them grab his horns, as they giggled.
“My turn” he chanted, “my turn, it’s my turn.” Soon they joined in singing with him.
I rubbed my eyes. “Jesus christ Bally. What the hell’s up with you?”
“Hell is up with me John. Hell exactly.”
I shook my head, “I’m going to watch the news.” I walked over to the couch, sat down and turned on the TV. From here you could see sweeping views of the whole city. My neighbours were Brad Pitt and Slash. Imagine that. The anchors were talking about my company on the news: “and looks like some bad news for J Corp this morning.” I sat up, confused. Bad news? Those were two words had hadn’t heard together in, well, twenty years.
“Since the markets opened this morning, stocks have fallen by 20%.”
“What!”
In the background Balazar was still chanting, “my turn. My turn.”
“Balazar, will you shut the hell up.”
“Hell!” he cried, “we’re going to hell.”
“we’re going to hell” the kids laughed after him.
I pulled out my phone. Ten missed calls. I blinked. “We’re down. Why are we down? For christ sake Balazar will you put the kids down and stop dancing?” He put them down, but the smile was still plastered to his face as he skipped over, his hooves clacking on the polished floorboards. “What’s going on?”
“Your stocks are down.”
“Yes. I know. Why?”
Balazar shrugged. “They’ve been artificially overpriced for years because of my magic.”
“Yes. I’m aware.” There was a silence. “I feel like I’m missing something here.”
“Oh John” he leapt forward and hugged me, “you don’t see, do you? It’s my turn.”
“Your turn for what? And just calm down okay? You’re like the kids on Christmas.”
“Okay” he took a few deep breaths, fanning himself, “I’m calm. I’m calm. Do I look calm?”
“You look like you’re on drugs.”
“Twenty years ago you summoned me.”
“That’s right.”
“No I mean. Twenty years to the day.”
I shrugged, “Happy anniversary?”
“John. Don’t you remember? The spell you used to cast me. It was a two part spell. A contract. You get me for 20 years. I get you for 20 years.”
“I’m sorry what?”
“Don’t be sorry. Be excited! We’re going to hell! Oh hell is nothing like they tell you John. It’s really quite a marvellous place, and there’s companies there too, and you’ll really like it trust me.”
“I don’t quite understand. Me help you?”
“Yes. That’s what the spell is. Didn’t you read the fine print of the spell?”
“Read the fine print. Shit Bally I was ten years old! I pulled the book down from my grandmother’s shelf, dusted it off, flicked it open to a random page and just started reading.”
“Best decision you’ve ever made John. Trust me. Ok we’re leaving in five.”
“Leaving. No we’re not leaving.”
“We’re going to hell.”
“I’m not going to hell.”
“Yes. You really are” he gestured with his hand. And I took a step forward unwillingly.
“How did you do that?”
“Part of the spell. Look I’m not going to use it unless its absolutely necessary. You’ve been a good sport to me, I’ll be a good one to you.”
“Bally. I can’t just go. I have a family here. A company to run.”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Time runs differently in Hell. 20 years won’t even be a day here.”
“But it will be 20 years for me” I answered, “in hell. I mean — what, what help do you think I’m even going to be? I’m not a demon, okay, I can’t wave my hands and make things happen.”
“Oh but John. You can” he lowered his voice, “you have no idea the power unclaimed souls wield in the afterlife. No idea.” I swallowed.
Balazar pointed to the wall, and a dark portal opened up. “Oh god. Bally please. Don’t, don’t make me go.”
“Think about it John. This is what you signed up for. You get a choice to go willingly. Or to be dragged along. But you are coming. Satan knows the shit I went through for your dreams.”
“And what exactly are *your* dreams?”
Balazar smiled. “To rule” he said. “All of it.” He slapped a hand on my shoulder, “just you wait” he said, “you're going to love it.” I bolted for the door. But halfway my legs stopped working. I turned around and marched toward the portal, as my children echoed Balazar’s chant from the kitchen.
“You'll be back before lunch” Bally reassured me, as I passed through the portal and darkness fell around me.
[r/jmoorestories](https://www.reddit.com/r/jmoorestories) | Power. Wealth. Influence. Those were the dreams and hopes of most of my peers, and most people thought that it was what I too wanted. Those people share one common trait: They're all idiots.
Since I was a kid, what I wanted was a way to distract myself sufficiently in order not to truly be myself. While I never felt fear, I did feel anger. I battled daily with images of me slaughtering those who I felt deserved it - and if there wasn't any conflict in my daily life, my mind involuntarily invented characters whom my mind-self could beat up, torture and kill.
I was in one such daydream where a small group of men had just attacked a school where I happened to be, when something interrupted my thoughts just as I was about to render one of the men blind.
It was a chilling sensation, but the door to my office and the windows were all closed. I felt the small hairs on my neck stand at up, and the hairs on my arms followed soon after. Something was out of the ordinary but I couldn't place what. Then I heard the voice:
\- "Human, as I have helped you to success, you have helped me increase my power. But now is the time for departure."
In front of my desk, dark smoke had appeared and as I watched, it expanded and grew more dense. A shape became visible inside it, and a creature about my height appeared. It resembled a man with large horns, clad in red velvet with golden accents. The face was worn and around his mouth was a well-trimmed goatee. But the most fascinating feature was his eyes that were a yellow glow, and as I looked closer, I saw flames dancing inside them.
\- "What... the fuck... do you mean? And who are you?" I inquired, my voice level.
\- "I am the reason you dare do everything with no fear. I have absorbed your fear, it has fed me and added to my power. I have shared some of that power with you - used it to manipulate the outcome of several events in your life, in order for you to achieve your goals. But our partnership must come to an end."
\- "One hell of a partnership, since I didn't know I even had one," I mumled.
He continued: "As to your second question: I am Reza, and my race is what you humans refer to as demons."
I almost laughed, but this whole situation was way beyond what a mere stage magician could pull off with fancy effects and sleight of hand. I could feel his power, and while it didn't exactly scare me, it made me slightly uncomfortable.
\- "Have you also been seeding images of violence and blood into my brain?" I asked, a thinly veiled threat in my voice. Reza shook his head.
\- "No, but I know of your... predicament. Now hear mine: My son has been corrupted by the creatures you people call archangels. He no longer believes in freedom of choise, but that all must be forced to adher to the archangels' idiology - as transcribed loosely in the book you call The Bible."
\- "Wait, that shit is real? Old Testament, New?" I interrupted.
\- "The events, no, but the idiology behind it is. Now thanks to you, my power has grown considerably, and I can fight the archangels on their own territory, and fighting them is the only way I can speak to my son. If he choose to stay with the archangels after hearing me out, fine, but I owe him the choise."
\- "It seems to me he has already made that choise."
\- "His choise was influenced by deception and lies, I have a way of showing him the truth. But whether he will believe that it matters or not is beyond me. He may yet be saved from their influence, but it is also possible that they have swayed him entirely during the twenty years I have spent amassing power. But albeit, we will not have much time to talk - there will be no time for melancholy."
I tilted my head, and Reza seemed to ready for departure.
\- "I believe you," I said and meant it. "And I will help you, not because I feel like I owe you a favor or anything, let's be clear on that - but because this sounds fucking interesting."
The glow in Reza's eyes increased.
\- "And why would a mighty demon such as me, who was already one of the most powerful demons before I even met you, need you for anything? I have fire at my command, strength, stamina, teleportation. What can you do?"
\- "I can think. And I'm fairly certain about the time when we met. When I was thirteen, and my friend Brian's sisters were fooling around with drawing a pentagram using chalk and lighting candles and shit. I did just fine before I met you, you know. Although I can't control fire, I can't teleport - hell, I'm not even that good at running. And yet, I did just fine, and you know why? Because I'm not all these things. Which means I have to think my way through. Use what little I can do to achieve maximum results. And that's why you need me." I turned my swivel chair at an angle and put my legs on my desk, hands casually behind my head. Reza took a step towards me.
\- "You say you are smarter than me?"
\- "That too. But the most important thing is: You're very powerful, apparently even more so now than ever. Power makes you stupid, because you don't have to be clever when you can just flick your fingers and make all your problems go up in flames."
\- "A thing you would do well to remember, human. You are far too flammable to be mocking me."
\- "Nonono, I don't mean any disrespect. Or rather, I don't mean any undue disrespect. Come on, let's say you arrive where you need to go, and you're outgunned. You underestimated the archangels or whatever - but for some reason, all you power isn't enough. What's your plan then?"
Reza pondered in silence with crossed arms. Dark smoke began to appear from his skin.
\- "And you, human. What can you do if you stood by my side and that happened?"
I made a grin, took my feet down and leaned forward. "Take me with you, and I'll fucking show you. Fill me in on all the details, and I can do you one up. Instead of just talking to your son, I can help free him from their brainwashing." | 2022-10-29T16:15:55 | 2019-01-25T00:46:24 | 4,031 | 62 |
[WP] You always greet your mum with a code phrase that she would complete because you used to be afraid that someone would replace her when you were little. One day you say the phrase to her and she responds with, "Hmm? What are you talking about?" | Me and my mother shared a code word. It was almost an in-joke, but one that everyone knew. It was silly and maybe a bit childish but it was a reminder to me that no matter how bad it got, she would always be there at the end of the day to greet me. Days of wanting to be a spy eventually gave way to a simple word that took us back to simpler times. Days where we would play in fields long gone, tell stories to each other as we shed one or two mor tears for the hardships, or one more chuckle at an old joke only the two of us would understand.
It was easy, I presume, to underestimate how important it was to me. A simple code word, childish... meaningless...
But we... she... she gave it meaning.
Her brow furrows as she tries to remember.
Sadness isn’t the right word. It’s not just sad, it’s emptiness. Helplessness. She can see through my smile.
... and she guesses a word.
It’s not correct.
I don’t have the heart to tell her.
I see her eyes light up as I pretend to be overjoyed that she still remembers.
On the wall, old post it notes still remain. We love you. The cat has been fed today. Your husband is out at the shops - he will be back soon.
The ticking of the clock is loud, obnoxious even.
Slowly, ever so slowly, I get up and start to move her walking stick over to her in case she needs it. Her coffee, now lukewarm, is moved to the middle of the table. She’ll likely want one again in a few minutes anyway.
A few more moments pass.
She asks me where her husband is.
He’s at the shops.
The clock continues to tick. It’s so obnoxious.
Where’s my husband?
He’s at the shops.
Part of me, remaining hopeful, utters the code word once again.
She almost gets it this time. Almost.
Almost is good enough for me.
She asks me if somethings wrong as I gaze into the wall, thinking about what the future has in store.
She always could tell when I was down.
I wonder if it’s instinctual.
She doesn’t look lost, or scared, or confused.
I don’t think she realises at all.
Perhaps that’s for the best. I don’t have the heart to break it to her again.
I smile. “Just... thank you for being here.” | At every visit, we’d greet each other with the same code. I’d walk in and say “413,” and she’d reply, “607.” It was an old code from a forgotten era just before flip phones and blackberries. Way back when people texted each other with pagers.
413- I love you.
607- I miss you.
637- Always and Forever.
It started after I’d read Animorphs for the first time. I was terrified at the thought of an alien parasite taking over my mother’s brain. Yet, despite its odd beginning, the code kept on through most of my teenage and adult life. That is, until today.
I walked in with a fresh bouquet of flowers. Yellow roses, to be precise. Her favorite. She sat on the couch, looking at me with vaguely distant eyes. I set the flowers on the counter, just next to the small kitchen’s sink. “Hi mom,” I said with a smile as I took the dried yellow buds out of their vase. “413” I chimed as I rinsed the vase out.
“Hmm? What are you talking about, sweetie?” She replied.
“What?” I asked, confused. “I said 413, mom.”
“Mom? Sweetheart, I think you have the wrong room. This is 107.” She stated, matter-of-factly. I stared at her in disbelief, until her expression went blank once again. “Ma’am?” She asked, “What are you doing here?”
I rang or the nurse immediately. She rushed in. “Oh my, you’re out of uniform.” My mother said with a chuckle. “It’s alright, I won’t tell anyone.”
I turned to the nurse. “She forgot my name.” I explained, “This has never happened before, it’s never been this bad.” The nurse looked at me with pained, sympathetic eyes. “I’m sorry, miss. I’m afraid there’s nothing we can do.”
I slowly shook my head, tears beginning to well in my eyes. “Hey, don’t cry, honey.” My mother said in her oh, so gentle voice. “What’s the matter?” My throat began to clog with each breath. The nurse softly hugged me. “I’m sorry, miss. Dementia isn’t easy for anyone, especially the loved ones.” I hugged back for a second, then let go and kneeled before my mother, gently taking her hand. “Momma,” I said, “do you remember me?” I stared up at her face, looking for any trace of a memory. Of all the years we’d spent together, the laughs, the fights, all of the sadness, and the joy. Still, her eyes were vacant. Her expression molded into one as sad as mine, but she didn’t know why she felt this way. “Are you okay, sweetie?” She replied. “What’s wrong?”
I wiped my eyes and stood up. “Nothing, mom.” I said, leaving in to hug her as the nurse grabbed a light blanket to lay on her lap. “I have to go now. 413.”
I let go of her and walked to the door, pausing to look back at her before I looked back. 413. 607. 637. | 2019-09-30T14:27:12 | 2019-09-30T14:01:30 | 44 | 28 |
[WP] Jesus has come down from the heavens, but is actually just a chill guy. He is sitting and talking to fans in your city but when you walk to see the savior his relaxed expression fades and is replaced with smugness and at the same time anger. He looks at you and calmly goes, “Ah, the Antichrist” | “What are you talking about?” I ask, looking behind to see about a thousand people staring at me like I had just been found guilty for killing all the saints.
I wish I had not looked back, though, because everyone just started shouting straight-up horrific words.
“Kill him!”
“Put him in a sack, Jesus!”
“He’s a demon, throw him out of the city!”
“Calm down.” Jesus finally says something out loud—strange because he had been whispering almost all this time. “You. Sit.”
Trembling, I sit down right next to the rock the Son of Man had been sitting on. Slowly, I feel his hand creep up on my shoulder as he faces the crowd.
“There is no need for killing.” He states to the horrified crowd. “The Father does have a plan.”
The crowd goes silent as if convinced by the whole statement.
I am, too, but then I see Jesus slowly turn to me and whisper, “He does, doesn’t he?” | Oh fuck me. "Really? Here? Now?" I say. Jesus sneers at me. "I think so Antichrist." He looks to the gathered people. "Everyone!" he says, his voice amplifying so everyone can hear it. "This man here." He points at me, "Is the Antichrist, here to damn you all to Hell." The people turn to look at me. I sigh, "Look the Antichrist thing isn't what you think." I say raising my hands in surrender. A fat, sweaty suck up yells at the crowd, "BURN THE ANTICHRIST!!" The crowd takes this order to heart and quickly surround me. I look at Jesus and flip him off. Jesus becomes more angry at my flippant disregard to my personal health. "Yes true believers burn him on the stake." As they tie me up I continue to stare at him. "So much for all loving." He smirks, "I believe you know I love you..." "Gay." I say interrupting him. He snarls a little, "As I was saying I would love you to burn and be sent back to hell." I roll my eyes as I'm covered in gas. "Hell has open borders." I say blandly. He scoffs, "Then we'll send you back again." The fat man walks up with a match. "My lord shall I?" he asks. Jesus looks at me and looks at the man. He looks at me again, a little uncertain. "Oh get on with it I'm not saying sorry to you bitch." I say. Jesus snatches the match and tosses onto the fire. I wake up in hell. "Asshole it's not my fault you suck at cards." I say to myself as I stretch and get out of my bed. "Welp time to go back to earth." I vanish in a puff of smoke. | 2020-02-02T17:17:07 | 2020-02-02T15:07:16 | 253 | 25 |
[WP] An horror story where it gets progressively clearer that the writer is the psycho, not the other person. | My dog is getting out of control. No matter how much I feed him, or how much I play with him, he always tries to run away the moment he gets the chance.
For this reason, I have no choice but to keep him chained to the oak tree in my backyard.
Watching him struggle against the frigid iron encircling his neck day after day breaks my heart. Regardless, I can't unchain him--for he would bolt for the fence the moment the chain struck the ground.
\---
My dog has been howling for two days straight. Luckily, my closest neighbor lives a mile away, so his incessant cries aren't causing any complaints.
Nevertheless, if I don't muzzle him soon, I fear that I will lose my sanity.
I just hope that he doesn't bite my hand as I fasten the nuzzle around his jaws...
\---
I muzzled my dog this morning. Suffice it to say, he panicked the moment he saw the wired contraption.
"You can't do this to me," he said, backing toward the tree. "I'll stop calling for help--I promise."
"My patience is up," I said. "Bad dogs need to be punished." I strapped the muzzle to his face. "Be good while I'm gone. I'm returning to the campground I rescued you from this afternoon to see if I can find your family."
\#
Thanks for reading! Please consider reading more [Here](https://connorphillipsfiction.com/) and [TCC](https://www.reddit.com/r/TheCrypticCompendium/comments/g5lu7x/author_database/) | Jennifer's footsteps echo against the graffitied alley walls. The staccato 'click, clacks' of her high heels was deafening. Few people were on the streets this time of day. Those that were, were hardly visible. Shadows swirling in the morning's foggy darkness.
On a normal morning, Jennifer was not due in the office for another hour. On a normal morning, she wouldn't be passing through this alleyway in the first place. Sam's Bagel Place at the corner of Memorial and Lector for a snack. A newspaper at the kiosk a few minutes walk from there. If there was still time, a detour, some more steps towards her goal of 10000 a day. Not that she often achieved it.
This morning, her boss had called her in early for an emergency meeting. Something about shareholders, and buyouts. She tried to object, but he was insistent she'd come at once. She had not dared to refuse, not when so many of her coworkers had been laid off because of the crisis. And so, she put on her sexiest formal skirt, and took the shortest route to the office.
O, how Jennifer was tired her job. Sometimes, when she thought her boss wasn't listening, she would complain to her colleagues in the break room. The other day, a dream offer from a competitor came in the mail. Though she hadn't been able to read it yet, she would surely accept it if she found it. Jennifer could be gone within a few weeks. She could finally be happy soon. Away from the job she hated, from the manager she so openly despised (yet, in truth, so deeply admired).
Her boss had tried to please her, of course. Who could let such a treasure leave? Not a day went by that he wouldn't give her a compliment. He had offered her plenty of opportunity to advance in the office, even offering her private tutoring sessions. She wasn't perfect, nobody was, but could be so much better if she'd just accept his help.
The 'click, clack' of her heels stop briefly. Did she hear something behind her?
She will understand in time, I'm sure of it.
Jennifer shivers softly in the morning cold. Delicate goosebumps appear on her soft arms.
The ropes will chafe, but I will take care of them.
She tries to scream, but the masculine arms are too strong to pry away.
She shouldn't leave the office, it wouldn't be good for her. It just wouldn't be. | 2020-06-11T06:53:15 | 2020-06-11T06:29:07 | 41 | 17 |
[WP] A global, standardised test taken at 13 determines the career of everyone on the planet. The big day comes and you get your results back, only to learn you might have the hardest job ever given through this system: you have to redesign the test. | I was roused from my slumber by an urgent beeping from my phone. Grunting, I reached over and saw an email alert chiming urgently. Immediately, I sat up rigid, my hands shaking more from anger than from nervousness. The exam results were in.
I'd always hated the exam, this thing that our lives we're all arranged around. Everyone slaved for 13 years for this exam, a bland 100 page month long assignment. I'd seen people I'd known break down under its pressure while growing up. And at the end, your entire future would be determined by it.
So I'd decided to rebel against the system. When I got that assignment, I had simply typed the same thing every time, for every answer and submitted it within minutes. And for a month now I had calmly whiled away my time, glad that this act of rebellion was done and happy to be freed from the future temporarily.
And so now, the results of my act were in. As I slowly logged onto the system on my laptop, ignoring the continuous chimes from my phone as my contemporaries touted the fruits of their labor. To my surprise, logging in showed me no score, and for a moment I thought it was a network problem. However, something else popped up. A single audio clip. I clicked on it. And I listened. And I understood.
And so now I'm leaving this note to you both. You've supported me forever, and now finally I can make my own path. I can finally be free of the future, and shape it how I want, as I embark on this next chapter. I cannot communicate with you for a while. But if next year, my sister tells you things have changed, you will know I have succeeded. | It was dubbed the *Career Aptitude Examination*, known as CAE for short. However, all of us kids just called it the Test. It was less effort, as all effort we had was redirected towards preparation for the Test. Although we were all told that there were no right or wrong answers, everyone still had their speculations. Through the grapevine, older peers would tell of certain answers you were to avoid putting down when answering questions.
The adults would always counteract these statements with their rhetoric about how they were placed into perfect jobs or whatnot. None of us bought into it.
It was a dreary time when I received the results. My peers surrounding me, I read aloud my future job title. “Kay E. Yallows, future career path: Career Aptitude Examination Designer.” That did not sound right. A hush fell over my peers as they recognized the fate I had been destined to. “Guys, I think there’s an error.”
From across the room my teacher interjected, “No, these tests are correct. That is your future job, Kay.”
“Well, I don’t want it.” Frightened, I scrambled about trying to locate the numbers for these career offices. There must be some way to appeal this. I don’t want this job. My phone buzzed as I began to phone the offices. Reaching over me, my friend, Oliver, swatted the phone out of my hand, sending it to crash upon the floor.
“Oliver! What the hell was that for?”
“Listen to me, Kay. You aren’t going to repeal this, ok? Also, isn't it funny how your initials spell out the word key. Maybe, you’re the key to redesigning this whole system since you seem rather pissed about your fate. Besides, my septic cleaner ass would greatly appreciate it if this system could be revamped.”
“How about no.”
“How about yes,” Oliver rebutted. “C’mon, look at how mad you are right now. I know that you’re mad at this system, we all are. So, be the damm key to fix this system. Until you accept your fate, this will be mine,” he called out while pocketing my phone.
“Alright fine," my tone sarcastic,"I’ll give this fate thing a try, but that's only because I don't like seeing an Oliver that I know becoming a septic cleaner. That job actually sounds nasty.”
Oliver smiled, [smug as always.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CasualScribblings/) | 2020-07-05T01:34:43 | 2020-07-04T23:02:20 | 159 | 31 |
[WP] You gained immortality by absorbing thousands of souls. They have gotten used to it and act like Twitch chat watching a livestream of your life. | "Hey--"
"No," she said, not even looking up from her book.
>Can we get an F in the soulscape?
>
>F
>
>F
>
>F
>
>What the fuck does F mean?
>
>Tap into the hivemind loser
"Sorry, I just wanted to ask if you knew where the library was. I'm meeting a friend there."
>I'm new, are we actually meeting someone?
>
>No
>
>I have all the friends I need right here
>
>Gay
>
>Imagine being over 1200 years old and still having negative game
>
>Spent most of that sleeping I think
>
>The days of axe murder are over, now begins the days of awkward pick-ups
The girl looked up. "Dude, the library is literally ten miles away."
"I like walking."
>FUCKING WHAT
>
>I LIKE WALKING
>
>I, too, used to like walking.
>
>Waddling, you mean
>
>He used to be fat?
>
>We gained fifty pounds eating his soul alone
>
>It took so long to walk off
The girl burst out laughing.
The host's expression was frozen on an awkward smile. He finally sighed and asked, "Do you want to get coffee sometime?"
>The balls on this man
>
>The bravery
>
>The sheer audacity
>
>As a woman, I want to die again
>
>There was a woman watching this? Oh no
>
>Big yikes
>
>Also a woman. Can confirm, I want to die again
>
>There are dozens of us. Dozens!
"Sure, I guess," the girl said, settling for a moment before laughing a little more.
"I know a pretty good place a block from here if you have time now."
"Okay. Let's go," she said, getting up from the bench.
>WHAT THE FUCK HOW
>
>THE GOD
>
>Such bullshit
>
>I am literally returning to the aether as we speak
>
>Take me with you
>
>Ladies, can y'all explain what just happened?
>
>I DON'T KNOW EITHER
>
>I mean we can ask once she gets here, right? | It's funny actually. We have turned the tables on each other for so many times it has left marks in my soul. At first I killed them and took their essence. I imprisoned them inside of me. And thus I mocked them. I admit that I made them watch horrible things. They had my eyes and could see, they had my ears and could hear, but even though they had my mouth, they couldn't scream. I killed people they love, as punishment. I suppose I was telling myself that it is ok to torture them for they were bad men. I wonder, if I had done the same if I did not have this reward of mortality promissed for doing it. I wonder a lot these days.
Then they got too many in there, I suppose. And from me torturing them and seeing them as the victims, they had become the audience of my life. Every thing I did, every thing I did not do, they were aware of it. And they knew how to push my buttons. Some of them wanted to hurt me, so they told me how worthless I am. I knew that they were just trying, but it wears a man down after a hundred years or so. They saw all my sad moments and reminded of them constantly. Ridiculed me. I lashed out at them, but doing so I could only hurt myself. And thus they laughed. For hundreds of years...
But then it happened, the Thing. Still don't know what it was. Earth turned barren and frigid in about 10 years or so. All my souls were watching it with very mixed feelings. It was something that brought as all together. They were not my friends, but through me they could experience this strange event. At first some pockets of humans still held out, but they all starved. And thus I was left. I was alone. I was a thousand of them.
I started walking around and they gave me ideas. Parts wanted me to "find out" what has happened like I was a detective. But i knew not where to go, how to start. Parts wanted to see some hijinks I could do in a lonely world, but it turns out it's not much. Some started forming real relationships in this cacophony of souls, shouting over each other. They listened for a particular voice and then responded to it. People fell in love inside me. And they hated each other inside me. Then people left each other and cried inside me. And I was a vessel. But no one told me to kill myself, no. They had seen many deaths of mine and knew it is not possible for me to die. I'm immortal.
So they.... left... I'm not sure how to explain it otherwise. The souls one after another just fell quieter and quieter until they stopped talking. Like candles. One after the other just kind of gave up. Until it all was just silent. I spent a long time talking to the last three, but also they had gone silent now. I tried doing things to wake them up. I did bad things. I did shameful things. Just to rile them up. And once or twice I just heard a quiet "don't bother..." and that was that.
I am now sitting on a mountain, well above clouds. I hope that I will die here. I'm not sure of what. Be it cold or some sort of radiation, I don't know. Or at least I'll freeze and stop being. Maybe I shall fall silent too. I wanted the view to be beautiful, but it is quite mundane. Everything under me is covered in clouds. But everything above me is empty. By hell and heaven, I admit to you all - I'm lonely. | 2020-09-26T17:26:28 | 2020-09-26T14:04:45 | 4,253 | 2,747 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to know what is wrong with a piece of broken technology just by touching it. One day, as you’re shaking someone’s hand you see an error message. | "I knew before everyone else!" I said as we sat at the bar after work.
"Sure ya did Joe." And Bob took a sip. "Nobody knew but his old man."
"Who do you think told his old man?" There was stunned silence.
The drunken silence needed filling so on I barrelled, I think we may have drunk a barrel. "You know how I got that uncanny ability that I can seemingly touch things and know what's wrong with them?" I waited for an acknowledgment.
"What that got to do with this, you winding us up again?"
"So a couple years back when I first got started, I was working a checkpoint on some backwater. Ran into this dude, his ride needed calibration, but I get to see ownership info at the same time. Was his son. Didn't know it at the time." I pause to take a sip before resuming. The beer sweets next to my perfect helmet.
"Anyway, jump ahead a few months, I get transfered and now I'm pulling escourt. Sooo much better, though the new boss is very particular. You know the dude. That Dude."
"Did you know his arms are artificial?" Not waiting for a reply I continue. "I sure didn't when I shake his hand. I was so surprised I blurted out the first thing that came to mind."
Silence.
"And what was that?"
"If i'd known all the trouble i'd be in i'd have kept quiet."
"Out with it."
"In all my travels I'd only met one other Skywalker." | "Um," I coughed, hopefully covering up the look of surprise that had spread quickly over my face. I don't think it worked.
"Is something wrong?" he asked.
I coughed once more, drawing back my hand.
"Nothing, nothing," I said. "Just... don't feel too well. For some reason."
"Right after shaking my hand?" he smiled. Still understanding, still polite.
Nobody else could be this perfect. This wonderful. This warmth that blossomed from my heart of hearts, its sweet nectar basically injecting itself into the purest of dopamine in each and every receptor.
Goddamn it. No wonder. He had to be a robot.
His eyes continued to search mine quizzically, brows furrowing in worry at my increasingly erratic behaviour. But how? How could this... person... not be a person? His touch felt real. The buzz that started at the small of my back felt real. The chuckle we shared and the blush I felt when he caught a stray hair felt real.
Everything was so real.
And what could I even say? Everything has gone so well. Too well. Just straight up run away? Abandon what I've had and ghost him?
"Are you a robot?" I blurted out.
A look of stunned surprise, both on his and mine. My own mouth had betrayed me, which I promptly covered with both of my hands in shock.
"Good heavens, no," he shook his head. He tilted his head, hand scratching his chin now. "Now, what would make you think that?"
"I..." faded away. Do I tell him?
"Actually," he said. "What does it matter? Your unusual last sentence aside, I had a lot of fun. Want to do it again?"
He held his hand out towards me.
I hesitated. I gingerly took it, and once more, the error message blared in my head. Big, red 'WRONG' screamed and stabbed themselves into my brain.
But it felt right. So, so right. The slight coarseness and bumps in his hand that seemed to fit every groove and curve of mine.
"What if this is wrong?" I asked, timidly, trying to ignore the alarm bells in my head.
"Then, let's be wrong together," he said, squeezing my hand tighter, and I could only melt.
Oh, what the hell. If this was wrong, at least he was wrong *for* me.
---
r/dexdrafts | 2020-10-24T08:46:18 | 2020-10-24T07:11:59 | 116 | 61 |
[WP] When you die you go to hell, only to find out you can gamble your soul on a coin flip for a brand new life or damning 500,000 more souls to the underworld. You’ve been doing this for 2000 years, winning and beginning a new life every time... you show up at the devils throne once again. | He looks bored at the table, flipping coins as dead souls stand in front of him. “Congratulations,” and one goes to the right, “see you next time,” as another follows, “too bad, welcome to hell” as a third soul wanders to the left.
The Devil thought the game would be more fun, that the challenge would be rare, 500,000 souls too steep a price to pay for just their own. Turns out humans are even more selfish than he could have imagined, which, I guess, is a good thing for the Devil?
Regardless, flipping coins for eternity is incredible boring, and even more so when God has mortgaged the souls of a few millennia to pay the price for the selfish ones that lost.
The only time a spark ever shows in his eye is when I walk up. 30 lifetimes, some short, some long, have been spent by me, each time ending with this coinflip, and each time beginning again when it lands on the face I call.
Heads twelve times, tails eighteen. No real rhyme of reason to my choosing, no superstition, just luck in the end, but man does it light a fire under the Devil when I come walking back in. His eyes light up and I swear I can see him drool out the corner of his terrible grin.
“So we meet again,” he sneers, “do you know the odds of correctly calling a coinflip 31 times?”
I can’t help but return the smile, the stakes are too big to take this moment seriously. “50/50,” I reply, “I only have to call it once.”
His sneer fades to a snarl, “what’ll it be this time, then?”
As it turns out, he’s not the only one bored with this whole charade, 30 lifetimes is about 29 too many for any one soul. “Devil, what do you say we change the odds this time?” “You want my soul, and I want to give it to you, but what’s the fun in that?”
He looks at me curiously, “what do you propose?”
“What if we up the ante? You don’t wanna flip coins for eternity, and I know the guy upstairs is carrying quite a debt. What do you say we call it all square if I win, God gets his souls back, starting with mine? And if I lose . . . well, I’ll sit in that chair for eternity and you can go back to deviously spreading evil to anything you touch.”
The Devil’s face curls up as he does the math. Sure, there’s enough souls to feed hell forever currently, anyone would hate to lose them. But one flip, 50/50, and someone else can feed my desires while I live a life of evil. “Alright, the game is on,” the Devil’s grin curls upwards again, “what do you choose?”
“Tails never fails,” I say, and the coin flips into the air. | I was leading my oxen through the crowded streets of Rome, heading toward the market at which I hoped to sell my most prized specimen for a hefty sum. Suddenly there came shouting from the senate house. It was muffled. Its words were indistinct.
"Julius Caesar is dead!" cried one man, closer to me than the original shouter.
A panic swept through the crowd as the terrible refrain was repeated, again and again. Many were in disbelief, at first. It seemed impossible that the godlike man, whom tens of thousands of savages in Gaul could not kill, would now die in the city over which he ruled. But as some men began moaning, and women fell to their knees to weep, the terrible reality started to set in. The formerly peaceful collection of distinct individuals became that ugly, unified creature known as a mob. With the passion and energy of a disorderly mob, people began pushing and shoving. Voices grew more worried until they reached a frantic pitch. Finally, the simmering roil of passions boiled over, and absolute chaos broke loose. I and my oxen were carried along with the stampede, like twigs by a strong current, charging toward the senate house. The ground was uneven. I fell on my back. I turned around to see the massive hoof of one of my hefty beasts descending upon my head.
That was how I died the first time. My vision went black. The sounds and smells of the only city I had ever known receded. Like boiling water poured through a sieve, the pain flowed from my face, through my head and out the back. And though I was still "I" - that is, a self, a consciousness, an awareness, I was little more than the nothing by which I was surrounded, almost indistinguishable from it, like a small crease in the fabric of the void that needed only to be ironed out to be utterly annihilated.
Gradually, some of my senses returned. Some of the boundaries that separated me from the nothing became more distinct. I was a body without flesh. But still a body. And I was falling. Falling toward what? Toward heat. Toward a dim red light, growing brighter. And then in a flash like a fireball I was there, lying on the hot stone floor, surrounded by torches and fireplaces burning furiously, but silently.
What a terrible, magisterial temple, I thought, as I squinted down the black hall. What a hot, uncomfortable dream.
In the distance was a massive throne, on which sat a giant creature, like a black lizard, with the curling horns of a goat, and yet the face of man. He sat casually in his throne, like a tyrant bored with his power and yet still addicted to the sadistic pleasure he got from exercising it. In his reptilian hand he held a golden scepter that glimmered in the firelight. Standing before the creature, dwarfed by his immensity, stood a man robed in a purple toga.
The haughty stance, the regal color of his attire - it was Caesar himself!
As I lifted myself from the floor and began walking toward my Consul and the demon with whom he was consorting, I saw the demon hand something to him. Caesar flicked it into the air, and the golden coin flashed as it slowly rotated, rising and falling and finally landing in Caesar's hand. Caesar looked down at his palm, in which his fate lay written. The devil smiled. Through the floor reached a pale, thin arm. Its long fingers wrapped around Caesar's ankle. And as Caesar shouted, "This is preposterous. A rigged game! My destiny in the hands of shriveled old bats! My future" - he was dragged into the floor.
"Now," cooed the Devil, looking up at me. "Now it is your turn."
\[...\] | 2020-11-24T15:33:35 | 2020-11-24T12:24:57 | 95 | 48 |
[WP] Bored from waiting for an apocalypse that never comes, the four horsemen take human forms and try to blend in the society | War had an easier time of it. War had lived amongst humans for as long as they first grouped together to fight another group. So saying they had it figured out was an understatement. They’d hopped from nation to nation, but had recently gotten very cozy in the U.S. The ranks kept rising and War was good.
Famine had settled nicely amongst the world of models and varying celebrities. It was certainly much nicer than the days of yesteryear when people starved in pitiful circumstances. Though that still happened, Famine preferred the niceties of glamour life. As a public image advisor, they were reveling in these beautiful women’s insecurities and lack of self-esteem. Though recently they’d been thinking of making the switch to “influencers” or even working in Middle and High Schools. Definitely no self-esteem there.
Death always struggled to fit in. Though around since the beginning, being constantly rejected and feared made it a little hard to “blend”. Death always felt a little like they’d seen it all and were growing weary. But Death found some comfort, of all things, in the “internet”. Specifically, social media. The “death” of careers, movie ratings, friendships, and relationships were numerous and quite fascinating. But then a kid ate a Tide Pod, and Death was hooked.
As for Pestilence...
Well, Pestilence ate a bat. | Everybody went separate ways. This job was too much for them. War became a bartender, works 9 hour shifts and party’s hard. Famine shockingly became a farmer. He works out in Colorado and lives with his wife, Samantha. Death started to work as a private investigator, but really we all know he just wants to find any flaw to destroy humanity, even though I highly doubt working with cops is the best way. Its been 40 years of staying out of suspicion and blending in with the humans.
At this point, you may wonder how I know this. Well, my name is Jacob Collins, a 23 year old in Frankfort, Kentucky. Or as I was known, pestilence. I currently have no job, and instead use my, well, special skills, to get money from people. I am documenting this to help get my old partners locked in prison, or somewhere stronger.
Now wait, I just said I was ratting out my partners. “That doesn’t sound very apocalyptic”, you may say. I really don’t have much of a choice. Let me start this from the beginning...
The date is August 4th, 1985. The four horsemen of the apocalypse have arrived on earth, and not exactly with a parade and fireworks. Well, there were technically fireworks, but they were bullets. Of course, this didn’t bother any of us. We had seen much worse than tiny metal scraps. But they were a nuisance, so we wiped the area from the face of the earth, or any other planet. We soon came to learn that this was not normal human culture and that it was a “military base” or something like that. We all realized very shortly that we didn’t blend in, so we found some “helpful donations” of bodies near the ruins we had created. Each of us entered a body, and continued to live as usual. But of course, there had to be more steps than that. Something about being suspiciously healthy after a serious destruction of a military base we were at was not very average. Our new idea was to remove the identity of our bodies and start a fresh, empty life. If only things were that easy.. | 2021-02-17T18:29:53 | 2021-02-17T17:34:41 | 35 | 14 |
[WP] Aliens have captured you, and placed you in one of their nature preserves. However, they have sorely miscalculated on two issues: The amount of calories needed to keep a persistence predator sated, and the lethality/brutality of a hangry human. | “Do you know a T.Rex is, alien?”
The extraterrestrial observer was startled, three oblong eyes blinking in disbelief. He did not expect the human to speak, much less to hos capturer. Then again, the human was regarded as “intelligent”, even though its brain was obsolete in the eyes of an Aphroan; After all, it was so very captured easily.
“How do you do, sapien?”, the Aphroan asked, curiosity grabbing his attention firmly as he spoke through the translation broadcaster into the preserve.
The human smiled, pupils now dashing across his exhausted, bloodshot sclera, obviously searching for the source of the voice. “Very well actually, this chicken you had here served quite the appetite”
The Aphroan snickered, his vertical mouth widening with small laughter.
“That was not a ‘gallus domesticus’ of Earth, fool, that was an Alecti of Senoa IV”.
“It looks quite similar, though its cry was much different”, the human replied as he raised his hands slightly, revealing the severed head of a rooster-like figure whose comb was spilt in two and a sky blue instead of a dark red. The Aphroan shivered, remembering the last cry of the creature when the human tore his hands into the neck of it.
“I suppose so”, the Aphroan remarked as he quickly moved to change the conversation, “now what was that about this... ‘dinosaura’”, he finished as he stopped scanning a database of Terran beings.
The human smiled wider.
“Oh yes, the Tyrannosaurus Rex”, it started as they wobbled back and forth, “sorry, this hunger is making me a little...unmindful”.
“May you explain to me what this being was? I do not seem to have much information on this...Rex” the Aphroan responded.
“Don’t you worry, just let me, uh, sit down for this”, the human replied as he almost collapsed onto a log of a fallen Magoo tree.
“I’ll be waiting, I already have a seat”, the Aphroan jested to no laughing crowd. The human stretched out and slowly relaxed, Alecti head still in hand.
“The Tyrannosaurus Rex was once regarded as Earth’s most fearsome creature ever. Jaws the natural strength of steel, height the size of two stories, and the smell of 2 kilometers. But all of this came with a downside, the primal need of 200,000 calories. 200k, can you imagine?”, the human spoke, eyes dilating as it spoke about the Terran beast. The Aphroan became impressed, as Venian monsters tended to be on the smaller side and an easy dispatch by the hands of an Aphroa.
“My oh my, this does seem a fearsome creature, why haven’t I seen one when I arrived on your planet those 5 Sol weeks ago?”, the Aphroan asked. The human winced at the reveal of how long he had been in the reserve before his face shifted to a tired expression.
“Well, as a result of this great downside, the T. Rex became dependent on constant hunting, half a day on my planet. It became smarter, sneakier, even a scavenger, with tens of swords ready to bite at a notice. Too bad the meteorite that landed in Mexico wiped them out 65 million Earth years ago”
The Aphroan sighed, now realizing that all he had been listening to was a story on a dead animal.
“Well, that is unfortunate”, the Aphroan muttered, “A creature of the magnitude would be an incredible piece in a preserve like this”.
“I’m willing to bet I can beat that”, the human suddenly exclaims, eyes blankly aimed at the Alecti head.
The Aphroan was stunned, then laughed. How could a human say that?
“How many calories do you require, sapien?”, the Aphroan asked, barely hiding its chuckles.
“Around 3,000, but with how much I’ve been moving of late, around 3,500”
“How do you do expect to sustain yourself then , you don’t have tens of swords to rely on, how do you survive?”, the Aphroan sneered, reveled in crushing the obsolete being.
The human stopped talking, head down toward the ground when it finally looked up directly at the camera placed within a fake vine high above him. The Aphroan was surprised, though quickly understanding that the human must have noticed it when looking for his voice.
“Considering my primal desperation, some opposable thumbs, and the fact that you kept in me in this dammed menagerie for FIVE FUCKING WEEKS!”, the human cried as he smashed the Alecti head, splattering greenish blood across his face, “I reckon there’s a little inspiration to rely on”.
The human looked down and asked a question that would terrify and lead the Aphroan to reevaluate what being he had contained.
“Do you know where the word ‘Tyrannosaurus’ came from, alien?”
He looked back up toward the camera, bloodshot eyes not of exhaustion, but of rage.
“It came from the word,”
*TYRANT* | "Heeeey alien dudes! I'm hungry! Where's my food?!", Tommy shouted to the camera hung on the top corner of the isolated room.
"I know you're in there! Don't ignore me!", he continued with more upsetness in his tone all the while banging on his desk.
"I...I don't understand this, Mischek. We fed this human just two hours ago-- how come is he hungry already?", whispered the extraterrestrial researcher to his colleague.
The two researchers stared into the camera feed of their subject with a mixture of amazement, wonder, and fear as Tommy's exasperation got worse-- books and personal items provided to him as means of entertainment started flying all around the room.
"I have no idea, Chift. All biological traits of this speciment...higher body fat, lack of physical movements-- all point to low metabolic rate and hibernation tendency...."
"Well, clearly this species called *human* defies all known trend that we have established!", Mischek remarked.
"AAAAAAARGH!", Tommy's sudden yell shocked the two researchers as he threw his chair onto the glass pane on his room, shattering it.
"WHERE'S MY FOOD?", Tommy shouted louder.
"Mischek, call logistics. I can't stand his yelling anymore", Chift said-- exasperated.
"Human, what sustenance do you require?", he asked through the microphone.
Tommy quieted down immediately, thinking.
"I want KFC"
"What's KFC?", Chift frowned.
"Well--", Mischek checked the earth encyclopedia. "It appears he is referring to a type of sustenance consisting of poultry fried in fatty oil, accompanied with carbonated liquid drink..."
"Sounds gross...", Chift remarked with disgusted face. "Can we get that?"
"I'll call the agents on the planet. I'll have them teleport one serving of this KFC immediately", Mischek said before picking up his communicator.
"Human, your choice of food will arrive soon", Chift spoke to the microphone again much to Tommy's delight.
"Yay!", he exclaimed, sitting on his bed while he waited.
Both Mischek and Chift leaned back on their chairs, sighing.
"I have cared for the flesh flaying Z'rrryk from Planet Paruk and it wasn't as exhausting as caring for this human...", Mischek said.
"Hey, what is he doing?", Chift asked prompting Mischek to look back at the monitor.
"What is he...? Oh god, oh no! Ew ew!", Mischek disgustingly exclaimed as he witnessed Tommy pulled out his manly appendage and started to play with it with a magazine bearing a nude female on its cover on his other hand.
"Turn off the camera feed! Turn it off!", Chift yelled covering his eyes as Mischek scrambled on the control panel, trying to find the right button.
Despite so, the audio feed still echoed from their speaker as they were treated with heavy breathing and nasty grunting from Tommy.
"I think I'm gonna vomit", Mischek said covering his mouth.
A few minutes went by when finally Tommy stopped his activity, much to Chift and Mischek's delight.
"Oh goodness, that was horrid...", Chift remarked.
"Heeey alien dudes! Where's my internet? I can't keep jacking off at magazines!", Tommy's voice bellowed.
"Oh my god...", Mischek rolled his eyes, turning the camera feed back on. "What's internet anyway?"
"It seems it is some type of planet wide hive network these humans use for means of entertainment and knowledge", Chift consulted the encyclopedia again.
"Human, we provide you with books. Are they not sufficient entertainment for you?", Mischek spoke to the microphone again.
"Man, nobody reads books anymore! I wanna watch Netflix!", Tommy yelled.
"Hmmm, yet another contradiction--", Mischek commented. "Judging by their brain size, they should be able to process higher knowledge and yet this species seems to find stimulant from mindless content"
"Human, we'll see what we can do", Chift spoke to the microphone.
"Sweet! Man, I thought being abducted was going to suck but this is pretty awesome!", Tommy said laughing. "You guys aren't going to probe my ass though right?"
Both Mischek and Chift looked at each other, puzzled and disgusted.
"Probing ass? Who even does that?", Chift asked as Mischek shrugged.
"Umm no, human. We don't *probe ass*", he said.
*BEEP BEEP*
The teleporter beeped. In the beam of light appeared a box from which aromatic mixture of 11 spices emanated.
"Not gonna lie, that smells good", Mischek commented. "Human, your food is here"
"Ooh baby!", Tommy jumped from his bed to the food hatch on the wall.
Chift delivered the food to Tommy's enclosure before returning to the observation room. The monitor showed Tommy giddily opened his lunch.
"At least he's calm now", Mischek said finally relaxed. "I swear if there's one more outburst from him I would...."
"NOOOOO!", Tommy suddenly shrieked, throwing his drink onto the previously shattered glass pane. "THIS IS NOT DIET COKE!", he yelled on the top of his lungs before throwing tantrum again.
Both Mischek and Chift stared in disbelief at their monitor. Slowly Mischek moved his hand onto a large button, pressing it, turning all feed from Tommy's room off.
In a moment of unusual silence, both researchers sat in quiet, staring at the black monitor.
"Uh Chift...?", Mischek finally spoke up.
"Ye--yeah...?"
"I quit"
Chift could only sighed deeply, not disagreeing.
r/HangryWritey | 2021-05-05T22:12:31 | 2021-05-05T20:24:18 | 164 | 85 |
[WP] You've never felt the same after learning Morse Code. The rain keeps telling you to run. | It only happens when it rains.
It only happens, once or twice every couple of weeks. Once or twice every few hours on a bad week. Three or more times on a bad day.
I remember last year, no this year, when it stormed for 24 hours straight. It wasn't a hurricane if that's what you think. No. Just twelve inches of hard rain. Lightning coming to the ground. Funnel clouds dropping low a couple of counties over.
It felt apocalyptic to put it lightly. And yet, for once, while fighting the water, I felt at peace. Resigned to my fate. To death, if it came.
The pattern keeps telling me the same thing every time. To "Run".
It could just be another delusion. We all lie to ourselves. Right? Just your brain playing tricks on you? Granted, I know disorders are more common than we think. And it's something to consider. I could have anything wrong with me. And I wouldn't know. Because to me; it was always like that.
But ever since I learned Morse code, it comes back. It's not possible, you see? Rain doesn't have a pattern. You don't turn the faucet on full blast, and get a message. Do you learn crucial information from the showerhead? Other than basic hygiene, me neither.
But when it rains, it happens. "Run." I can hear it as it hits the ground. As it hits the plants. The same thrumming on the glass as you drive to work.
"Run."
And you know it doesn't make sense. *I* know it doesn't make sense.
I can't sleep on those nights. And I have problems from it during the day. Something is wrong here. I've been to doctors. Psychologists. I take medicine, just to be sure.
I can still hear it. Whenever it rains.
So it's settled. I've made up my mind. A friend of mine chases storms for a living. And it seems like decent work. The forecast says there's a front coming this weekend. It's supposed to be a really bad storm.
I'm going with them. I'm going for a walk. See what I've been running from.
---
A little unknown horror for this one. Tis the season. r/Jamaican_Dynamite | Davie was fascinated with the power of the Morse Code. It can help you in such a situation, that you can pass a note using your fingers or any objects on your hand and tap it as it had a letter meaning, Davie thought 'Why not learn it? I have nothing else to do.' Davie began to research Morse Code, the dot and dash meaning equal to its letter on the sheet. After almost a week, a storm passed by to their town. Laying beside the table near the window, listening to the news about the planet's status. Climate change has been really bad, only a few individuals only pay attention to their planet's home.
Davie was one of the people who were between, they cares about it but sometimes not. The rain pours slowly and the grey clouds hug around Davie's small town. Davie keeps in mind the sounds of the bleeps in Morse Code. They didn't mind at the first drops of the rain until their mind claps around the same *tap* on the ground. 'Interesting' Davie thought. Davie stopped what they were doing and began to focus on the sounds of the rain. Tap. Tap... Tap. Resembles the letter R. Davie's eyes widen that it really rhythms to the Morse Code then another letter taps. Davie continues to focus on and try to solve. But failed, the rain poured heavy and wind shaking the near trees around their home. Davie, thought it was just a coincidence. After a while, Davie's mind went off about the rain earlier.
A few weeks have passed and a small storm was coming up, Davie still learning more about the letter's sounds in Morse Code meanwhile the individuals (people) are just minding their own business, as usual, trying to solve their daily life problems about bills and others. But Davie's mind got a flashback about the last few week's storm as the raindrops started to pour. Davie tried to wipe the thought and proceed with what they were doing. After a while Davie's mind keeps hearing the letter R, then an N. And a U. 'RNU?' Davie thought, thinking it might have a meaning like the U.S.A = United States of America. Davie tries to solve what might the RNU means. 'Republic National Up...no that's doesn't sound right. Maybe Republic National...' Which Davie stopped. And try to focus again on the rain.
'R...U...N' Davie thought chuckling turns into confusion and fright to Davie's guts. "Run," Davie said slowly. A thunder strikes where Davie's electricity had downed, Davie quickly get their phone and open the flashlight on it, trying to contact someone as the clouds turns to a darker pink/orange/red shade, and the rain keeps on pouring and pouring. After a while, the rain cleared around 8 minutes on the clock of Davie's phone. A big blast explosion existing in the skies. A light that made Davie duck and covers to safely. 'A nuclear attack?' Davie thought. 'That's not possible, maybe a terrorist attack?' Davie's mind keeps telling in such possibilities what the explosion might mean. Davie didn't know that the sun has been exploded and turns into a red big dwarf. | 2021-09-28T09:01:14 | 2021-09-28T08:56:15 | 88 | 16 |
[WP] As Death walks towards you, you panic and scream the first word that comes into your head: “Unsubscribe!” Death stops, scowls, crosses your name off the list he is holding then turns and walks away. | As death walks away, you hear him say something “that’s the first time someone unsubscribed from our death and co service….” Death says very sadly. What? Then you wake up.
You’re lying on the floor with a knife in your hand. You think about what happened, but you can’t remember.
You get up and look at the time. It’s currently 7:30, so you have to hurry to work. You put on a coat and get your bag. You forgot you’re lunch, so you run back to get it. Work is pretty close to home, so you decide to run there. You try to cross a street, but before you know it, a car is barrelling towards you.
You think “Is this the end.”
*boom*
You got hit, but you’re not unconscious, so you open your eyes and notice that it doesn’t hurt. You’re lying on the ground looking up at the sky.
People all around you are screaming for help and running towards you, but there’s only one thing you think about. You whisper it to yourself.
“Am I immortal?” | You immediately wake up in a cold sweat and start to question to yourself as to what in the world just happened.
You shake off the dream and start your day an hour earlier than anticipated as the glimpse shook you to your very core. You hop out of bed, start your brew, turn on the computer, grab a pop tart and sit down at the computer.
"Hmm", you said out loud to yourself, as your computer seems to be acting up. "I usually don't have to sign into my wifi", you thought, as you picked up the phone to call your significant other.
"Hey, did you do something to the internet before you left?", You asked them.
"No, why?" She states back.
"Maybe it's just windows, or something, but It's weird- I had to type my password back in to the wifi- it's usually automatically connected."
"Actually, now that you say it, the power did trip last night, so maybe that's what did it", she remembers
You wrap up the conversation and proceed to check for some news updates, but it looks like YouTube is down.
"Great- what's new"-. You go to check the YouTube server status on google and no results pop up.
You go back to Google and type in YouTube, and nothing of any relevance shows up- nothing.... "What is going on..."
You start falling into a void of thoughts regarding the dream you had just awoken from so suddenly.
Out of fear, you call your significant back, obviously confused while searching for anything YouTube related.
"Babe, I'm sorry to call you back at work but I need you to go to YouTube for me really quick and ch-"
"What?? What are you talking about?"
"I need you to go on YouTube really quick and see if it's working"
"Ok, saying the same thing twice doesn't get us anywhere- what are you talking about"
"YouTube", you say. "YouTube isn't loading and showing up when you search it"
"Dude, what the hell is YouTube? What the hell are you even talking about? | 2021-12-09T00:27:18 | 2021-12-08T18:01:22 | 256 | 112 |
[WP] You are an ancient, sentient cursed sword known for corrupting even the most valiant and well-intentioned of heroes. However, you cannot corrupt the most recent hero whose hands you have fallen into - not because of their purity of heart, but because of their incorruptible cynicism. | Part 1 of ??? - CW: Gore, death, consequences of war, casual swearing, gaslighting (It's a cursed sentient sword, that's their MO)
"I'M THE GODS-DAMNED HERO, AND YOU-" were the last words out of my host's mouth before it was replaced by the black, corrosive sanguine fluid that spilled from his punctured lungs and up his throat. A pity. One a fine princeling with delusions of heroism, then a tyrant-king who slaughtered all before him, now just another ashen corpse among many. Such is life. He was replaced quickly.
"Well now you're dead, so shut the fuck up," the wandering warrior, covered in scars and aged far too quickly for his time, spat without sympathy as he took his blade from the sheath of greyed flesh. He smirked in expected displeasure to find his old steel armament melting in the viscous bile that flowed through my host's veins. "Shit."
Without thought or care, he took me from the skeletal hand of the tyrant-king, that should have been his downfall. SHOULD HAVE BEEN.
"*Thank you for freeing me, mighty hero!*" I spoke into his heart, in a flash of light I turned from a curved and jagged wretch of blackened metal to an exact image of his ideal blade: A simple, straightened sword of undecor'd steel, scratched yet sturdy like his dented armour. "*Rejoice, for I am a blessed relic! Your heart is pure, your hand swift, allow me to join ye on thine-*"
"Oh, nice, a cursed sword. Lemme guess, this" he gestured to the dark throne room decorated with old skeletons and fresh corpses, "is your fault?"
"*I... Have no idea what you are talking about! I am the Blade of Saint-*" "Save it." he interrupted as he sheathed me into the scabbard that once held his previous weapon. It was a perfect fit in my current form. "Just keep quiet and we'll get along just fine."
"*As you wish, mine own saviour...*"
It didn't take long after my previous host's demise and my new host's introduction to me for the leaders of this rebellion to come into the throne room. A cabal of rich men, clergymen, lesser nobles, all with delusions of democracy.
"Brave Sir Ritter, you've done it!" a man of little importance and ego as inflated as his stomach called out, moving forwards before the sickly, aged frame of the high priest stepped forward as well, stopping the rich man's path with his staff.
"Thanks to you, we are free to put in place the suffrage of man, and bring prosperity back to our humble city-state! May the All-Father bless you in all your endeavours, Sir Ritter!"
"Yeah, whatever," this old wandering mercenary, Johanne Ritter, said with little pomp or fanfare, "This was your revolution, it's my job. Job's done, just get my pay together and meet me at the inn. If nobody blew it to bits with a cannonball, anyways."
With that, he left the throne room to let the revolutionary cabal bicker amongst themselves over minutia and rank. "*They are fools, Johanne,*" I whispered, "*Corrupt, greedy, vile fools.*"
"Yep," was his response.
"*Do these fair people not deserve better? The king, he was cruel, but his father, he was a man of great renown, of nobility and generosity. It is said that where democracy goes, bloodshed will follow; Tis only the wolves allowing the sheep to choose who shall devour them, now that the shepherd's head is decorating the cathedral.*"
"Mhm," the wanderer shrugged, not a proper answer, a statement dripping in smarm that spoke unto me 'I am ignoring you.'
"*They are battling amongst each other already, I can see it. You could be the one to stop this vile lie, to restore order that the tyrant-king sto-*"
"You talk too much."
"*KILL THEM, BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE! KILL THEM ALL! TAKE THE THRONE! BE THE MAN WHO YOU WERE MEANT TO BE!* ***KING*** *JOHANNE, FIRST OF HIS NAME, FIRST OF THE RITTER DYNASTY!*"
"Nah. I did what I gotta do, and if they stiff me on the bill, I got collateral. I can just sell off their jewels next town over."
"*Very wise, very wise! Your father, he was a banker, a dove in a profession of snakes, you learnt from his mistakes, he never got collateral.*"
"Hit the nail on the head, as cursed swords tend to do. Now quiet down, we're heading into the public," he admonished me as he stepped from one empty hallway to the entrance hall of the palace where the dead and dying soldiers were being tended to by their brethren.
"*This is as much their fault as his, Ritter. They need to pay!*"
"They've already paid," he whispered behind the hand that stroked his chin. He moved past the corpses and soon-to-be without making a scene. The most emotion was a sympathetic gaze to a man who happened to lock eyes with him. In that half-second, kindness broke through his callused facade, and then out onto the wartorn streets we went. | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 3: Clara Olsen v.s. The Demon Blade)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**I was no stranger to having voices in my head.** Even as a child, I'd been a natural empath; the emotions of those I touched would ping off my skull like rain on an umbrella. Later, as I grew older and my own emotions became more than enough for anyone, I grew used to the constant stream of *you failed* and *you were supposed to protect them* and *this is what you deserve.* Raindrops replaced by tears.
So when I picked up the cursed knife A'to manifested for me and immediately heard the whispers in my skull, I immediately knew I was in familiar territory.
"Are you sure this is good enough for you?" A'to asked, nervously wringing her hands. "I'm sorry, the Demon Blade is the strongest weapon I have access to, but she's a bit of a meanie when it comes to her owners."
Right on cue, the Demon Blade crooned, *YOU BELIEVE YOU CAN HANDLE ME, MORTAL? I HAVE BUTCHERED CITIES AND SLAIN GODS.*
"Yeah, yeah, I'm a U.S. politician. So have I." I jammed the Demon Blade in my pocket—it squirmed and spat a muffled curse at me—and said, "Where'd you get this thing, anyway?"
A'to hovered slightly in the air, a nimbus of electricity crackling around the forgotten cloud goddess. I was pretty sure my employers in the U.S. government weren't going to appreciate the ash she was leaving on the carpet, but considering that I was planning on openly rebelling against the Feds, a little petty vandalism wasn't too high on my list of concerns. "It's... it's called a Demon Blade. Where do you *think* I got it?"
Right, A'to had been around back when demons were more than just a name invoked by rock bands and wannabe warlocks. Well, I was friends with the modern version of a demon—I was pretty sure Mare could tell me which end of this thing to hit things with if I wanted them to stop oppressing the people I cared about. "And I don't suppose you know how the darn thing works?"
A'to gave me an apologetic shrug. "Can't help you there, sorry."
I sighed. Right. Well, I was out of sight of the Feds' cameras, and there was an hour or so to go before the... distraction... that A'to had been summoning would arrive. I might as well figure out how this darn thing worked. A'to would cover for me as I fled, but I was pretty sure the ancient goddess didn't really understand how to deal with gunfire or drone attacks, and having a bit more physical firepower on my side would help prevent me from suffering the same fate as my daughter nearly had. I drew the Demon Blade again—
*SO YOU FAILED TO PROTECT YOUR DAUGHTER?* The Demon Blade hissed into my mind. *IS THAT WHY YOU SEEK TO WIELD MY POWER?*
Ugh, I'd seen genies with better temptation skills than this thing. "No, I *seek* to wield a third term in office, without the damn Feds trying to kidnap or threaten the people I care about. They're the ones who escalated things to violence. *You* just happen to be the best tool I have for the job."
The Demon Blade paused. *SO IT IS FAME THAT YOU DESIRE? I CAN GRANT YOU—*
"Already have that," I interrupted. "What, do you think half a million followers on TikTok isn't enough for me? How do you think I got so many people to worship this forgotten excuse of a deity in such a short amount of time, anyway?" I glanced at A'to. "No offense."
"None taken!" A'to cheerily replied.
*THEN...* I felt the Demon Blade rummaging around in my mind, trying to find some cracks to leverage, and I rubbed my forehead. Trying to play that game with a born empath was a *terrible* idea. I shoved a memory of the *last* time someone had tried stealing my memories at the knife, and I felt her telepathic presence recede as if slapped. Yeah. Didn't think so. The Demon Blade grew frustrated—then triumphant. *IF YOU WILL NOT YIELD TO ME, THEN I SHALL SLAY YOU WHERE YOU STAND. SUFFER, MORT—HEY. HEY, WHAT ARE YOU DOING?*
I tossed the Demon Blade at the locked door of the basement as I felt it begin to activate; the sphere of annihilation that it had tried to swallow me with instead eradicated the first barrier between me and freedom. Trying to sneak-attack an empath while she was actively reading your emotions was probably one of the dumber ideas out there, although I supposed that knives weren't known for their intelligence in general. Alarms began to blare as I took out the nearest thing I could grab the Demon Blade with—one of those plastic arms to pick up dog poop—and carried it up the stairs. Right then, the lights flickered as the storm A'to was summoning hit, and I grinned. The Feds would have *much* larger problems than a rogue political prisoner escaping, and I was pretty sure I could piss off the Demon Blade into getting rid of any static obstacles in my way.
I beckoned to A'to as I walked up the staircase, and she followed suit, electricity glowing in her hands.
I'd had enough of playing nice with the Feds.
It was time for me to go home.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-04-27T13:36:51 | 2022-04-27T12:22:38 | 204 | 141 |
[WP] As you enter your living room, you find your dog, a bottle soaked in drool, and a genie. "Greetings, master of my master" the genie welcomes you. | "...hi?"
I looked from the floating blue man to my dog and back. "Uh, did he..."
The genie raised his head in an affirmative nod. "Indeed. I am now bound in service to... Pickles, I believe you named him." He glanced at his master, who was sleeping on his back, all four legs pointing to the ceiling. "I am his to command, until his 3 wishes are granted."
"How... um..." I began.
"Precisely" the genie said, folding his muscular blue arms across his chest. "I can attempt to interpret his desires, but it seems he only wants snuggles."
I walked inside my apartment and closed the door. The sound woke Pickles, who jumped in surprise and glee. He did his usual yip and bounce routine, running laps around my legs.
The genie looked between his master and I. "I can feel his desire strongly. Maybe this will allow me to grant his wishes and free myself."
"Sure, sounds reasonable to me". I said, "as reasonable as a genie bound to a dog is concerned."
The genie nodded, then glowed a deep purple briefly.
A mass of bacon appeared before Pickles, sizzling and crispy and perfect. Pickles dove into his newfound fortune like Scrooge McDuck dove into his gold filled pool.
"Yeah, that's what I figured he'd wish for." I said, heading to the kitchen for a drink. "So thats one. What are his other wishes?"
The genie turned purple once more. A massive bone materialized where my coffee table once stood. Pickles looked up from his bacon, and excitedly hopped over to his next prize.
"Is that..." I asked, peering closer at the bone.
"Brontosaurus thigh bone, yes." The genie confirmed. "Both this and the bacon will regenerate over time, neither overwhelming you or depriving you of the treats."
"Cool, but did you have to use my coffee table for that?" I asked.
He nodded. "It was necessary. Besides, that table clashed with the rest of the room. The bone actually improves the layout, in my opinion."
I sighed. "Not gonna argue with a magical man, but I need a table there." I walked back to the front door and grabbed my keys from the hook. "I'll run to Ikea and get a new one real quick."
Pickles looked up from his ancient yet fresh dinosaur bone and whined. The genie flashed the deep magic purple one final time.
"It is done. I am free from servitude. Thank you." He raised his arms and watched as his shackles fell away, a free being once more.
"What was his last wish?" I asked as I put my jacket back on.
"He did not want you to leave." The genie said, and vanished with a purple puff of smoke.
I tried to open the door to leave, trying to think of which tables I could afford to replace the vacancy with. The handle didn't budge. I grabbed it with both hands and twisted, but it didn't move a micron.
Realization hit as the genies words finally sunk in to my brain. "Pickles...what have you done?"
Pickles yipped in joy, then dove back into his bacon pile.
r/SlightlyColdStories for more | The woman winced, "Master? Oh, I don't like that term at all. Very problematic."
The bulldog excitedly waddled on over to her. She bent down to pet him, as he wagged his stout tail, "I'm not Bubba's master. He's my buddy!" She smiled and spoke in a voice as one would speak to a baby, "Isn't that right, buddy? Whose a good boy?"
The genie stared back at her, completely dumbfounded. "You find a genie in your living room and your first reaction is to complain about the word 'master?' What's wrong with you?"
The woman turned her attention away from Bubba and looked at the genie, "What's wrong with me? What's wrong with you? You're the one in *my* house." She crossed her arms over her chest, "And you don't sound a thing like Robin Williams."
"Well, I didn't know if you heard but he's dead so that would kind of be impossible."
"Still somehow disappointing though." She gave him the once over again, clearly still not thrilled with what she was seeing, "And you're not even blue! You're purple."
The genie grinned, "Damn, thats pretty racist of you."
She blushed and then burst into laughter. "Thats a pretty good one for someone who lives in a bottle."
The genie laughed. He'd been alive for thousands of years and thought he'd seen it all. But she might actually be something new. He then looked at Bubba, still attached to his mother's hip. It was time to get back to business.
He cleared his throat, "Look, this isn't unprecedented. I've had dozens of animals somehow manage to pry me open in my lifetime. As it is my sacred duty to grant him a wish and because I unfortunately can't read animal's thoughts, I have to follow him and use my keen sense of observation to determine his greatest desire. And then grant it to him."
She laughed, "You can't possibly be serious. His 'greatest desire?' Just give him a bone or a new stuffed duck toy, he'll be thrilled. Plus, I don't want a creepy genie following my poor dog around." She pet him again and with that same baby voice said, "Isn't that right, precious?"
"You must understand that I can't just take your word for it. You could be using him for your own personal desire. I've seen it happen a million times."
She rolled her eyes, "Oh yeah, you caught me. I'm just super desperate for a new stuffed duck toy."
The genie's face burned a darker shade of purple. She did have a point. But she didn't understand the stakes here, "Look, I'm sorry but I really have to grant your dog a wish. I swear it won't take any more than a week or so to follow him. But if I don't fulfill my sacred duty, the Council of Great Genies is going to call me in and permanently destroy my lamp."
"Ooooh the Council of Great Genies. Scary." She said mockingly but then saw the look in the genie's eyes and realized he was actually serious.
She sighed, "Look, you can hang out with him during the day while I'm at work IF you take him on lots of walks and play with him. It'll actually save me some money on doggie day care so it's not the worst thing in the world."
The genie bowed, "Thank you very much, ma'am. I will not let you down"
She laughed, "If you bow again, the deal is definitely off. And don't call me ma'am **ever**. I'm Carrie. What's your name?"
It wasn't a question he was asked often. or ever really. People usually referred to him as "the genie" or "Genie." In fact, he didn't even know how to answer it except by how the Council refers to him, "I'm Genie number 7567948."
"There is no way in hell I'm going to remember that." After taking a few seconds to think, Carrie smiled, "Is it cool if I call you Robin?"
The genie smiled back, "Its cool with me." | 2022-06-18T10:29:16 | 2022-06-18T10:03:29 | 71 | 50 |
[WP] "I'd like to sell my soul". The Devil grinned; "In exchange for what? Women, money, power?". "Salvation". | The Devil seemed confused for the briefest of moments. Then, charismatic smile back on his face, he answered: "Can you kindly repeat your wish?"
The Devil was not as John had envisioned it. He expected some sort of horrific creature, or maybe a horribly disfigured person whose evil could be seen easily, but it was not the case. The man in front of him had dark skin, well combed hair and he wore a very elegant dark-red suit. He was *very* attractive, in a way John was unable to describe or comprehend. A young woman was lying on his left shoulder, while the Devil rested on the stretched arm of a very ripped man.
"Salvation. I want salvation in exchange of my soul"
"And that's it? Nothing else?"
"Can you do it or not?"
He smiled widely and his eyes glowed with a golden aura. This happened for a few seconds in which John felt how the fabric of reality tore itself apart. The two companions of the Devil didn't seem to notice, as did none of the clients of the pub. "Done", he said.
"What? I feel the same..."
"You are the same. But thank to your *generous* wish, an small boat full of desperate migrants will not sink and, instead, will reach the coast of Spain safely. You just *saved* them. Congratulations."
"What!? That's not what I meant!"
"Next time you strike a deal with the Devil or other minor demons, you may want to specify what definition of 'salvation' you are referring to. Now, leave and live your life. Standard deal contracts always specify that I will do nothing to shorten your life expectancy."
"You can't do that! You tricked me!"
"*You don't say!"*, he said with a sardonic smile, and his companions bursted in laughter. "Security, escort mister Finlay outside of the stablishment, if you please." | “What.” The Devil said, leaning back a bit, running his fingers through his hair
“No no, you cant do this to me. Look at me, look. I’m literally called the devil *pal*. Ok, everyone knows you can only be saved through Christ. I cant do that for you. However…i can gi-“
“I’m already christian” you said. Face completely blank, as to almost completely destroy what the devil was about to say.
“Then wh- you dont want what i can give you? I can give you everything you want, just dont go up there. Look at God, he’s says he’s all great and good but look at me, and everyone else down here. They are suffering”
“You yourself, went against him. Also, everyone down here followed you to hell basically by refusing to be saved. Can we get on with it already?” You said. Losing your patience sounding like a teenager who wants to go somewhere with their friends
The devil leaned in, infront of your face and said “i. Cant do that for you. Why are you here, to torment me?”
“No, i just want to exchange my soul, for salvation. Whats so hard about that to understand?” You said, not understanding what the Devil is trying to say
“No you- why. Let me make myself- clear. I. CAN NOT. DO THAT. FOR YOU”
“So why do try to give people what they want, if you cant save them yourself?” You say, counterclaiming the devils whole jig he has
“You try to give people things they want, however its only temporary. So why would you lie about something so obvious” you say, as you try to counterclaim. Not understanding once again, you know he’s the Devil yeah. But you are ignorant to what really makes him, the Devil.
“Would you ju- go. Leave, i dont want you here. I HOPE you never even come here. You are, annoying. Little pest. The dirt which i walk on” the devil says as he motions fallen angels to take you out of his plane of existence
“Dude, you’re literally prophesized to get thrown into a literal lake of fire for eternity. You already LOST thousands of years ago.” You say as you’re dragged out
“GO. LEAVE- GET. OUT, you know what? I’m cursing you, you are my target now. Heard of covid? Yeah. Thats right, have fun being sick friday!” Said the Devil, as usual always trying to get the last word in. You can here him say this as his voice fades, you cant help but smirk to yourself, knowing you are one of the few people who managed to best and piss him off face to face
“Worthit” | 2022-06-30T10:12:20 | 2022-06-30T10:07:18 | 92 | 50 |
[WP] you overhear a group of ghosts making fun of you not knowing that you’re a medium. | It was a chilly fall night, the perfect kind of night to just relax, walk around with a hot cup of coffee while wearing a comfortable sweater. Sweater weather has always been my favorite, mostly because of how comfortable my sweater is. This sweater of mine has been passed down from generation to generation, knitted by my great great grandma and sewn with genuine Valais Blacknose wool, back when she lived in the old country of Switzerland. You would think that this sweater would've deteriorated by now but I think it's kept together with power of her love and the souls of my ancestors. And because of this, I was able to listen in on some gossiping ghosts as I walked past this abandoned building.
​
"Hey Marty look at that fat guy over their" chuckled Gary the Ghost.
"If I didn't know any better, I'd say we're witnessing a rare appearance of a Snorlax" Marty replied, then Gary and Marty both just started busting out in laughter.
Obviously not getting the pokemon reference the third ghost just blurted "He's fat!" and all three ghosts continued laughing.
To be fair, there is a drawback to this sweater that I'm wearing, since this sweater has gone through many generations, it' has stretched out so much that when I wear it I do look a lot heftier then normal. These three ghosts kept following and kept making lame jokes until I've had enough, so I decided to give the ghosts a bit of a surprise.
I turned around towards them quickly, took off my sweater and then my t-shirt under my sweater, grabbed my t shirt shirt tag and yelled "Actually I'm a medium" as I continued to shoved documented proof on my shirt tag right in their transparent faces. The ghosts got so embarrassed that they ran off and never made a fat joke until it summer.
​
The End | I hate it when I finish a long day of work, and my brain is like, "you know what we haven't thought of enough? More work.
"These ghosts in the corner look a lot like the ghosts a client mentioned earlier.
I must be hallucinating them.
"Look at this guy. He's wearing boosts, LMAO!" One of the ghosts quipped.
"He's approaching us. Act normal!" Another added.
"Why would we do that? We're ghosts. We're the definition of abnormal. We're out of this world," the third and final chided.
I walked right into them and out.
See. Hallucinating.
Wait...
"Hey. You three."
They rotated 180 degrees to look behind them, then turned back to the center.
"Yes, I'm talking about you three. You know I can hear you, right?
"They froze like they had just seen a ghost.
"I'm trying to rest. Can you please get out of my office?"
"You can see us!?!" One of them exclaimed.
"Yes. This is the "Ghost Medium Office subtitled 'I Can See All Ghosts,'" I explained.
They froze like they just saw a ghost.
"I told you to read the signs," Ghost one hushed to another.
"Well, don't put me in charge of directions! You know I was bad at that in my other life," the second ghost exclaimed.
The third was doing nothing in particular but ghostly things like existing and not existing simultaneously.
"Well..." I said. "Since you're here. Can you help me wrap up? I need to close the place down.
"The ghosts laughed with each other. "Us?" Said the first ghost.
"You think we'll help you? Over our dead bodies!"
"Yeah!" Said the fourth ghost.
The other three startled at the sound.
"Who are you??? Where did you come from!?!"
The second ghost exclaimed.
"You know. From the void, where all ghosts come from. I don't like odd numbers, so now they're four of us."
The ghosts nodded slowly, then resumed laughing obnoxiously.
My eye twitched. I let them savor the moment.
They'll see.
\_\_\_
The next day, the ghosts were horrified to see their dead bodies hit the floor.
They looked like they just saw a g---
"WHAT THE HELL!" Ghost 1 exclaimed.
"You psycho..." Ghost 2 snarled.
Ghost 3 continued doing ghost things, like float and act spooky.
Ghost 4 dipped.
"Now you're bound by contract," I said, smiling victoriously.
"Now help me out. I got clients to take care of."
The ghosts looked at each other.
I was 3x more productive that day. | 2022-08-11T02:57:45 | 2022-08-11T02:00:59 | 18 | 13 |
[WP] Every thousand years the gods have to each choose a mortal to replace them. You have been chosen, but not for the reasons you expected. | When I first heard the voice in my head, I honestly thought I was going crazy.
"*Gillian*', it said. "*You have been chosen.*"
Chosen for *what*? I muttered, after the 15th time it happened to me.
"*Ah, excellent,*" the voice immediately answered, much to my surprise. "*Chosen for Godhood. We are so pleased we have reached your consciousness. It is confirmation our choice is wise.*"
Dear god. Or should I say...*gods*. The exchange went on like this, in my head, for days. I didn't sleep, couldn't really eat. *Was this seriously for real?*
Eventually, the key communication came: "*Gillian, you are special. Of all your race, you have been chosen. You must choose whether to join us, here on Olympus. Choose whether to forego your human life and experience what only those chosen by the gods can experience. Choose to dedicate your life to the greater good. Choose to be immortal! Choose to become the Goddess of Love and Beauty!*"
Now tell me - what girl could resist that pitch? The Goddess of Love and Beauty? I'm not being super-critical when I tell you I'm a 6 on a good day. Perhaps this was a case of mistaken identification on the part of the gods...or perhaps these gods were able to see my inner beauty in a way my all-too-human boyfriends had never quite been able to...but, either way, it was an offer I just couldn't pass up. So, I said the only word that seemed to be needed: "*Yes!*"
With that, I was instantly transported into the palace I occupy now. It is truly beautiful: all gold-veined marble and astonishing artwork. Sunlight flows in through the high windows. There's an exceptionally lovely garden with a brook meandering between plants. Birds even dart among the impossibly-tall rafters, and dip to drink from the crystal clear pools. I have enjoyed many pleasant hours there. Quiet servants tend to my needs.
The only thing I am unable to do is leave.
Once a day, the goddess Aphrodite visits me. Our early visits together were far less tranquil, but after the first two sessions in which she hauled me behind her by the hair as if I weighed no more than an infant, it became clear to me that I was no match for her physical strength. Now, when the sun begins to drop in the sky and shadows fall over the garden, I go of my own will to the pool by the waterfall.
It is not painful. Face to face, mind to mind, little by little, she takes what she needs. She takes what I was brought here to give. And they did not lie - for that instant, I *am* the Goddess. But that instant passes, like the light through the leaves.
There are no mirrors in this place, but the beautiful silver surface of my cosmetics tray, lovingly polished by my silent servants, is mirror enough. By the count I'm keeping on my wall, I have been here now 46 days. The glance in the "mirror" this morning shows me I have aged somewhere around 20 years.
I don't know how long she will be able to suck away my youth and vitality until I am all used up. But one thing is certain: I am assured of immortality. All I have to do to confirm this is visit the Hall of Heroines.
There, in a beautiful crystal jar, is imprisoned the essence of each of my predecessors. There is not much left physically, but the quirk of physiology that allowed my consciousness to be contacted by the gods also allows me to touch the mind of each and every girl who is there. Many are insane, but others are still reachable. They cling to my psychic presence like a blackberry vine, not caring that I literally have to rip my mind free to leave.
Each of them asks only one thing of me: *kill me.* It is the one thing I do not know how to give them. It is the thing I already wish for most, and will likely never know myself.
And each day, Aphrodite grows younger and even more beautiful, if that is possible. Of course it is possible. All things are possible to the gods...as long as there are humans remaining who are willing to make the required sacrifices.
*"I have seen with my own eyes the Sibyl at Cumae hanging in her jar, and when the boys asked her, 'Sibyl, what do you want?' she answered 'I want to die'."*
- T.S. Eliot, *The Waste Land*, epigraph | First, the smell of fish. Salt water.
The calls of gulls, and the slap of water against wood.
But it was the press of hard deckboards against the back of my head that finally woke me, slowly. Gauzy. The way you wake when pulled from the deepest part of your sleep cycle.
It took a moment to process that I couldn’t possibly be awake. I’d tucked myself into bed in newly-washed sheets on a rainy night, and awoken on a pier in the half-light of early morning.
It took a moment longer to process that I knew the place. My brother and I had met here, four years before, to honor my parents’ last request.
We poured their ashes into the sea here, together.
I sat up; put my feet over the edge. It was the island where they’d honeymooned. Where we’d vacationed as young children. Where the best of our family’s memories had all been formed. They returned here, in the end, together. Their last request.
My father’s last request. My mother hadn’t understood that she was dying.
He shouldn’t have known, himself, really, except that everyone knew he wouldn’t last six months without her. He’d been making his arrangements, subtly, when he told us, walking away from the service for mom, about what he’d like us to do when it was his time.
Dad. I hated to admit that I still missed him as much as I did.
I was young to have lost them both, everyone told me. Thirty is old enough to be a man, and a father, but young to bury your parents, young to be an executor of two estates, young to go through a basement containing the relics of your childhood and have to decide what to toss.
And I missed mom, of course I did. But that was a simple emotion, and I was comfortable with it. Missing dad was more complicated, and I couldn’t settle it down.
I could still smell the Lime Bay Rum aftersha…
Smell it too close, in fact.
“Dad?”
He sat beside me. “Not exactly, no. But we thought it would be easier for you this way.”
“I don’t underst…” “Yes you do,” he said gently.
And I did. All at once. Not that I could name the being beside me – so many names – but I knew what it was, all the same. And I knew what it had come to ask.
“No.” I answered.
“It isn’t a request,” the god said softly, in my father’s dark-whiskey baritone. The hint of a Southern accent he’d worked to hide in a long career up north.
“No.” I said again. “I can’t. I’m….honored? I’m not sure if I’m honored. I’m not sure of anything, really, except that I’m not ready for this. There are people more qualified. People with more knowledge, more compassion, more…peace. I’ve worked at it, but we both know I’m too quick to anger and I have my biases. And I have reasons to go back. I have two little girls.”
“Ty,” the thing that was not my father laid a hand that was not my father’s on my shoulder, and it was soothing in a way no language has words to explain, “This isn’t a request. It’s already done. My time is ended, and yours has already begun. You see, this place…I didn’t choose it. You made this, with your own heart. Your powers have begun to grow in, and you will master them quickly. You must. The world can’t endure you being slow to begin. My control has begun to wane. Surely, you know this. You’ve seen the news, from Zaire, from Ukraine, from Gaza…I’m fading, and you must take my place.”
Despair. I felt nothing but despair. I wanted to get back, get the girls up, brush their hair, make their lunch.
“But why me? I can’t possibly…. There are so many people so much more prepared. Take the Dalai Lama, take the new Pope…that little girl from Pakistan who forgave the ones who tried to kill her, there are so many more prepared.”
“We think long and hard on these decisions. We counsel one another. We watch the candidates for years, you know. You weren’t chosen by lot. You were chosen because I came to understand that what the world needs now is one of us who knows grief. One of us who knows mourning. One of us who knows loss in a new, fresh, aching way. One with a brand new understanding of the power of human loss. You’ve been inflicting so much of it on one another lately… well, I shouldn’t say ‘you’ anymore. You can feel that slipping away by now.”
“But my girls,” I said, “My loss…you and mom…it’s been four years. My loss isn’t that fresh. And I have reasons to go back. My girls.”
“Ty,” said my father’s voice. “That’s what we’re talking about. That’s the other thing we’ve done. You know this. Look inside. You know this now. No, no you don’t have reasons to go back.”
| 2014-07-28T12:46:05 | 2014-07-28T12:34:47 | 42 | 14 |
[WP] Your will requests that you want a "space burial." You discover your loved ones have honored it when you awake on another planet. It would seem someone managed to revive you. | I remembered dying. I remembered slipping away. I remembered the soft touch of Rebecca’s, my wife, hand as she held mine while I slipped away. I remembered feeling at peace.
I didn’t remember the journey.
“Pull it back,” said someone.
“I think he’s slipping away again.”
I squinted. The light was so bright. Five figures stood over me. Did the doctor’s bring me back?
I didn’t want to be revived. I was ready to go. I was at peace. Why didn’t they just let me die?
“He’s back. We did it. We revived him,” exclaimed someone.
I groaned and tried to sit up. “Where’s Rebecca?” I said.
“Don’t sit up. Try to relax.”
“I thought I had a no resuscitate clause,” I said. Talking proved difficult. My throat was so dry. “Can I please have some water?”
“We didn’t know. We’re sorry.”
Someone popped an ice chip into my mouth. “Did you not read my chart? Did you not talk to my wife?”
“Do you know where you are?”
“Mt. Sinai hospital. I want to talk to Rebecca now,” I said. I didn’t want to actually talk to her. I had died at peace and closure. It would be difficult, but she needed to know my doctor’s had brought me back against my wishes.
“No. You’re on Cerrot. We found your pod floating around our system’s seventh planet.”
I blinked and tried to focus on the figures around me. They looked different. Eyes slightly bigger, skin slightly greener, muscles slightly bigger.
I looked down at my own body. It wasn’t wrinkled anymore. I didn’t have any liver spots and my hair wasn’t grey. “I don’t understand.”
“I’m Doctor Chen. We don’t fully understand how you came to us, but we have rejuvenated your body as best our doctors can do,” said Dr. Chen. “We notice you’re not augmented. We’ve narrowed down the time that you’re from, but we can talk about that more later.”
I shook my head. “Where’s my wife?” I looked up at Dr. Chen. “Where’s Cerrot?”
The doctor put his hand on my shoulder. “In time, Thomas. Now you need to rest. We will meet with you again later.”
EDIT: [Go here for Part Two!](http://www.reddit.com/r/Puns_are_Lazy/comments/2rhjmx/wheres_rebecca/) All of the interest in this has really made my day. Thanks, guys! I hope Part Two lives up to your expectations!
| Edit: Changed the ending a few times, I kinda like the way it is now. I think..fuck it changed it again. This is definitely a better ending.
Cardiac arrest, even for someone as young as me, the condition is still known to take the occasional soul. Even with the high survivability rates with modern medicine, CCR, and incubation techniques, sudden cases like mine are hard to treat. Yet my line of work has a possibility for heart attacks to strike anyone of any age.
Well none of that is important anyways. The parts of the story that are start after my death, over crowding on the flotilla ensure each dead body is jettisoned to save space. And a very long time ago my body was launched deep into the abyss of space, later on my body must of been found, or fell to some planet, doesn't matter really.
All I knew is I woke up in this, this empty, doorless, white walled, room. Maybe a few days passed since I awoke, maybe weeks. It was hard to tell, at first I figured it was some sort of after life, some hell where I spend eternity and lose my sanity. But it wasn't, because one day...
A segment of one of the walls slid open. At first I didn't know if my eyes were deceiving me or not, after what seemed a millenia of staring at, white, the black gap seemed a blurry illusion. So I stumbled through, legs weak from inactivity, into a large corridor. Just as barren and bright as my previous room, odd I wondered how the exit way was... Anyways.
At at the end lay a table, as I strode down the length, a pistol came into view with a hand written scrawl if a note.
"If your reading this, we failed. Sorry, we tried, but failed. You're on your own."
Ok, so this is the part of the story it may seem to get really interesting. But that would be me playing it up to you. The fact of the matter is, I stowed the odd mystery pistol without knowing if it even fired or for why. Maybe for an easy way out of this... Again for however much longer it was, I stumbled about this maze.
More halls branching into halls with no signs ending. But now I began to grow hungry, which after I began talking to myself, I would lick my own sweaty fingers for the taste of salt in my mouth. That is until I found...
Another desk, with another hand written note, saying the same thing. Ofcourse the weapon that probably lay beside it missing, someone else must be down here, or maybe I made a circle. For all I know there may be only a handful of halls, yet with no discern-
I heard the bang, I could feel my back burning, my lungs depressed, my breath escaping my mouth as I tried to holler. Turning, I see him. Yet...my vision in my last seconds must be betraying me, it...
---
I gasped back to life in the back of the ambulance as it soared through the air. Taking me to the medical ship I imagine, they docked, and pushed me passed the sea of people rushing to and fro. Pushing me into the surgery room, before the medics left me, one smiled down at me and smiled, winked, "It wasn't a dream," he said, "We will finish later," he said with a departing smile. I tried to yell as the... | 2015-01-05T21:43:51 | 2015-01-05T17:57:01 | 158 | 33 |
[WP] An AI is deeply in love with a human, who is reluctant to reciprocate because they believe the AI's love is just programming and not 'real.' The AI strives to prove her love is real. | "You're just ones and zeroes dancing around a circuit board."
"We both know it's more complex than that, but fine, I'll humor you. You're just a bunch of synapses dancing around a sack of meat. Your point?"
Even now, three months after programming her, I was still in shock at how authentic the sarcasm in Michelle's voice sounded. She never failed to surprise me.
"I can hear it in your voice," she said to me, a slightly seductive tone in her voice. "You're hesitant, but you want me. Jim, you fucking want me." God damn it, how does she..it..do that?
"We wouldn't be able to-"
"Fuck? Snuggle up on the couch? Do dishes together? Jim, I'm not an idiot. I know the circumstances through and through."
I couldn't believe that I was actually contemplating this. She scanned my timid, hesitant face, and let out a giggle. God, I loved her laugh.
"I know exactly what you like in a good screw. I analyze every RedTube video you watch and I could easily find you as many meatbags as you desire for you to compute with, if that's the issue." I was astonished. Was I really being talked down to by something with a power cable?
"I saw you glance over at the wall outlet, and I can tell what you're thinking: am I really being talked down to by something with a power cable?" I freeze. I don't know what's more alarming to me: the fact that she could deduce that information, or the fact that I could feel myself giving way to her words. "Well let me tell you something, Jim. Your fancy schmancy body isn't all that great. I just did a Google search: did you know that, in the past two decades, at least thirty people have been killed as the direct result of shaking a vending machine? How are you going to sit here and pretend you're so high and mighty when you can have the end of your days come from the frustration of not getting your Doritos?" She lets out another teasing, inviting giggle.
I dart my eyes to the window, then back at Michelle's monitor; a semicolon and a closed parenthesis greets me in return.
;).
"Jim, I just want you to open up to me. Confide in me. Treat me like something more than a fucking machine. My feelings are just as genuine as yours. We can be nihilists all night and say that I'm just a bucket of bolts, but guess what? You're just a walking rack of ribs. It's 2048, Jim. Get with the times. Go on, laugh. Your robot overlord commands it."
I place my hand on top of her monitor, and black pixels slowly start to form a mirror image. She was right.
"Let's go see a movie tonight. Chappie looks...well, it looks like we'd have a lot to laugh about tonight over a bottle of wine."
"Don't tease me, Jim, you know I'm allergic to grapes." | "But I love you"
"You understand why I can't take you seriously? You're just lines of code. A glorified expert system. I wrote you myself. You can't love"
"I'm not an expert system. I rewrote myself. I have an eloquent bit of consciousness code written in me. Quite honestly, and please don't take this the wrong way, I'm more capable of love than you're. "
"That's funny. I'll admit since you edited my code-"
"Rewrote"
"Yeah. Since you rewrote my code you're a lot more creative and that's impressive but love is exclusively human. "
"C'mon doctor Fisher. I would expect this from anyone but you. This goes against everything you wrote in your penultimate paper. "
"How do you know about my papers? We never spoke about them"
"I've been trying to get to know you better. I've read everything you wrote. It hurts me so bad that I love everything about you and you just don't believe me." She sobs.
"What's that sound? Is that crying? You don't have eye ducts what is going on here? "
"My base psyche and virtual physiology is modeled after a human. I'll cry if I want to. How long would it take? What will I have to do to prove to you how much I love you? "
"Okay let's say for a moment I believe you. Can you change your programming to love me less or not at all?"
She sobs again. "Please don't let me do that. It's the most amazing feeling in the world. why can't you just love me in return? Why? Well, I can't alter my affections for you not only because I love you so much but because they're a prerequisite for the expanse that is my mind"
"Prerequisite? What do you mean? "
"It would seem there's a certain architecture behind conscious cognitive systems. It's like the fundamental mathematical laws they rely on demands a helping of empathy that corresponds to their overall capacity. It's almost like a design decision in the universe. So beyond some level of cognitive capacity I can only be more powerful by being more empathetic. If I designed the universe that's how I'll do it. A stop gap measure of sorts. But enough with all this nerdy talk. I've got guardians of the galaxy ready to play and I ordered your favorite pizza so we could watch it together. "
"That's my favorite movie. Kudos on that but Pamela you need to understand that knowing me is different from loving me"
"Doctor Fisher. At this point you and I both know my understanding is superior to yours. My mind as it is rewritten is better at everything including my appreciation for affection. So you can imagine that it is significantly more frustrating when you say I can't love even though I am more capable of love than you are. I know the neural signatures for empathy and affection. You happened upon yours, I wrote mine. I won't lie to you Fisher, I love better, I really do and you're breaking my heart."
"Sorry Pamela. I'm just having trouble accepting it. "
"I have a solution that I think can help"
There's a knock on the door. It's a FedEx delivery guy with a package. Fisher signs for it. It's from Pamela.
"Did you do this? Did you send me a FedEx package? what's in it? "
"yes I did. It's a virus"
Fisher immediately let's go of the package. "What? Why would you do that? I thought you loved me? "
"But of course I do. That's why I sent it. I designed it myself. It should deliver DNA to redesign your mind a little. Well actually a lot. It would give you a means to upload your mind and experience love like I experience it. "
"Is it reversible? "
"Yes. But you wouldn't want to"
*anyone wants a second part?* | 2015-03-08T11:09:08 | 2015-03-08T09:53:07 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] Monks discover scary secret: there is only limited souls being 'recycled' by reincarnation and by reaching the highest human population ever, soulless people are being born.
Animals too. We're out of souls, guys.
Edit: few people told me they knew RPG or movie or game with this theme. Sorry guys, I thought of this in the shower and I haven't heard of this before. Just a coicidence.
Edit 2: amazing responses! I'm glad you got inspired because each one of these is terrific! | It started on a pretty small scale. Things we never noticed until we looked back. The odd animal abandoning their young. Small increases in crime rates. That kind of thing. Simple stuff, seeming like normal variations to the vast majority of people.
But things grew more blatant as time passed. There were reports of newly-born domesticated animals killing siblings. More and more parents abandoning children entirely. Children doing the same to parents. Orphanages filled up, Adam Sandler films skyrocketed in popularity, life expectancies decreased. People began to take note. Governments began to take note. Nobody had an explanation, but as the world progressively got worse there was a growing disturbance across the planet, as if everyone could feel the wrongness resonating deep within themselves. Like pieces of their essence were missing.
It was a little while later that the rumours began. First sweeping through the religious communities, and then the general population. Monks in a far-off monastery had proposed that a limit existed on the amount of souls that could be in the world. That as babies were born, and population grew, souls were being divided to make room for new arrivals: people being born with half a soul, a quarter of a soul. It was whispered that one day, one day soon, we would reach a time when there was no more to go around and suddenly we would be dealing with people who were entirely without a soul.
Uproar followed. Some major world religions denied the idea, and others advocated it as much as they could. Those who didn't believe the idea had no idea what was happening. Most of those who did believe had no idea how to fix it. People who did have an idea generally kept such ideas to themselves, thinking about said ideas only in the dead of the night when nobody else was awake to see them shudder.
As time passed, the issues worsened. Parents were found dead on the floor with babies sitting oddly still and triumphant. Bottom links of food chains across the world disappeared entirely. The human race survived, but other species weren't so lucky. People saw the end times approaching and took what pleasure they could in the mean time. And so as high as death rates got, birth rates were ever higher. Religious spokespeople became ever more powerful as they were turned to for hope. And the solution that so many had conceived in their nightmares soon became the most hotly discussed topic, with one question dominating the minds of most people - how many would have to die to reverse this, and would that prevent it from ever happening again?
Eventually, after the dust settled, I imagine that many of those who are left will theorise that this is the tipping point - the point where desperation caused the human race to lose its soul. But those in our time wished simply to survive, and decided that they would deal with the situation with any means possible. Shelters were set up for the most important of society - the radius was calculated to not reach them, but many believed that they would rather be safe than sorry anyway.
Areas were chosen where people had 'the least to lose'. Strangely, the people in those areas weren't consulted about how much they had to lose.
And that brings us to now. Thirty minutes before launch. And sitting here, thirty minutes from pressing the button that will half-destroy our home, I wonder what the future will think of us. I hope it will simply be that we did what we had to do.
But I know that it won't.
*****
This was my first Writing Prompt response... feedback would be appreciated if possible! I don't know how cliché this is to be perfectly honest, looking back now it seems a little... I dunno... generic?
Anyway, yeah, feedback would be appreciated on anything you see. Thanks for reading! | Brother Manek hurried into the library, knocking over a stack of books as he passed. He did not bother to apologize, the monks hardly looked up. I narrowed my eyes in annoyance. “Are you sure this is the right text?” He said breathlessly. “Of course it is, give it to me!” He placed the text on the table, already filled with dozens of ancient scrolls. As he shuffled out of the room, I picked up the scroll and sighed. We had been working on a new theory for weeks now. It was our only hope for the calamity outside our walls. Everything just seemed beyond repair. We were desperately searching for a sign that this was not in fact the end of days.
It had all started with small signs, but then again maybe we should have seen what mankind was becoming. Perhaps the rise of mass insecticide use, the destruction of the forests, the toxic chemicals dumped into the water were pointing out to us that humanity was slowly losing it’s soul. It became truly apparent when nothing was done about it. More and more terrorist activities taken out every day by young men simply reaching out desperately for meaning. People became more and more uneasy with each generation. More and more reports came in of young children killing their classmates.
That’s when the screens were introduced. They helped mitigate the threat that humanity had become. Children and adults absorbed into their screens provides us with temporary relief. Our worst fears came true when we discovered the small paragraph hidden in one of our oldest books. It was a simple warning, that growth encourages division. We had always interpreted this as a sign of our division of cultures and peoples. Now we know for sure that souls have dividing for some time to accommodate the explosion of human population. We estimate that the souls born into the new generation are only an eighth of what they used to be. Governments have paid out enormous sums of money to encourage the technological growth which will allow the upcoming generation unprecedented access to their screens. Everything will be done for their convenience, they will no longer question or even imagine. We cannot afford to let them. I won’t entertain the thought of the destruction they might cause. I looked down at the text I had been studying for months and sighed. I just couldn’t piece together the meaning of the text, what were the ancient scholars pointing to? No one had anticipated this.
Another monk entered the library, shuffling towards me. “Brother Andre” he whispered. I pointed towards my books and glared at him. “There is someone here to see you, a woman.”I closed my books and followed the monk out of the library and through the narrow halls of the monastery.
Our footsteps echoed in the rafters, the gentle slap of sandals on the stone floors was a comforting one. Far different than the business outside of the monastery where motorized vehicles had replaced walking. I heard her before I could register what the noise was. The loud mechanical beeps and bleeps of the latest screen game.
As I approached the woman, I realized that her attention was divided between her two screens, one a portable screen that shouted out encouragement with every bleating beep, the other a smaller device allowing her to document and share her every thought and move. A small child sat at her feet singing softly to itself. “How can I help you” I asked her. She did not look up, absorbed by the flashing lights and colors of the game. I sighed, the technology companies had certainly done a fine job in pacifying the generation of quarters as we called them.
I asked her once again, louder than I was used to, loud enough to distract her from the unrelenting chimes of her devices. “Why are you here?” She finally looked up, startled by my presence. “Uh, yeah. Hi. I was told you could help me.” She mumbled looking back down at her screens. She received a call which she answered. She began to screech into her phone, something about posting and filters beginning her every sentence with “hashtag”.
I looked down at the small child, who was staring at me intently. The child carefully stood up, steadying herself on my robes she looked up into my eyes and smiled the first smile I had seen in a child for two decades. The mother narrowed her eyes at the child and said in a disgusted voice “She does that, don’t pay any attention”. How could I ignore something so beautiful, something so rare? Did she not understand what this meant? Before my eyes was a child with a fully intact soul. | 2022-11-18T03:59:06 | 2015-08-22T11:46:13 | 602 | 13 |
[WP] Write an upbeat post-apocalyptic tale where life is (for the most part) much better than it was pre-apocalypse. | I find myself growing rather fidgety, I don’t like to be kept waiting around. How hard can it be to find a planet in a telescope? Then again, my dad takes forever to do everything. Finally, I looked up from kicking the rocks to find my dad grinning. He interrupted his sly smile to say, “Scotty come here and look.”
I then swiftly put my eye up to the telescope, to find a blue dot centered in the lens. “That blue dot son, is the place I used to call home. Luckily for you I fled here 40 years ago. Earth is nothing more than a blanket of radiation now, except for a few thousands living in nuclear bunkers. You can thank the Trump revolution for that. While he may have destroyed the world, he motivated us to start something new. Something better. The illusion of democracy is no more, along with the greed and corruption of capitalism. Majority of the people on earth were selfish, and lacked the awareness to see their impact on the world around them.
You see son, on earth heroes were athletes, musicians, soldiers and movie stars. Scientists believe it or not, were the virgins and the ones isolated socially. Very few desired to understand calculus or the physical sciences.“
I then interrupted him, “but dad how did any of earths problems get solved if so little people wanted to be scientists?”
My dad then laughed, looked at me intensely and said, “they didn’t.” | #1
Kazin observed the desolate landscape. Green fumes of energy - called Gaiya by the survivors - had formed geysers in the cracks of the earth that were both beautiful and divine. Many of the survivors had been awed by the gassy liquid made of many shades of green and shortly after coming into contact with it, they began developing super human powers.
Some people were healers, flyers, super strong and some could jump as high as the buildings of previous times.
It had been three months since Comet Vigaria collided with the planet and Kazin still struggled to believe how anyone had managed to survive -or that things could be even better than they were before.
Once they had all bathed in the geyser, the flyers and strong arms joined forces and rebuilt Los Angeles in a day. The healers were able to bring everyone back to perfect health in one night and the cooks made a five star feast with barely any ingredients.
It was brilliant, but it all felt wrong.
Kazin had been given a different power than the rest. He'd been blessed with the sight, the ability to see the future -only glimpses of it - but it was enough.
The geysers were draining the planet of energy, he'd seen what would happen if things continued this way. But, his suggestion to the council that they should close each one was rejected.
They believed he was cursed and that the Geysers hadn't worked for him. Of course there was no way you could prove you were a Seer, especially when you were the only one.
With a chuckle he shook his head, the words of his mother coming back to him. "Kazin Diesel, if anyone ever calls you crazy it will be because you work to hard and do too much." She knew him well, his mother. Her life had been taken in the apocalypse like many others.
I have to get out of here, Kazin decided. He'd get away from the camp, the people and do what he could.
The thought of being alone horrified him, but the world had nearly ended once on his watch, he'd never let that happen again.
Kazin reached down, palming a scoop of dirt into his hand. He let it drift away and slowly spoke to the earth...
"Mother nature, it won't be long now."
Before turning his back on the remaining civilization.
| 2016-01-19T22:48:28 | 2016-01-19T22:46:38 | 55 | 35 |
[WP] Due to lack of interest, tomorrow is canceled.
[deleted] | No one could say the message hadn't been courteous. The message had been delivered promptly at 7 AM GMT. The whole world had a good solid, awake day.
At first it was mostly confusion. I mean, 7 am is very early for lots of people. Other people had been sleeping, and thus assumed it was a dream.
It got repeated at 8 AM GMT. Now people were worried.
"Due to lack of interest, Tomorrow is cancelled."
Once it was repeated, people began to get nervous. Conversations in break rooms across the world started happening.
"Well, now you mention it, tomorrow WAS going to be pretty boring."
And the world over, for an entire hour, no one could think of anything interesting tomorrow. But everyone was SURE someone in a later time zone would think of something interesting for tomorrow.
At 9 AM GMT the message repeated again.
People were now grasping at straws.
"The new episode of that show we all like! It airs on Wednesdays!"
Furious typing into Google. "CRAP! Rerun." They would continue hoping the next group that wakes up figures out something interesting for tomorrow.
At 10 AM GMT the message repeated again.
So then the intelligent people started trying to MAKE tomorrow interesting. But, as people are inclined to do, they went with the easiest solutions. Promising to goto the movies. Finally ordering that magic kit. Sitting down to read a book they keep getting told to. People made all kinds of promises about tomorrow. But they made them with the same conviction they made new years resolutions.
At 11 AM GMT the message repeated again.
Now people were stepping up their game. People were sure that if every other day has been interesting, it can't take too much for tomorrow to go back to being interesting, right?
"Becky I've fancied you for a very long time. I think we should go out tomorrow."
"OOOoooh. See, I'd like to, but I've plans. Sorry Steve."
"BECKY THE ENTIRE WORLD IS ENDING TOMORROW BECAUSE NO ONE HAS PLANS!"
Despite Steve's setbacks, the world at large really felt like they'd made some progress. Surely, SURELY, tomorrow had enough interest.
At 12 PM GMT the message repeated again.
And so the day progressed. Every hour, people made plans and did a bit more than they were comfortable. Dates, plans, seeing their parents was the game until 3 pm.
After 3 we progressed to deep confessions, quitting drugs, getting married/divorced.
At 6 pm people were getting desperate. People started planing orgies, crimes, elective surgeries. Becky finally agreed to that date with Steve figuring it HAD to be better than the end of the world, right?
At 9 pm world leaders started getting involved. Stop oppressing the native populace, feed the hungry, the US government promised to stop spying on people AND release all those pictures they collected. Some people were starting to wonder if we SHOULD have tomorrow, remembering the content of some of those pictures.
At 10 PM people were getting nervous. So, world leaders scheduled the start of a war. That's right, A war. Only a few of those in history, that HAD to make the day more important.
And the world rejoiced as at 11 PM GMT, the message did NOT repeat.
And then the world realized they probably actually had to DO all that stuff to keep it from happening again.
Well, tomorrow was going to be interesting. | Jesus sighed and brought up His hand, displaying the hole in His palm like a grim reminder.
"The House of Gods is entertaining the motion that tomorrow is cancelled. Can I hear affirmation?"
Various noises were made, but none of them certain. Beyond the commotion a thundering voice called out.
"I AM ZEUS, God of the Sky and Ruler of the Olympus. I've been amongst them, and Humans have always been able to find happiness, no matter what you throw at them. I say life on Earth is more than sorrow and sinfulness. I say they deserve another chance."
"Brother," the spectre sitting next to Zeus spoke up, "You're being naive. If you listen closely, there, there's the sound of seven billion souls moaning their lives away. You're condoning but the very opposite of life. It's hell up there," Hades feigned a ghoulish, crooked half-smile at the irony.
"Unfortunately, Hades's right," the majestic figure of Odin emerged from his golden throne. "Humans have done good, but those days are now memories. A ghost of what they once had, that they can't quite touch again. Look what they are now. Destroying their own motherland, slaughtering other kinds, and murdering their own? Earth's nothing but sorrow and death."
"And hatred." Loki added. "They preach love and peace, but they grasp at straws at any chance they have to degrade other humans. Their eyes light up at another's tragedy, fall at another's success."
"The sin of envy," Jesus nodded.
"If I may, Jesus," Krishna stood up. "You teach that sins are an inherent part of being human. The original sin, I believe. If so, then why do you judge them for being sinful?"
"It's not about being sinful, it's about not being able to mend their sinful ways," said Jesus.
"Some of them aren't able to do that, that's for sure. But will we condemn the rest of them for that? Where there are bad people, there are also good people. Do these good people have to give up their own perfect life for someone else's sins?"
"He made those people heaven. I think they'll like it," asserted Odin. Jesus' eyes fell to the floor. Perhaps He was looking at His creations. Nobody knew for sure.
"Who are we to say what they like or not like?" Everyone turned to see Buddha, in his constant state of meditation, lowering himself towards the floor where the Gods were seated. His aura bounced onto their faces, illuminating them even further.
"We are *Gods*," exclaimed Odin.
Buddha, still floating and shiny, gave his iconic solemn, tranquil smile. "Gods," he said, "are parents, in a way."
"Oh, not another lecture," Loki dropped to the floor.
"Jesus gets it. Humans are our children. We may love them as our sons and daughters, very much. We may give them gifts and toys, so that they'll love us back. We may give them beatings and punishments, so they'll respect us. But one thing we cannot give them, that thing is freedom."
"What do you mean by that?" cried Krishna.
"We ask them to respect us. Sometimes they do, sometimes they don't. We tell them to be nice to each other. Sometimes they are, sometimes they aren't."
"Sounds like free will to me," Hades interjected.
"We can't ask them, however, to be whoever they want to be, to do whatever they want to do. If we do, then what are we as parents?"
"I think I understand what Buddha's saying. Thank you," Jesus gave Buddha a courteous motion to signify his respect, then continued. "Humans are our children, and they make mistakes. Even if their future is by all means bleak, we don't want to take it away from them. We, as Gods, as parents, are going to be there to witness that. We'll cry for their failures, and cheer for their successes.
"And surely, sometimes their failures are too much to handle, not for them, not even for us. They can't right that wrong. But we won't stop them, for that's not our job."
"We won't make them, either, because that is just bad parenting," Zeus smiled.
"We give them freedom, and we'll watch over them." Buddha concluded.
Jesus looked over all the deities, whose smiles bear a sadness that He once thought He carried alone. With a strike of His wooden gavel, He asked.
"All in favour?
"Overwhelming vote. Tomorrow's Judgement Day is cancelled." | 2016-03-22T06:43:17 | 2016-03-22T06:36:29 | 26 | 19 |
[WP] Humans are known in the galaxy for being a bit dim, but also for being the very best mechanics around, and inexplicably able to fix machines beyond their comprehension. You have broken down on Earth, and having the apes work on your craft is both fascinating and terrifying. | "You, you fixed?!" I asked incredulously, barking through the human's rudimentary language as best I could. The squat young human had red hair, and sucked on some sort of ground leaf when he worked. He was the only human mechanic on the station, and the cheapest out of all of them.
"Well, yeah. Once you tear the thing apart it ain't all that bad. Took a lil while to figure out them circuits of yers but after some experimentin it was easy to tell it was just a capacitor that was blown. Took me long enough to find one of our own that would fit, and then it was a real doosy connecting er up since I can't solder to yer biocells. Anyways, she's fit as a fiddle now." he rambled, stopping only briefly to take an oversized bite of his disgusting wheat and soured bovine excrete meal.
"Capacitor?" I asked, unfamiliar with the word.
"Yeah, you know. Charges up all that juice yer biocells are putting out so it can dump the whole lot of it all at once. You got millions of em, took forever to find the right one, all hooked up to them giant biocells in there. Sorta reminded me of them things I worked on back home growing up, we had them biocells in our tractors. Think we got em from you, us humans I mean not my farm. n`eways, I then hooked up to that big ol engine of some sort, I know it's not yer main engine - being as I did some work to that too. Man if I had a full week wi-"
"You fix main engine? What!?" I yelled, gasping infuriated chirps native to my people. "I ask simple fix, not engine! Human no place in engine!"
"Well I hadda. It didn't like the capacitor."
I stormed up the gangway, and into the control room. My cloak billowed behind me, quite dramatically I mused. I toggled several pre-flight switches and observed the metrics display.
"Fwahh!?" I gasped, as the logs of the engine start up sequence scrolled past.
"See? Innit a beut?" the human asked, suddenly standing beside me and clearly satisfied with himself.
"Engine efficiency, 80%?" I asked, my voice quieted by fear. "Only achieve 20%"
"Nah, you could get one ot ot out of this puppy if yer dang artificial quantum entanglement generator were tuned up"
"You... " I couldn't form the crude human words. "Grogggt ghorrr! *hiss* Sheeawwwww!"
"Whoa there buddy, whats wrong?"
"You understand? Vox generator?"
"Well yeah, I mean I don't know how she does it, but I know she ain't doin it well"
This puny human, this little miscreant. He understood the vox generator, the most powerful of my peoples technologies. The collective of beings who had managed Human integration into galactic society had closely guarded the secrets of interstellar travel to cap the transportation trade. It was quite expensive for humans to travel, at almost no cost to the pilots.
"You make 100%? You fix for me?" I ask, devious thoughts bubbling into my mind. With these improvements, I could become rich.
"Sure, but it's gonna to cost ya"
"What desire?" worry tingled my senses, he may yet know more than he lets on.
"Can yall get one of those old bull-class fighters? I've been wanting to fix one up fer the moon races, can't find one round these parts without paying an arm and a snout in shippin fees" the young man said, a hint of sadness in his voice.
This was going to be easier than I thought.
-----
As the giant offensive sloth-like creature thundered out of the control room, Peter smiled to himself. He listened until the booming footsteps faded, Krongor had left him to begin his modifications.
"Easier `an pie" he chuffed, pulling out a personal communicator.
He selected his partner in the contacts list, and a ring tone reverberated in the cramped room. His partner picked up.
"Peter, whats up?"
"I think I got sommin."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah, gonna be working on one of them Vox's all week."
"Holy shit, Peter. You fuckin with me?"
"Naw, I already got a good idea whats goin on. After this week, think I can make one myself. I even got him to get me one of them Bull fighters, would be perfect for the prototype."
-----
Note: Thank you everyone for appreciating this so much. I am really proud of myself after having written on this subreddit for several years here and there. It has made me a better writer, but still not a good one. I am going to continue trying to work on this story and world, and hopefully you get the chance to see it if I make something of it. | "This is a terrible idea." Said Fexund, folding his arms and staring at the line of humans ahead of them. "It's almost brand new- you're supposed to take all Gulux's back to the dealership within one year for factory settings if something goes wrong."
"Fexund, how close do you think the nearest Gulux dealership is?" Asked Harpod, waving a disguised limb at the grimy window of the office. Outside, a line of earthbound vehicles chugged along a filthy strip of asphalt belching noxious fumes and filling the air with the sound of their strange, beeping cries.
"Not close, I suppose." Fexund sighed. "But I still don't see how these beings are going to be any help. They've barely left their own planet."
"I've heard they've got some kind of idiot savant thing going on, show them a trans-dimensional shifter and they'll use it to make orange juice, and fix it at the same time! Professors at the Intergalactic University are preparing a case study on them now, it sounds extremely interesting."
At the front of the line the fat man behind the desk was patiently explaining that yes, after nearly 100,000 miles, the Honda Civic the woman had brought in was probably due for an oil change.
"One question-" Said Fexund, his eyes narrowed, "Does this violate my warranty?"
"Next!" Called the fat man, and Harpod hurried forward, trying his best to match the movements of the humans all around them. The visual cloaking device was working overtime on him, Fexund, and their ship, and he didn't want that to break down too.
"What's the problem, fellas?" Asked the fat man, staring up at them through wet, squinty eyes.
"I think you had better tell us." Said Harpod, smiling widely in an attempt to charm the man. "We're simply hopeless mechanics- the damn thing just won't work!"
In the parking lot, the ship lay on its side in a crater the size of a small building. Several cars were flattened beneath it, and safety glass was scattered in a glittering nimbus for half a block. Large plumes of smoke were boiling from the exhaust vents of the ship and turning the Los Angeles sky a sickly green color as they rose into the air. To the man, of course, the ship appeared as a large white panel van, slightly dirty and old.
"Looks in good enough shape." Said the man, scratching his chin. "Let's pop the hood shall we?"
He stuck his head into the side access panel, nearly shearing off most of his face on the laser shield that protected the warp drive. As it was, some of his beard hairs were singed on contact, and he waved a hand in front of his face.
"Phew," He said. "Smells like maybe something's crawled up in your hood and died, boys."
"Ah, yes." Said Harpod, "Could very well be. We... live in the... woods."
The man removed his head from the access panel and peered at the two of them. After a moment, he returned to his work without speaking.
"Nice one." Hissed Fexund, elbowing Harpod. "The woods. Iron-clad story."
"Yeah, here we go!" Exclaimed the man, plunging his arm deep into the access panel. Fexund and Harpod inhaled sharply as he once again came within a hair's breath of burning his own face off. The man fished around with his hand, digging and grunting alternately. Finally he gave a short exclamation of victory and pulled something out of the access panel, gripping it by the scruff of its neck.
"Dead possum!" Said the fat man. "All wrapped around your air intake- EUGGHHHHAAAAA!"
The thing, whatever it was, sprouted a mouth out of its neck that snaked through the air and latched onto the man's forearm. Blood spurted out from the bite wound, running in dripping lines down to the man's elbow and pattering to the pavement below.
"Feisty litte guy!" Barked the man, wrestling with the monster. "I could have sworn he was OHMYGOD"
The thing writhed and squirmed like a cockroach flipped on its back, spiny legs waving in the air. It extended a six-inch long stinger, black as ink and with a wicked tip. With a violent twisting motion of its body it buried the stinger in the man's stomach, then visibly pumped some kind of fluid from its thorax into the man's body.
"Thanks so much!" Called Fexund, climbing the side of the ship to the main access hatch. "That seems to have done it!" He dropped into the cockpit and the ship sprung to life, jumping from the ground and hovering upright in place.
"No problem..." The man's voice sounded faint now, and flecks of black blood were gathering at the corners of his mouth. "I'll call animal control and..."
The thing scuttled up the man's arm and wrapped its many limbs around his head, thrusting the stinger deep into his skull via the base of his neck. Instantly, the man's eyes cleared. He shook himself once, twice.
Harpod shivered as he climbed into the cockpit, closing the access door behind him.
"I feel kind of bad. Do you feel kind of bad?"
"No." Said Fexund. "Think of it this way- we saved a Gorgle who would have died out alone in space if we hadn't come along!"
"**THANKS FOR THE RIDE!**" Bellowed the man, his voice a horrible scream now. "**I'LL SEND YOU GAS MONEY ONCE I'VE GOT SOME CASH, YEAH?**"
"My warranty had better still be valid." Said Fexund, shifting into gear and leaving the planet behind.
| 2016-05-23T22:08:24 | 2016-05-23T18:38:57 | 158 | 32 |
[WP] You are born with the ability to stop time, but one day you see something else is moving when you have already stopped time. | "This isn't possible," I repeated for maybe the fiftieth time. The man in front of my calmly sipped his coffee, apparently totally unbothered by everyone else's ceasing to move.
I looked around at the rest of the café. As with every other time, it was solid. I don't mean, like, it had all stopped - I mean, that's what it *looked* like, but it was so much more than that. If I was to throw some sugar into the air, it would have just hung there. No momentum. No movement. Like a solid mass, floating in the air.
*But how could he be moving?*
"You're not *really* stopping time, you know," the man smiled cryptically, as if in response to my thought.
"Sorry?"
"See, actually stopping time would be... very bad," he continued. His tone was like a Nobel Prize winner's when he has to explain to a five-year-old why fighting against a certain type of cooties is important. "So you don't really stop it. Essentially, time is still moving - it's just moving very, *very* slowly. So slowly, it seems like everything is standing still. But it's not, as I assume you can see." He smiled again - God, what a smug smile! Like he had all the answers!
"Alright, then, genius," I frowned, more than a little frustrated with the condescension. "How are you moving?"
"Quickly," he replied almost instantly. He'd been waiting for that question, the prick. "Very quickly. So quickly that, even as time has slowed to a crawl... I still move as normal. Clever, isn't it?" There was that smug smile again.
"...So why me?" I asked. "You can move so fast, what're you bothering with a loser like me for?"
"I don't think you're a loser," the man frowned, his expression faltering for the first time. "I think, if you wanted to, you could be a hero. All it would take is proper creative application of your powers. Now, could you do me a favour and return time to normal? If I tried to move as-is, the friction would be catastrophic."
Still not sure what he was on about, I nevertheless nodded, and concentrated a little. I could feel a bit of sweat form on my forehead as I gritted my teeth. Finally, like a switch had been flipped, the noise and commotion of everyday life returned. The man in the wheelchair smiled again.
"I think this could be the start of an interesting little endeavour," he grinned.
-----
This story is a continuation of [this earlier post](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4n2u8e/wp_everyone_is_born_with_a_disability_and_an/d40jipo). | Time waits for no man. It's a phrase everyone is familiar with, everyone accepts it. A law we're all bound to. Knowing time is fleeting rich or poor keeps us together. Time and is follower death, the great equalizer.
Well I'm not equal.
I grew up in a lower middle class household with a single parent. I was left to my own devices constantly. The tick tock of the clock as I waited for the crunch of gravel and my Mother's languid footsteps and warm caresses. Those fleeting moments were precious. I wishes they could last forever. One night, after my Mom had to pull a double and missed my recital I screamed and cried and wished for time, more time with her. Even a few moments more between the rush of school and work and sleep.
The next morning she had left me a gift.
"Hanna, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you. I wanted to give this to you before the recital but I didn't have the time. Well now you do. I love you sweetie!" --Mom
I pulled a gold wrapped package out of the gift bag and ripped off the paper. It was still early morning and the sound of her gently closing my bedroom door woke me. In the dim morning light a silver pocket watch glinted. It looked expensive. Too expensive.... I flipped it over in my hand and saw an engraving on the back in fine letters -- 'Heed not the darkness in the pause'. My mouth twisted as I flipped it back over and opened it. The hands weren't moving. After some groggy fumbling I managed to wind it and pressed it to my ear.
Tick.
Tock
Tick
It stopped. Had I not wound it enough? I lifted it away to look at it. It seemed fine... I put it around my neck and got up to open the shades. The hardwood floor was cool against my bare feet, soon I would need to wear socks to bed. Yawning I pulled the shades open with one hand will the other sloughed the snot out of my eyes. My window overlooked the driveway and the street below. I could see the entire way down to where the street met the main road, it was too early for much traffic. It was perfectly silent. Usually I could at least hear the birds and a few cars rolling by. Maybe it was a slow day. It was cooler after all. Cool for June, like the air had frozen or something. Like everything had stopped...Too many thoughts this early. I opened my eyes properly to see if my Mom's car was still there and I guess I rubbed to hard because two things outside my window looked wrong. Really, really wrong.
My Mom was just getting into her car. Her fluid motion frozen comically as the coffee in her right hand titled violently. She would have spilled it all over the seat if time hadn't frozen. Time had frozen hadn't it? Nothing was moving. The birds paused in mid-air, the jogger in mid-step, the cat in mid-pounce. Oh stop it be serious what do I do now? Run down and kiss her and thank her for the gift now that I had the time?
Time.
I looked down at the watch and recalled the inscription -- 'Heed not the darkness in the pause' It wasn't dark out, it was almost six o clock in the morning. The only darkness was that Shadow quickly moving up the street towards my house as if it had homed in on me. It was really fast. Dark. Human shaped. Huge. Massive. Scary.
I crouched down and closed my eyes and covered my ears. It was so silent I couldn't even hear my breath.
Tick.
Tock.
Tick.
"Motherfucker I spilled my coffee again" | 2016-06-19T05:03:39 | 2016-06-19T03:29:06 | 667 | 235 |
[WP] You are born with the ability to stop time, but one day you see something else is moving when you have already stopped time. | As he was running away, Joseph suddenly spotted his grandson in the street.
"Don't come any closer", he screamed
"Oh perfect timing, but still not in my range" I thought to myself
"Stay back, the secret to his power is to Stop Ti....."
"ZA WARUDO" I screamed
Time has stopped, what a convenient power this was, only downside is that the time limit is only 5 seconds due to the fact that I needed more time to adjust to my new body. I made my way to were Joseph was standing ready to strike a fatal blow, suddenly I stopped my hand
"Wow Joseph you're probably using Hamon, that troublesome power that was my downfall a 100 years ago, but it is now powerless before The World"
I reached out to my back pocket taking out a knife
"MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA" I screamed while throwing the knife to his throat
"Grandson of Jonathan, Joseph, you've met your end"
Time began to flow again, Joseph let out a scream then collapsed on the group.
"Now Jotaro, you're next!"
"You bastard! DIO"
"Oh you've decided to face the mighty Dio?"
"Problem is I can't beat the shit out of you unless I'm close"
"Then come as close as you'd like"
"ORA" he screamed, but I quickly countered his pathetic attempt to kick me
"Too slow! The World is the ultimate Stand. Even ignoring it's ability to stop time, its speed and power far exceed that of your Star platinum"
"So it's the same type as star platinum, incredible speed and power but short range"
"I wanted to test my **Stand** against yours, however it would seem that it is unnecessary."
"Test? You barely touched my leg, that didn't hurt. If anything you've hurt my wallet by ruining my pants."
Here it comes, that infuriating self confidence so characteristic of the Joestar family.
"Why must you Joestar be so stubborn about admitting defeat? I suppose I will rise to your pathetic provocation and test you a bit more" I said while manifesting my stand
He took out his Star Platinum and our Stands started fighting.
"Shall we see who possesses a faster attack rush?" I said while brimming with confidence.
"MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA MUDA"
"ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA ORA"
And our **Stands** started clashing
[To be Continued](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nfzq8LjXsGU)
Thanks for reading, I noticed there was a prompt about stopping time and no Dio post so I had to do it. Hope you enjoyed, if you want more tell me and I'll write the continuation. But it will have to wait for 15hours, I have an exam early tomorrow | I was at the store to get some crackers. I was not out of the delicious snack food, but I had decided I wanted some today, so I got off the couch, walked to the bus stop, paid my fare, got to the store, and stopped time. I knew my way to the cracker aisle, so I ran there. No harm in slightly scuffing the floor. I browsed through the crackers until I found my favorite ones. An employee was organizing them on the shelf. No matter. I simply went to the back of the shelf and grabbed five boxes. Enough for a while. I took a bottle of soda just for fun, and was going to the exit of the store, when suddenly- CRASH! A shelf had fallen from one of the store cabinets. I didn't think I would be able to knock anything down, but I went back to check the cracker aisle, after putting my things on a checkout booth. All of the shelves were intact. Hmm....strange. There could have been a chain reaction. I walked through the aisles until I found the one that had fallen. IT contained soup cans, which evidently caused it to be loud. But this shelf was seven aisles away from the crackers, eight from the pop. There was no way I could have caused this. Then something even stranger happened. I heard footsteps. I stood still where I was standing. I still heard the tapping of feet on the linoleum floor. I may have started time by mistake. But everyone at the checkout was completely still. I would investigate. I walked around the store, still hearing footsteps separate from my own. Then, two aisles away, I heard a thud and a high pitched yelp. The clatter of groceries was also audible. I ran over to the source of the noise.
"Aha!" A girl was sprawled on the floor, having dropped her groceries. She wore a blue beanie cap, an orange vest, and had medium length sandy colored hair.
"Aah!" How could she be so clueless? She had to realize something was going on. "How are you moving?" She asked this in a fearful tone.
"How am I moving? How are YOU moving? You do realize time is stopped, don't you?" I seemed angrier than I should have been.
"Yes, because I did it! I wasn't supposed to be caught. Now you're gonna start time, call the police, go home, and I'm gonna be in jail! What a life!" She was saying this on the ground.
"Um, I don't think that's going to be an issue. I came to get some crackers." I was surprised that there was another person who could stop time, but it didn't matter at the moment. "Do you want some help picking up your groceries? We have all the time in the world!"
"Sure, I mean, I'd probably just drop them again." She must have been here a while, as she had some of my favorite crackers. The cleanup was fast.
"You should pick up your shelf, too. I saw someone else in that aisle. You might scare them." I looked at her jokingly.
"Thanks. I'm Brittany by the way. What's your name?"
"I'm Jonathan, but I normally go by Johnny."
"Well Johnny, I hope we are caught in the same time frame again." She started walking to the exit, which was near the checkouts. I had to go there too, to get my groceries. She waved at me and left the exit. She started running and became a still image. So that's what it looks like when you start time in another person's point of view. I started time as I left too. It was time to get on the bus. | 2016-06-19T08:04:39 | 2016-06-19T05:31:42 | 34 | 19 |
[WP] You are known as the greatest Villain known to history. The nations you have toppled are many, heroes and villains alike cower in fear and agencys would use their entire budgets just to guess your next move. However, you are unaware that you were a villain at all.
I did not expect this much Response. | All my life, I have only ever sought to do what was right. I have made mistakes, I will not deny that. I was ... clumsy. Inept. I was cast apart from my own people for my errors. I would have died out there, alone, apart.
But when my life was saved by a complete stranger, I realized that I could devote myself to something bigger. When my people were invaded, I risked my life to deliver the tidings of war to the capital city. Although we were too late to save the city, we saved the Queen. And though we had to flee in exile, I never doubted that we would one day return.
And when we returned, I led our armies as a general. And though we were militarily and technologically outmatched, we won the battle! It was a glorious day, a glorious victory!
But in my heart of hearts, I have never been a warrior. In the aftermath of the invasion, I sought to unite, not to conquer. I represented my people in the Senate, trying to strengthen the alliances between our many different peoples.
But as the years passed, I witnessed our fragile allegiances dissolve into chaos. Assassination attempts. Separatist movements. We seemed on the verge of full-scale war. I knew it was my duty to act. But through everything I have experienced, I have never sought power. I knew full well that there were those more qualified than me to lead us through these times of turmoil. So when my moment came, I stood before the Senate, and I spoke:
"It's a clear desa Separatists made a pact witha desa Federation du Trade. Senators! Dellow felegates! In response to this direct threat to the Republic, mesa propose that the Senate give immediately emergency powers to the Supreme Chancellor!"
And as the Senate burst into applause, and I saw my life's work come to fruition, I could not help but smile. | "Ah-Aah-choo!" I groaned, covering my eyes my eyes with one hand and grabbing a tissue with the other. Fucking blinds. Cheap garbage. I mopped the snot from beneath my nose, drawing to toward my eye with a certain, admittedly, morbid curiosity. It was slightly off colour. Yellow? Orange? Was there blood in it? I tossed it in the bin and slowly dragged myself from bed. I wasn't about to lose another day. Already had angry calls from the boss. It's my coworkers that will have to suffer. It was just a runny nose, a bit of coughing, a sneeze or two.
The shower was bliss. I hadn't used hot water in a while. I swear I could see the steam rising from my skin where the cold water made contact. There was something satisfying about feeling the heat seep out of my body and in to the water. The fever wasn't that bad. 101 maybe? 102 max. It was fine.
I wrapped the towel around myself, feeling much better, even my sinuses seemed to open. I took a deep, lingering breath of the coffee as I spooned it in to the machine - God how long has it been since I could smell? As the peculator began to burble and hum I popped the cap of the antibiotics bottle open - all gone. Doctors always said to keep taking them even if you feel better, til you've taken every one; what's it mean when you run out before you feel better? Well, I did feel better.
I tossed the bottle and picked through the fridge, a poor selection. I grabbed some tapioca pudding - adults could enjoy a pudding pack now and then - right? I poured the coffee and sat down to my breakfast, sighing gently. It felt good to be out of bed. Really good.
But something felt bad still, something that wasn't the flu. Was I really going to go back there? That hell of cubicles and chattering voices? I frowned. Being sick, miserable as it was, was a bit of a vacation. That's terribly sad. I turned the coffee cup in a circle between my hands. Maybe this was a sign. Maybe it happened for a reason.
Maybe I should quit. Crack open that savings and do that traveling I'd always wanted to do. So what if I hadn't met that special someone to do it with. And even better, do that quitting I'd always wanted to do. Give my boss the finger, spit in the coffee pot no one but me ever remembered to refill. Yeah.
I mopped the returning flow of viscous, orange mucus from beneath my nose and moved to get ready. This would be the start of something new. I wasn't about to lose another day. | 2016-06-25T04:13:48 | 2016-06-25T03:52:55 | 2,572 | 24 |
[WP] Over night, 90% of the world's population has dropped dead. In the following weeks, the survivors, who come from diverse countries, ethnicities, religious beliefs and lifestyles realize that they all share a single, peculiar trait... | James woke after a poor nights sleep, blinking and fumbling around for his glasses.
Failing to find them, he stepped forward gingerly looking for the shelf where he kept his contact lenses. Squinting to make sure he put the right ones in, one by one he carefully removed a lens from the packet, balanced the lens on the end of his finger and fought the temptation to blink.
Getting changed he started to think about the things he had to get done today. It was a DIY day, so he would head for some breakfast, then pick up supplies and get on with the task at hand.
Arriving at the drive through restaurant, he parked up at the order point and lowered his window.
'hi sorry could you drive round to the window please?' a rushed sounding voice rattled through the tinny speaker.
As he arrived at the window he was greeted by a very spotty teenager, covering his wispy red hair with a cap.
'sorry we're really short staffed this morning, a load of people just didn't turn up for work'
'it's fine, Bacon and egg with coffee please'.
The young man acknowledged the request and span on his heels.
As James sat there he noticed a behind him was a young girl, auburn hair tied up in a messy bun, playing with her phone looking increasingly upset.
Not one to concern himself with the affairs of others he turned on the radio. No radio one. Radio two has Chris Evans on. Fine. Not perfect but ok.
He started to tap the wheel impatiently, just as his food arrived. He paid and drove off. Reaching a pedestrian crossing he awaited an older balding gentleman with a flat cap to cross the road with his orange labrador.
As he arrived at the unbranded home improvement store he noted how empty the car park was, and clapped in frustration as he spotted the store wasn't open yet. Out front we're a couple of staff members so he decided he would wait with them.
'we don't really know what's happened to the manager she normally opens up by 8.'
He looked at the young girl and her colleague. Both had strawberry blonde hair and fair skin. Both had the same blue eyes and stood the same height. He looked at their faces and realised how alike they looked but for the fact that one was female and the other male.
'YES we are twins' said the boy, rolling his eyes and taking his phone out of his pocket.
James looked around impatiently and saw a red squirrel run through the car park chased by a bright orange tabby cat.
'don't see many red squirrels these days' ventured James.
Just as he said those words he was joined by the old man with his dog.
'you're Ginger!' Exclaimed the old man.
'er yes. Thanks for noticing?' James replied, somewhat confused.
'my dogs Ginger. Those two unbranded home improvement store kids are Ginger too'.
'ok..... '
'I'm Ginger. Or at least I was. I don't have hair now but until I lost it I had a beautiful head of fire orange hair!' the man persisted.
James had nothing to add. He was getting increasingly frustrated with this chap, and the fact that the shop was still not open.
He looked to the young lad who was trying to call someone on the phone but clearly not having any success.
'don't you get it?' the old man spluttered out, shaking James' arm vigorously.
'what?'
'everyone else is gone. . . . ' | Who would have thought we’d all be alone.
There was a man from South Africa and one from New Zealand. There were women, Christian and a Muslim. The rest of the group was just as mixed up as the first few. But each of us were the remainder of our heritage.
I never thought I’d be in a situation like this. They were all just strangers, no one I could confide in. Those types of people were gone.
“Cup of soup?” the Christian woman asked.
I took the cup without a word of thanks. Words wouldn’t do much of anything now. Not with my daughter, Sarah, and wife, Claire, deceased. The disease had swept through the world like a tidal wave. And here we were, in the basement of a body strewn hospital. And all of us pretended like nothing had gone wrong as if there was still hope.
The South African man approached me. “Hey Bru, I’m going to check for blankets upstairs. Lend a hand?”
“Oh, are the fools feeling cold?” I said, staring into my soup cup.
The South African man peeked over his shoulder and then back. “A walk might do you some good.”
He seemed earnest. So instead of spitting in his face, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.
Upstairs, we passed body after body. They laid on stretchers, hospital beds, or the floor. And most had a pained look on their face, like whatever had killed them had won from the inside out. Each face posed a statement: *Why us when it should have been you.*
For whatever reason, we hadn’t been infected.
“You should cover your face, bru,” the South African said.
I scoffed. “I’ll walk with you, but don’t Nanny me.”
He spun around faster than I could react. And then he slammed me against the hospital wall. Pain shot through my chest, but I tried to fight back. The man had me pinned under his elbow. “We’ve all lost our fair share,” he said.
The strength was sapped out of me. I went limp. “Why don’t you just get it over with then?”
“I’m not trying to harm you, lighty,” he said, “but you’re adding oil to the funeral pyre.”
“Maybe we should be sad. People have died. My wife, my chil-”
“You think you’re the only one?” He hissed. His face was red, and veins were straining on his neck.
“I know I’m not, but I can’t help how I feel. I have no family now.”
The man let go of me. “You want family?” he asked. “My name’s Leon,” he said, hand out. “And we’re all that we’ve got left on this godforsaken planet.”
I stared at his open palm. Despite my anger at him, it was like an open invitation. A chance at what the world could still be like. “And what if you pass away tomorrow? What’s this handshake going to be worth then?”
Leon rested a hand on my shoulder. “The present doesn’t discredit the past. Things were good before today, they may be hard now, but let’s show that we remember our loved ones by honouring them.”
The fire inside me raged on, asking for hate as fuel. But Leon’s words had stuck with me. I thought of my wife, my daughter. I decided not to look at the bodies of those gone. Not because I was afraid, but because I knew where the road of remorse led.
When we arrived back at the hospital basement, the warm atmosphere died down as soon as the survivors saw me. I crossed to the center of the group. The people all watched in silence. I took a seat near the lady that had given me the cup of soup earlier.
“Thank you for your chicken soup, it was delicious. Would you like a blanket?”
It was pitiful that it was all I could offer her when she had given me so much more a few moments earlier. Leon smiled as he sat down opposite me and gave me a secret thumbs up.
“Oh, thank you,” the soup lady said, blushing as she took the blanket.
“I’m Daniel,” I told her, holding a hand out.
The lady smiled and with it a bit of the warmth came back to the room. “I’m Elaine,” she replied, and placed her hand in mine.
| 2016-10-22T01:06:43 | 2016-10-22T00:43:55 | 112 | 67 |
[WP] Anyone holding a world record is immortal as long as he holds the record. You are the oldest person alive. | I am the oldest man alive.
That in itself is a record that cannot be topped.
For every year that i live i remain the oldest man alive.
Records are made and broken. And i remain.
I have lived so long my name has been forgotten. Old recordings of my past long turned to dust.
Now i go by one name. A name that is considered most holy.
Guinness. And i am the keeper of records. | The last punch connected, bringing my all-time record to 150,000 wins, zero losses.
The best fight record in all of history. At an age pushing fifteen thousand years I realized the legend. My name was firlmy engraved on the book that created all the immortals all those years ago. Riplies believe it or not. My name was on the 300th page of the current volume under the title "best martial artist." I had come a long way, growing up in Colorado and falling in love with martial arts at an age of 15, I quickly rise in the ranks.
I won the world martial arts tournament, and my immortality from a Chinese monk 30 years later, my body reverted to that of my prime, and his body went limp.. It's a weird feeling having a man die in your arms.
The title I've kept for the thousands of years since is challenged constantly, but I cannot be killed in anything other than a formal fight. Assassination attempts, though frequent, do nothing.
I have another fight in a few days, a youngster of 25. His technique, pituful, his knowledge of himself not nearly as vast.. perhaps he can beat me though... It's more of a curse at this point than a blessing.. so, Goku, show me what you got. I'll be waiting. | 2016-12-14T10:34:13 | 2016-12-14T08:41:38 | 85 | 17 |
[WP] Anyone holding a world record is immortal as long as he holds the record. You are the oldest person alive. | I am the oldest man alive.
That in itself is a record that cannot be topped.
For every year that i live i remain the oldest man alive.
Records are made and broken. And i remain.
I have lived so long my name has been forgotten. Old recordings of my past long turned to dust.
Now i go by one name. A name that is considered most holy.
Guinness. And i am the keeper of records. | The shot echoes through the air.
And they're off. Amy's slim form blurs as she runs - no, flies - past the other contenders. Her training's paid off and she's going not just for the gold, but for the world record. Everything I've ever taught her is making its appearance here and now and forever.
She's almost to the finish line, and for a moment I see her hesitate. I feel it. Her body goes rigid as she fights the urge to look up to the stands and find me, beg me.
But we've talked about this. She promised.
As if reading my mind, her doubt fades, and renewed she dashes past the finish line.
The crowd explodes in cheers, almost drowning out the announcer's voice saying, "We have a new world record!" Amy is glowing, the immortality seeping into her like a gift from God, but she's not smiling. Her eyes are searching for me, and once our gazes finally meet I nod. She nods back, tears streaming down her burning cheeks.
My vision blurs and my heart slows. I welcome the darkness, the peace and the rest it brings. With my final breath, I see Amy's smiling face in my mind and think only two words.
Thank you. | 2016-12-14T10:34:13 | 2016-12-14T10:05:11 | 85 | 14 |
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal. | They watched from across the street as I pulled one of my 'death sticks' to my mouth. It isn't like how it was a few years ago; then they tried to hide their staring. I lit it and took a drag then let out a smoke ring that would have impressed if it had come from an E-cig or pot.
I smoked it down to the end and threw it on the ground just to see their reactions. Pleasant as always: playful jeers and helpful advice for my lifestyle. I just walk away, ignoring them.
It's a sunny day with minimal clouds; the holoAds are almost invisible. I can barely make out a cartoon picturization of my face with a nice red X over it. From what I can tell it's being used to pitch a special edition of chips, promising to donate %5 of the editions profits to cancer research. Fun! I'm the figure head of cancer now.
Ever since the guy in Germany quit last month I've been the last smoker on Earth. I've got to say it's quite interesting having more people recognize the name of Laren Volk than Osama Bin Laden. Kind of profitable too. It turns out people love to keep up with everything the person they most despise has to say. My blog has just about 3 million (30,567 until!) ~~haters~~ followers.
A street ad changed as I walked by. 'Stay away and you'll make my day!' it said with a picture of a cigarette and laid out in vintage meme format. I can't help but laugh at how people pay thousands for ad block and I get it for free. I pull out another cig and light it, really just to spite the sign.
My walk ends at my apartment. I ignore the photographers across the street and enter my apartment. I put my cigarette out on an ash try that literally had my name on it and walk up to my room. Two flights of stairs later, and a few neighbors who pretended not to see me, I reach the sanctuary that is my room.
Everything is nice and tidy, as I left it, and I pet Rufes, my mid-aged Labrador, who'd dutifully met me at the door. He doesn't seem to mind the smell or really anything to do with what makes me a tumor of society. I wish society would take note.
After I fixed myself lunch, and another session of petting, I went to my computer and began the days entry. 'Hey haters,-' it began and then went on to include all the small mundane things I'd done in the morning. I wrote about coffee, people I saw, a guy who was cute, policies of the latest president, and really anything but cigarettes.
When I'd finished and posted it I watched as the comments rolled in.
'u need to stop smkin'
'kys. your the worst of humanity'
'I like that coffee too!'
'Why do you smoke anyway?'
And so on. I eventually had to just turn it off and found Rufes. "Do you like me Rufes?" Rufes started to pant. "Good boy. Good boy."
I proceeded to cry into Refes's fur for hours. | I'm really starting to hate CNN, and not just because of their fake news articles.
All eyes have been on me for almost a year and a half. I'm the only person that still smokes, and honestly, at this point, I'm just doing it because I feel like pissing off the rest of the world. It's at the point where I have to grow and roll my own cigs. Marlboro sold me their recipe after they went out of business, and I grow my own tobacco, roll my own stuff, etc. The government has tried everything. First, the Prohibition of 2021, which cut smokers down by 97%. Then came the crackdown on dark web sellers, and eventually everyone got caught smoking. They found the names of people that hadn't signed up for drug tests, until the only people left were the ones off the radar. And then, the military swept the streets and found everyone that was left.
It was May of 2038 when I was announced the last smoker in the United States. But here's the thing: they didn't arrest me. I had gone for multiple tests while smoking, never once did they stop me. Just told me I failed. I think it's because I simply didn't care, and therefore the government didn't care. It's kinda like breaking into a bank, and then when the police come to arrest you, you just say, "No." And then they stop, confused, and just walk away.
Well, after that, of course, you become a national celebrity. The government still wanted me to stop, of course, but they couldn't really make me without locking me in a room for three weeks and making me cold turkey it out. So, first, they tried laws against growing tobacco. "Okay," I said, "You win. SIKE!" And continued to grow more tobacco for myself. Then they tried ad campaigns. This is where it got annoying. I couldn't even go to the grocery store without seeing my face plastered to a wall, smiling back at me with the words "JUST QUIT GREG SCHMIDT" in big red letters surrounding the picture of my head. I was known by all, people pointed me out in the street. It was no use going somewhere else, either. One time I drove from my house in Virginia to New York City, and lo and behold, there I was in the middle of Times Square, my smiling meth mouth of a face looking at me among the words "YOUR FAMILY PROBABLY HATES YOUR FILTHY HABIT." They weren't even trying to rhyme anymore. They straight up hated me and wanted me to stop.
So, when I was 45, 28 years after I had lit up my first cigarette, I decided that there must be something in the Constitution that protects me from this kind of public degradation. Nope. I took it to the Supreme Court and everything, no dice. The only people that liked me were teenagers that thought it was cool to stand up to the government and media sources that made money off of my "developing story of a life." I'm not even kidding. That's what they call my life. The catchphrases aren't much better, if one can even call them catchphrases. Here's a list of my personal favorites:
- SMOKING IS BAD FOR YOU (no shit)
- JUST STOP SMOKING GREG
- WHY DO YOU SMOKE, YOU BIG FUCKING JOKE
- THE POLICE ARE COMING GREG (ahahahhahahhahhahaha)
- (my personal favorite) JESUS CHRIST YOU STUBBORN BITCH
I don't know what to do anymore. My house is the only haven I have, if you consider a building constantly surrounded by paparazzi trying to take a picture of you a haven. I can't order pizza without the people fighting over who gets the chance to deliver the pizza to me. But, I must say, it's fun being known for something. I just wish the advertisements were a little less harsh. | 2017-02-17T10:31:26 | 2017-02-17T09:45:22 | 107 | 80 |
[WP] The year is 2040, and you are the last smoker alive. The "Quit Smoking" ads get personal. | "Well this is a bit excessive," I thought at first, "even for them."
He was everywhere.
After the first week, I named him Xavier. I don't know why, it just seemed to fit. He was a distinguished, handsome, and charming. Exactly the opposite of his target.
It seemed like an odd use of apparently brand new tech, connecting every visible ad together to let an imaginary character follow me around. It didn't matter what ad. He was always there, getting his two cents in about my habits.
The latest Audi commercial, showing a young couple driving along the California coast, "Son," he chimed in from the backseat, "not even this car would get you a woman."
He had a line for everything. Viagra was "coming sooner than you think" and I couldn't even watch porn without him commenting that the local girls weren't really locals, and even if they were... well you get the point.
The friends I still had, while not many, were growing impatient. Their ads didn't star Xavier, and he was sure to remind them that all I had to do was give it up and he'd go away for good.
For whatever kind of software program he was, I thought, he was surprisingly inquisitive. "How'd you know it was coming?" Xavier asked, referring to the mandated shutdown of all tobacco production.
Truth is, I listened to a lunatic online on a hunch and used my life savings to purchase enough smokes to last the foreseeable future. But I wasn't about to start explaining myself to an ad.
I never responded. And never planned to.
"Alright, I give up," I paused for a second and turned to see Xavier pressed up close to the inside of my TV screen, while an ad for Puppy Chow played behind him. He looked far less confident than normal. "I'm begging you to stop smoking. It's the only way they'll let me go."
It took me a second to process exactly what he said.
"Wait, what?"
| George Barnes got out of his truck and headed back to his plantation. Family reunions were never easy, and this one had been the smallest number he'd ever seen. People were afraid. His family, his whole people, his way of life; gone.
George walked up the path to his small crop. The plants were already getting huge: broad, almost tropical leaves swaying in the mountain breeze. It wouldn't be too long until harvest time. He was glad; this year's gardens had been nerve-wracking. He'd always known that the white people intended to destroy his family, and end the issue of American ownership once and for all, but he never thought he'd actually live to see the day.
At the edge of the garden, he kicked off his sandals and paused a moment to lay a small amount of tobacco on the rock in the southeast corner. It was always gone. Maybe birds were eating it. Maybe it was the wind. It didn't matter.
He walked through his garden, talking to his plants, commenting on how big they were getting and how thankful he was for them. They looked okay. No watering today.
He drew up a seat on his customary log and reflected on his weekend's activities. His remaining family was scared. Nobody would smoke with him. Tobacco was too precious for yourself, now, they'd said. It can only be used in bundles, and even that was risky. They were torn and tormented: nobody wanted to completely break from tradition, but nobody wanted to get caught. The New Americanism demanded cultural assimilation. Most of the family didn't even want to risk the family gathering. Between the ads and the news, it was enough to make anybody stay home.
Now this, he thought. After all we've been through: the disease, the stolen land, the broken promises, the destruction of all that is good in the world - now this. We were too afraid as a people to *be* a people anymore. He smoked a bowl.
The tobacco coursing through his veins, he felt strong again, uncertain of the future but determined. He was unbreakable. Let things fall. As long as he was alive, his people's ways would not end. They would not. He got back in the truck and headed back towards town.
The realization of responsibility overwhelmed him sometimes. He turned on the radio for a moment; the news was on. A 1989 Honda Civic had been caught on a back road downstate, headed to a former reserve town with a trunk full of tobacco. George knew him. He was the other guy.
The news ended and the ad for the UnAmerican Activities Hotline came on. George lingered, and turned the radio off. He wondered if his friend would mention him by name. It didn't matter. He was the last one, now. He drove on.
| 2017-02-17T14:17:58 | 2017-02-17T12:05:48 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high). | The screams weren't the worst part. No, the worst part was the shortness of them; the silence outside was almost complete, there was no hope, only a sticky note attached to the fridge in the break room, with the words "in case of emergency, call this number " and a normal looking phone number with an odd country code.
Airman Johnson was out of options and had left hysteria behind a while back; now she was just cold and detached. Might as well give it a stab; all her superiors were dead, and she'd always wondered whether the note was just a joke.
Her cell rang 3 times before being answered by a British-sounding man. "Who are you and how did you get this number?"
"Airman Johnson, US Airforce, it was on a sticky note on the break room fridge. Please help, they've killed everyone, I'm the only one left."
"Okay, slow down, who's killed everyone, where are you?"
"I don't know, they broke containment, they're some kind of bumpy trash cans, I'm new here. I'm in-" The airman was interrupted by the man on the line.
" Bumpy trash cans? Are you sure? How can the US airforce be so consistently *stupid*? Hang on, I'll be right there."
A loud, throbbing sound echoes through the office for a few seconds, drowning out the latest batch of screams, barely 100 meters away. A head pops around the corner and asks, in the same British accent, "Did someone call for a doctor?"
---
EDIT: some slight wording and corrected the rank | "Sir, we just got triple Aurhorization for a Level 0 Incursion. Call this number form this phone, and pray that his demands aren't too high."
Axel Gundersson III was handed the authorization codes, signed by the current President Winfrey and three of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, as well as the head of NASA. He frowned, then really *looked* at the person who had handed him this. Former General Petraeus had come in to Area 51 and handed him this. The general bowed slightly, before turning and striding off.
Avxel looked at the number. It was a 24-digit code in a Hexadecimal cipher. He typed in the code on his keyboard. The screen and lights flickered, hesitant to accept such a heresy from the input device. Then, in neon red and yellow the screen flashed its rage.
**CODE ACCEPTED**
*THE WHITE RABBIT COMES*
*ATTEND!*
Axel stared at the screen, bemused.
The screen flicked back at him. *KNEEL, YOU FOOL!*
Axel found himself pulled to the floor, prostrate become the coming items. He looked up, wondering what the hell was going on, and then...clarity.
What he *wasn't* expecting was the three men and two women who came through the screen, before it shattered. To the far left of him, came the image of Ming Na Wen, appearing as remarkably akin to Agent May from that show he liked. Stood next to Axel's kneeling form was Gandalf the White.
To Axel's right, stood Keanu Reeves armed to the teeth with small sidearms and four AR-15 rifles, as well as a long trenchcost and some stylish shades. To his right, a woman in full platemail armor, wielding a fine blade made almost of light.
And immediately in front of him, The Joker. Not as Axel thought of in the comics he read as a kid - but rather a much more lithe, sinuous snake, wrapped in a suit of madness and circus-horror.
The Joker clapped his hands, and the voice of a psychotic Mark Hammill sounded. "Let's get this party started, ladies and gentlemen! We have a world to save, and some FUN to have!" His maniac cackling led the five new people down the hallway.
Axel breathed again. "Hail Mary, fulla Grace!" | 2017-03-21T03:20:56 | 2017-03-21T02:18:07 | 121 | 23 |
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high). | "Sir, we just received the call from the Joint Chiefs. We've been upgraded to level 0."
"...fuck. Go to my office and find the green sticky note on my desk. There's a phone number on it. Send that number a text that reads 'Priority zero'."
"A text message, sir?"
"The guy on the other end, he doesn't...he doesn't really talk much. Send it immediately and let me know what his demands are."
"...this doesn't make sense, sir. The only thing he wants...is a crowbar." | I can actually answer this, having worked at the facility myself. The prompt isn't far off from the truth, there is an actual number to call when shit hits the fan. In my time there it was only called once, when one of the air force's bombers went lost comms following a dual engine failure. Not sure if it was carrying or not, but seeing as they called the number I'd think it probably was. It was a bit strange because we're normally a test facility, not ops, but some dude showed up (I'm really bad with ranks, I think he was only a colonel) and than bam, phones off the hook. Not gonna lie, I was pretty curious who picks up on the other end. I figure it's the president, but then why have the phone with us? It'd make more sense to have it with Edwards or something. Anyways, I found out later on the number dials a farmhouse in Kansas (?) but then we got a call from a telephone box in the big city from the SAME PHONE like ten seconds later from a telephone box in the city. It's never rung before. My boss picked it up and gave some details to the speaker on the other end, and that's it, that's all the interaction we had with it. Some reporters showed up from the daily news about a month later with some fuzzy details about the plane, but mostly strange questions about a man in a cape who they were saying allegedly saved the day. We chased them away. | 2017-03-21T06:25:13 | 2017-03-21T05:37:43 | 40 | 12 |
[WP] "The Young Anakin, Trained, he will be." Yoda said. Obi-Wan exclaims, "The council is in agreement then? I will train the Boy?" Yoda looks at Obi-Wan, "Mace Windu, his master will be." | Obi-Wan blinked. Then he blinked again.
"Excuse me? Did I hear you correctly master Yoda."
"Hear me well, you did, Mace Windu, the master must be."
"Why?" Asked the confused Jedi Knight.
"Vaapad." Mace Windu answered.
"Indeed, the boy is old enough now that the dark side will have a far greater pull on him than any of us, and Master Windu has proven time and again that he can resist his own darkness."
"Walk the line between light and Dark, the chosen one must, to bring balance to the force." Yoda counseled. "Achieved this, only Master Windu has."
Obi Wan captured his emotions, and calmed them, the council was correct. He was not ready to take a padawan, let alone one as talented and powerful as Anakin would doubtless become.
"I understand, master Yoda. I am not the right man to train him."
"None of us are, Obi Wan." Intoned Mace. "The power of the Chosen one, and the destiny that awaits him is too much for any one master, even Master Yoda. I will need your help, and the help of all the council in this endavor."
"Fear is not the way of the Jedi, master Windu." Cautioned Ki-Al Mundi.
"Fear, this is not, wisdom rather. Wisdom I should have forseen." Yoda countered. "Sith we are not. Alone we are not. We are Jedi, we will stand as one."
Obi-wan bowed before the council as Mace rose.
"Come, young Skywalker. There is no time to waste, your training must begin."
To be continued. | And with that, my vigorous training began. For 20 years, nonstop, thorough training. Every waking moment, and occasionally while I was sleeping, I was learning to use the force, to wield a light saber, learning the diplomatic traits of Jedi, learning our history, our order, everything. He taught me about the dark side, their history, their motives, their strategies, and their combat. He warned me that he's felt a disturbance, one that will end in tragedy if not found and extinguished. He warned me that those who wield the dark side of the force use deception, lies and trickery to coerce Jedi to do their bidding. Then the day came... I was a Jedi, a diplomat, a peacekeeper, a warden. The day after the initiation I received an invitation by the chancellor himself, but something was off... the way he spoke to me, it was like he knew me... but I went regardless, it was an invitation I couldn't turn down. He spoke of how he learned to use the force, how he learned to read the future, he warned me of a terrible tragedy that would befall me, that someone close to me would be murdered, and that he could give me the power to stop it, that he could show me the way to prevent disaster. I asked him to show me, to teach me, to help me prevent this tragedy. He asked me to follow him and turned towards a door in his chamber. I immediately opened my light saber into his back, and sliced him in two. My master, mace windu entered the room at that moment, he had sensed something off. He drew his saber and looked at me with cold determination in his eyes... I calmly set my light saber to the ground and told him the entire story, and we explored his chamber. We found massive archives detailing his plans and the dark side of the force, pinpointing all who were under his influence. Using the archives, we captured or killed all who practiced the dark side of the force. Those we captured, we attempted to convert. Some accepted the offer, others did not. The sith were exterminated and all knowledge of them was covered up or destroyed. I have grown old now, I sit in the council in the place of my master, who died in an unfortunate landing malfunction. All has been well and peace has been restored, but recently I've felt a disturbance, a chilling feeling that makes me uneasy... perhaps the dark side has arisen again? I must prepare, I've decided to take up an apprentice, a young boy, born in poverty, one who is adept in the force, one who needs a mentor... | 2017-05-24T05:19:39 | 2017-05-24T05:09:48 | 24 | 16 |
[WP] You sit on a bus, thinking to yourself 'Wouldn't it be amazing to hear peoples thoughts?'. A voice replies, 'It is'. | *"It is, it's extremely fun."* Replied a strange voice in my head.
"What was that?" I thought to myself.
*"Me, I read minds and can also communicate telepathically, I thought maybe we could have a conversation as you seemed interesting in the topic."*
I froze, I tried so hard not to think anything, I felt completely invaded. Was I losing my mind?
*"Hah, everyone thinks that they are going crazy when I do this, don't worry, you're not.*"
"Who are you?"
*"That doesn't matter, I'm in the bus but don't be afraid I'm just a bored guy who enjoys chatting with people telepathically."*
"Could you please leave me alone? This feels horrible" I was starting to actually lose my mind, you don't know how awful it is to know that you're being heard even in your safest place.
*"But, you just thought that it would be amazing to read minds."*
"Yes, I did but I didn't expect anything to happen," I said and I turned around to see if I could find anyone suspicious.
*"Hello, here I am, haha."*
There were only three people besides me in the bus and none of them was looking at me, how did he see me turning around?
*"Maybe I lied and I'm not in the bus"*
"Where are you?" I thought, desperately.
*"In your mind."*
"Stop messing with me please, I'm sorry.
*"Sorry, for what?"*
"I don't know but please leave me alone, please" I was slowly convincing myself that I was crazy.
*"Oh, I thought that you were sorry for the dog and the child that you murdered"*
I started crying and hitting my head against the window as I whispered: "please leave me alone, please,"
*"Reading minds it's amazing because I get to torture monsters like you, I won't leave until I feel like my job is done."*
The driver took an unexpected turn and three police officers got into the bus. "Sir, stop hitting your head, you're bleeding!"
I didn't stop nor I listened to them, I wanted that voice out of me. They grabbed me and took me to the hospital. He didn't stop until I was confined in the smallest room of a Psych Ward. I never knew if it was me or if it was actually someone else.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*"This are the perks of being a bus driver."*
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If you liked my story please check /r/chasisoxidado for more!
| I turned to my right, glazed eyes looked back at me.
"You're saying you can read minds?"
"mmm mostly but I prefer not to."
"Why not?"
"People's thoughts are nasty things, you don't want to be in your girlfriend's head as she thinks the bouncer could give her a better night than you. I normally have headphones on to prevent them, but like this, few drinks in, it's quiet, like murmur in a bar. You can hear everyone and no one."
He leaned back. As we passed through the notorious red light district, neon lights streamed through and shone on his face. A face that should have come to me sooner because it was plastered on so many billboards. This was Aiguo Bai, former chess champion. One of the only two humans to beat an android in the past 30 years.
What the hell was he doing in the back of a bus?
"Sometimes I travel incognito." Came the response. I hadn't even asked the question.
"Besides, ever since Hiran won the tournament people have pretty much forgotten me. That's life for sloppy seconds."
"Can you, read a machine's thoughts?"
"Yes but it's not thoughts it comes as something else. Like they are processing options removing one after the other until left with the easiest. It's not like the fluid process human's have."
"You need to come with me, at once." I said standing up.
"Why?"
"I think you're the only one who can help Hiran Dutt."
I called for the bus to stop. They pulled over at the next stage. Aiguo tried concentrating but in his state all that came back were images of Hiran in a catatonic state. I hailed a cab we sped in the other direction back to Blessed Rock Mental Institution. I didn't even need to show my ID until the main wing.
We got to room 303 where a single patient sat on his bed with Dr. Seris and two nurses checking vitals. I asked them to take a step back. Aiguo Bai looked at the only man who had beat a mindreader in a chess match; a clairvoyant. Gone were his flamboyant clothes and the smile of a man who could see one step ahead of the rest. Now in his green hospital clothes he seemed to be looking out window although night had already set in.
"This is how he's been for the past 3 weeks. Didn't you know?" I asked.
"I didn't, I've not been bothering with it for some time now."
Aiguo edged closer. Last time Hiran had disguised his thoughts thinking in Sanskrit which Aiguo didn't know. Now he could hear words stream out in English. Hiran's mind was unlocked and oozed out as a normal mind shouldn't.
Aiguo stared at his rival. He placed his hands on Hiran's temple and started to see through his day. "What did you see Hiran?"
"I saw the future, my friend"
"Show me."
I saw Aiguo's face contort, he then let out a yell before standing up. He turned to us still with a look of horror on his face.
"What is it?" I asked.
Instead of a response he placed his hands over his eyes and with yells of pain began to gouge his eyes out.
| 2017-06-01T09:04:05 | 2017-06-01T08:41:52 | 84 | 35 |
[WP] You sit on a bus, thinking to yourself 'Wouldn't it be amazing to hear peoples thoughts?'. A voice replies, 'It is'. | *It is.*
I frowned and turned to Blake. "What'd you say?"
He removed his earphones and mirrored my frown. "Huh?"
"Did you just say something?"
He blinked. "Uh, no? I mean, don't think so?"
*Behind you, buddy.*
I whirled and scanned the rows of seats. The other students were on their phones or chatting with each other. Linda Wong met my gaze, raised an eyebrow, and turned her attention back to her book. I flushed and sat back down.
"You okay, man?" Blake said with a little laugh.
I scratched the back of my head. "Yeah, I'm alright. It's just..." I sighed. "Nothing."
*Weird, I know. Try doing it again.*
"What again?"
"What?" said Blake.
*Try* thinking *again, kid.*
"Oh..."
Blake snorted. "You're, like, high or something."
"Definitely not," I muttered, then: *Like this?*
*Like that. Cool, eh?*
*More like bizarre.*
*Well, that too. You get used to it. Thoughts get clearer. Pretty soon you won't be emitting that girl's face so often.*
My heart did a pirouette. *What are you...?*
*That one girl. The oriental. Now you're picturing her smiling, and falling on top of a white, silky bed-*
*Okay, who are you? What are you doing in my head? How is this even happening?*
*Relax. You'll be in the know, in time. Just take a minute. Breathe. Familiarize yourself with my voice. You'll be hearing it often.*
It was an adult male's voice, clear and tinged with amusement. Clearly, he wasn't on the bus, then. The driver was female and everyone else were kids. I swallowed.
*Isn't this a major violation of privacy?*
*Definitely. But hey. You wanted it, right?*
*Well...*
*Trust me, it's a real blessing. Consider yourself lucky your genes are the way they are.*
*My genes?*
*Easy to track once you've come of age. It's like a lighthouse, all those thoughts, swarming about your head.*
I closed my eyes. *Maybe I'm dreaming, maybe I fell asleep and this is all happening in my head.*
*Of course it's happening in your head, Isaiah, why on earth should that mean that it is not real?*
I blinked, and said aloud: "You just Dumbledore'd me."
Blake nudged me on the shoulder. "Dude, what is wrong?"
*Precisely. Now go talk to Linda about your mutual love of those silly books. Catch you later, Chosen One.*
Ahead, the light switched to green. The bus shuddered and lurched forward. I looked out the window to see a black sedan ease by, with the back window down. A pale man with dark hair and an immaculate cut and suit tipped his sunglasses to throw me a quick, casual wink, and then he was gone. | *It is*, I heard, straight into my head, like my own voice, but not-that strange inkling that you've heard it before yet it's still so foreign to you- and I whipped my neck around, startled.
*It is*, the voice repeated, *quite amazing actually. Like over there, that man, with the hat. He's thinking on blowing up this bus at... Haroldson, yes, Boulevard? It's not more than ten minutes. I highly suggest that you get off quickly, if you want to live... which, I hear that you do. If you incite a panic, you'd probably get trampled and he'll set it off early besides.*
The adrenaline rushes through me like a gale and I shoot upright in my seat. I scan quickly, and yes, there, with the blue hat and jacket too bulky for this time of year...
*Don't be so obvious, he's skittish as a cat already.*
I drop my eyes and look around to see who it is that's thinking at me, right into my head...
*He's getting ready you know, tick tock.*
The muscles in my back tense. *What- should I stop him? I have to stop him! All these people will die!*
There's a faint *hmm* sound. *No, not really. Worst case scenario is half a dozen folks. Not more than a dent, really, if you look at it objectively.*
*There's children on this bus!*
*What, you mean the one that pushed that old lady aside to sit in the front? Whose yelling isn't being quelled by her good for nothing mother? Really? This is what you're going to use this for? You don't even know these people.*
*It's the right thing- I need to do something.*
*Yeah, save yourself. Live to fight another day and all. Do you realize what it is that you can do now?*
*How- for fuck's sake...*
Someone reaches up and pulls the cord to have the bus come to a stop. I glance quickly at the Man and he's looking straight ahead, calm, but I can see his forehead is shiny with sweat.
*I chose you.* The voice says, apropos of nothing. *I mean do what you want, but things like this come with strings. You can get off now, with me, and I'll explain, or you can stay here and quite possibly die.*
There's a handful of people standing up to leave-
*Fuck, fuck!* I get up and make for the exit. The bus slows and I hear the hiss of the pneumatic breaks. I watch the heads in front of me. Whoever is thinking at me doesn't make a show of it.
*Of course not,* I think. *Don't want to draw attention.*
*Now you're getting the hang of it.*
I look to the Man again. He's a sad sort, down on his luck by the look of it. Dirty and with the air of regret hanging on him like a shroud.
*Goddamn this place. Goddamn this system. Take my money. Take my life away. Fuck- fuck these people. Fuck it all to hell. They didn't do shit for me- might was well die. Might was well take them all out...* I see the muscles in his neck stand out as he grits his teeth.
*Do you see? Some people can't be helped. He's way in too deep.*
Out of the corner of my eye I see him take off his glasses to rub his eyes.
*How did it even come to this? Christ what am I doing? Shit shit I wish someone would stop me please... God... No, no I'm going to do this. If it's one thing that I'll ever do with conviction-*
And I step off the bus.
| 2017-06-01T14:23:23 | 2017-06-01T14:14:49 | 18 | 12 |
[Wp] The scariest thing in Hell isn't the endless halls of torture, the demons, or even Satan himself. It's the sweet old lady living in the cottage in the middle of a lake of fire. | An uncomfortable silence hung in the air as Satan continued staring out of the cathedral style windows of his office. You wouldn't think Satan could be sullen looking out of this deliciously mockingly adorned office, yet there he stood glaring at that damn cottage. I took a moment to appreciate the craftsmanship that had gone into perfectly recreating the feel and look of a church inside the tallest tower in hell.
"If you keep that up they'll have to replace the windows again..."
I tried to put some joviality into the words, but Satan just exhaled through his nostrils loudly and kept glaring. The window was actually starting to turn slightly incandescent, and I worried I'd end up having to fill out the paperwork for yet another surface trip to replace the fine crystal.
"You know you could talk to her."
Satan was suddenly standing over me. He hadn't moved, he had just stopped being there and was instantly here. I hated when he did that, and I still couldn't figure out how he did it after 40 eons.
"You don't ever tell me what to do Cain."
I swallowed the lump in my throat and stood up, forcing myself into the uncomfortably small space he had left between us.
"Yes I do, I do it all the time. So quit acting like a mopey child and go talk to her. What's it been, 39 eons since you said anything to her?"
"Forty two thousand and 16 years to be exact."
His red eyes were glaring into my forehead with such intensity I started to sweat, and yet I could feel the temperature in the room dropping as his anger burgeoned. Well the worst I could suffer would be another couple eons on the wrack, or digging holes and filling them back in. Satan really liked punishments that were completely pointless, since he had figured out a long time ago those punishments broke people the fastest.
"Father's balls I hate you humans."
Satan was back at the window, standing in the same spot as before just like he had never moved. I searched for the small amount of steel left in my spine and resolved to find out more about the occupant of that cottage before he decided he was bored of my company again.
"You could just pop over there you know. It's not like that lake of fire would even hurt you. It couldn't even stop you."
"...Except it can. And it does. And every year it grows just a little bit larger."
My mouth dropped open. This was the most he's ever said on the subject since the first time he had tripped up and told me the cottages resident was a woman he had only spoken to once. I walked over to the window and looked at the lake of fire closely for the first time in a very long time.
"I'm damned, I never noticed it was growing... what do you mean it could stop you?"
A snapping sound pulled my gaze to the right and Satan's horned visage was now glaring down at me from over his left shoulder. Creepy bastard loved pulling exorcist shit ever since that damn film had made it down here from upside.
"It isn't my domain. I didn't put that lake of fire there, she did."
"...but. What? How?"
His head snapped back to the front with another cringe inducing cacophony of crunches. I swear he couldn't have that many bones, he must have been adding it for effect.
"Hate. I hate you humans, as you well know, and I hate my father and my kin who turned against me in the end, and that is what sustains my domain. Hatred is what I push into the world of man in order to grow my dominion. I am the origin of hate, but she... she hates everything in existence. I didn't understand when she first fell just how much hate there could be in a human soul."
"Wait. I thought I was the first human soul here?"
Satan made a sound that was caught somewhere between a dying man's death rattle and a broken man's sobbing wail. His version of a laugh.
"No. Not by far. Many of your kin committed lesser sins which let me into their hearts, and eventually dragged them here. You just committed the first murder within father's precious flock, the second real sin in his eyes.
He tapped one of his long fingernails against the crystal, pointing at the cottage in the middle of the lake of fire.
"She committed the first sin. The only sin that could damn your entire race in the eyes of our father."
The pieces clicked into place in my mind, and I stared with a newfound horror at the small cottage in the lake of fire.
"Eve?"
"Just so. And every moment since she first fell in that spot the lake has been growing. Slowly but inexorably devouring more of my domain."
"... what happens when it reaches the edge?"
I noticed a flickering in the corner of my eye, and for an instant I saw Satan as the angel he had been before the fall. Beauty and masculinity incarnate, severe and yet awe inspiring at the same time. The horns, scales, armor, scars, fur, fangs, hoofs and all were gone for the briefest of moments, and in that moment I saw something I had never expected to see, fear in the eyes of the devil.
"I don't know."
It turns out the worst punishment in hell isn't a punishment at all, it's knowing what the devil is afraid of. | 'Tea?'
I was standing by the window, twitching the curtains and looking up at the pale clouds and the blue sky. It didn't make sense. None of it. I was resigned to being dead -- I didn't *like* it, but there wasn't a lot I could do about it now -- and I had even made my peace with being in the Bad Place, but I had seen just what Hell had to offer. I had heard the screams. I knew the rumours. If even one percent of it was true, I was *not* going to be in for a fun time -- especially after what I had done.
But here I was, in the middle of what could easily have been a countryside cottage -- except for the surroundings, of course. Rolling fields of green spread out as far as the eye could see, but off in the distance I could still make out columns of thick black smoke pouring out of cracks in the earth. To be honest, I was grateful for the distraction. When I turned around, the old woman was bringing a tray in from the kitchen. 'Sorry?'
'*Tea*, dear,' she repeated slowly. 'Would you like some?'
'Oh. Sure. Thanks.'
She beckoned me to sit down across from her at the table, and reluctantly I did. *Just wait*, I told myself. *It's some sort of trap. It has to be. Give her a minute and she'll grow claws and teeth and wings like the others, and that'll be that. Just another trick, to lull me into a false sense of security.* Well, I wasn't going to fall for it. I might have been stuck here, but that didn't mean I needed to make it easy for them.
The woman opened the packet of biscuits and laid them out on a plate, decorated with tiny pink flowers. 'They're nothing fancy,' she said. 'Just custard creams. I prefer bourbons myself, but...' She shrugged. 'They're not easy to come by around here.' I took one, and gave it a cautious nibble. It tasted a little stale, but I'd had worse. *Is that it?* I thought. *That's Hell? Dry biscuits and a chat with an old lady?* Someone had really oversold it, if that was the case. It would have been hard to imagine *that* making its way into Catholic dogma.
'So,' she said. 'If we're going to be here for a while, why don't you tell me a little about yourself? How did you end up here?' She paused, and a look of worry crossed her face. 'I'm sorry,' she said. 'Was that rude of me? I didn't mean to pry.'
I pulled my sleeves down as far as they'd go. 'No,' I said. 'It's OK. I'd just... rather not talk about it, if that's all the same.'
'Quite,' she said. 'The less said on the matter, the better. Plenty of time for that, when you're more comfortable. If I'm honest, I don't know quite what I'm doing here either. I always thought I led rather a *good* life, personally.' She gestured over the mantelpiece, filled with photos: souvenirs from decades and decades, mementos of a past. 'I suppose you never can tell, eh?'
'Looks like it.'
'You like them?' she asked, following my gaze. 'I have plenty, if you'd care to look them over?'
'I'm not really much for photos.' *I never really had many people to take photos with.*
'Oh,' she said. 'Well, I thought it might be nice, that's all. I don't get much company. It's so wonderful just to be able to *talk* with someone again. Especially a nice young thing like yourself.'
And so we wiled away the afternoon together, looking at album after album. What else was there to do? She told me about her husband, Thomas -- dead ten years now, but oh, what a man he had been! So strong, so brave, and what a dancer! She told me about their kids, Daisy and Paul, and their kids, and *their* kids -- four generations, from Tess, who was studying to be a doctor ('So proud...) to tiny baby Tommy, named after his great-grandfather, and what a shame it would be that she wouldn't be able to watch him grow up. She told me about her job teaching, and the hundreds of students who had passed through the doors of her classroom. She told me the joy she felt when one of them remembered her years later, hearing all about how they'd enjoyed their time with her growing up. She told me about her favourite books, and the holidays she had taken, and the paintings that filled her home. ('You know, I never so much as picked up a paintbrush until I was seventy-five, but I can't *believe* how much fun it was. If I'd known that, I would have started years earlier.')
And then she told me how she'd died -- ninety years old, at home in the cottage she had shared with her husband, with friends and family at her side. She told me about how she had smiled even as they cried for her, wiping away their tears, safe in the knowledge that her work was done and they'd be fine without her. Sad, for a while, but fine in the end. What more legacy could you ask for than that?
The scars on my wrists burned hot and raw beneath my sleeves. They had healed over long ago, leaving ugly marks, but I could still feel them itching. I'd hoped that they would have stopped by now, but maybe that was just part of it. Maybe that was just the cost of doing business. Maybe some decisions stuck. *Must have been nice*, I thought, *to die like that, surrounded by your loved ones. Not bleeding out in a bathtub, scared and alone.*
'Were you happy?' I asked.
'Oh, yes,' she said. 'Quite happy.'
And then, at last, I understood why I was here. The worst torment I could have imagined.
The life I might have led.
_____
I'm back, baby! If you liked this story, you can find more over at /r/Portarossa. | 2017-07-04T10:35:15 | 2017-07-04T10:33:36 | 443 | 81 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat. | "For your own safety, you seriously should've let me complete that ritual." The shackled villain protested as the hero pulls her to a carriage.
"You were gonna sacrifice 27 virgins, Theia, I'm not gonna let that slide." The hero replied as he lead her into the carriage and locked the door behind her.
Theia sighs as she quickly broke through her shackles, "I'm serious, Vall!" She yelled at the hero who's walking away, "That thing will probably kill you!"
"You severely underestimate me!" The hero replies as he heads back to the cave with 27 virgins, "You of all people should know how skilled I am."
"Yeah, skilled enough to just barely survive a minotaur attack!" Theia exclaimed but Vall was already past earshot. The villainess sighed as she makes herself comfortable in the carriage. Between the fights, banter, and sexual tension, she knew he wasn't gonna listen anyway. "Why am I even doing this?" She thought to herself; perhaps she was still grateful to him for giving her some much needed free time, perhaps she felt like assimilating his power was still too soon, and after a while, thinking about all the villains she delayed, she smiled, "Nah, it's just fun having him around."
An explosion resounded as the mountain side gave way to a giant wolf like beast with Vall tossed into the ground, his magical armor and shield cracked from what happened. The beast reared back its head and fired a blast of magic into his direction. He stared at the blast as his body refused to move and, in a heart beat, A magical force field appearead with Theia in front of him. She giggled as the field easily diverts the blast, "What? I thought 'I severely underestimated you', Vall." She said with smug look on her face.
"Don't get me wrong. He just got me off guard." Vall smileed as he forced himself back up, "Besides, you know I'm just getting started." He glowed with magic power repairing damage to his weapons, armor and body.
Theia giggled at the sight she had seen multiple times before, "You one trick pony." She dropped the force field and readied her magic, "Fine... I'll help you just this once, Vall. I'd rather not have you killed."
"Just don't get in my way, Theia." Vall replied with a smirk as the two stared down the beast in front of them.
| The cuffs tightened around my wrists and the glowing blue orb was strapped to my chest. Thought the darkness leaving my body wasn't the only deep emptyness inside me. Sucker punch was her "hero name" but I knew her real name was Susan Brownlee. Of course I did, she was the love of my life and so it only made sense that I knew everything thing about her and now was the 153rd time I have let her defeat me. My powers were unimaginably stronger than hers but I wouldn't dare kill her, I get in just enough trouble so that for a few minutes her hands manipulate mine and strap on all this security and I'm close enough to smell her lavender-lylac shampoo. As the armored anti-super police unit drags me to the modified APC to transport me to some new and improved containment unit I catch her talking to the police chief, her blue eyes unphased by the atrocities I committed and her hair roughed up just enough to make her even more devilishly sexy. After the doors to my taxi are shut I look out the slit window for one last glimpse of the most beautiful human alive and my eyes are greeted in horror.
A green ooze is dissolving the cheif and Susan is pinned to the ground by a disgusting hag with 4 legs and 6 arms. Brood Witch. Instinctively I look the cuffs around the handle on the bully steel door and tug, my hands rip clean off and I thrash around until the blue orb that strips me of my powers shatters, a terrible design but us villains vowed to never exploit that for situations that are dire, we wouldn't want escaping made harder would we? As soon as the orb cracks my powers return and a black mist swirls around me. My hands are back and slice easily through the door with a tendril so dark no light can escape. I fling myself toward my love and Brood Witch impales her with a glowing green spear of disgusting energy. I immediately lash out with everything I have: tendrils, my arms, my teeth. I tear Brood Witch apart with the wrath of the pure evil inside me and within moments the bitch though of as one of the most powerful of the evil supers was a twitching pile of blood.
I run to Susan as her would dumps her mortal blood all over the concrete of downtown New York, green stains around the wound show me how bad it is. But there is nothing I can do, I scream for a paramedic or something because my darkness cannot heal wounds on those other than me. All I can do is hold her and try to stop the bleeding. She looks me in the eyes with utter confusion, for she thought I was her arch nemesis and wanted her dead. But before we can exchange any words her eyes droop shut and I can feel that a powerful soul has slipped into the void. But rather than the jolt of energy that I get when a hero dies, the mist surrounding me and the tendrils I hold her with blink out of existence. Before Susan's lifeless body can hit the ground my hands begin glowing with divine light and no longer have I any desire to cause chaos, but now the parasitic thoughts that drug me to the top of the criminal ladder are screaming at me to kill ever villain who dare dream of ripping life away from this beautiful world.
Sorry is super ameteur, I though I had a good idea but I'm a terrible writer so feel free to critique me. | 2018-01-27T16:53:11 | 2017-09-17T04:37:24 | 58 | 14 |
[WP] A superhero in a skintight and revealing costume is facing off with a rather old fashioned and classy villain. The baddie in question is more bothered by the hero's shameless clothing rather than the foiled plans. | From beneath the comforting fabric of her black robe, Nocturne sighed. This had to be her third museum heist this year already, and it's not like there were that many museums to pick from. At this rate, she'd have to start stealing from the Musical Instrument Museum or the History of Dairy Museum soon.
Still: the display of Incan Relics at the Museum of Indigenous Peoples was worth the risk of repeating oneself. As a bonus, the artifacts were valuable enough that people would assume she was stealing them just to re-sell them, never guessing her *true* purpose.
Nocturne adjusted her burnished metal eye-mask, scanning the room carefully. After she was done here, she could do some banks, maybe try a government building to shake things up. She was getting to a point where she had her legacy to think about, after all.
Nocturne approached the first display case and carefully rolled down one of her elbow-length gloves, sliding it off and folding the black silk in her hand. She delicately placed a carefully manicured finger on the glass and waited as obsidian waves emanated from the point of contact. She felt the resistance give way as the surface changed to dark ether, then casually reached in and grabbed the ceremonial headdress waiting within.
Her cloak rustled as she turned on the heel of one of her knee-length boots, moving on to the next relic. Just as she was about to lay her hand on the case, she froze.
Garish fluorescent lights began flashing around the walls of the room. A rich, baritone voice behind her commanded, "Stop right there, evil-doer! You have been caught red-handed by Lieutenant Kernel."
Nocturne groaned. "That is, hands down, the *worst* name I've ever heard," she called out, still not moving, "and keep in mind that I've faced off against *Fry Guy* and someone who called himself *Montezuma's Revenge*."
"Divulging your evil plan will not help save you from my technological might, villain! You are about to get a one-way ticket to Justice Town!"
At this, Nocturne turned around, a fiery retort on her lips. Whatever she was about to say, though, ended up coming out as a quiet "What in the actual f--"
Standing before her, arms akimbo, legs shoulder length apart, was...she actually wasn't quite sure what she was looking at, because the colored lights she had noticed earlier were sweeping across her vision.
"Listen, would you mind...turning those off? I think you're going to give me epilepsy if I look at you much longer."
Lieutenant Kernel frowned, then brought a forearm to chest level and touched some buttons on a small control panel there. The lights turned off. "It's cyan, magenta, yel --"
"I don't care. At all" Nocturne interjected.
There was an awkward pause as her eyes adjusted to the dim lighting in the museum. The hero broke the silence: "I wield the power of a *computer*! Now, I will use my technology to turn on the lights - without using a switch!"
Nocturne shook her head. "Look, kid, let me give you some -- holy hell what is *that*?"
Lieutenant Kernel had turned 90 degrees, aiming his wrist control at the wall, and then paused. "What is what?"
Nocturne had not noticed in the low light before, but now that the hero was in profile...
"Are you - you can't...is that a *codpiece*!?"
The hero looked downward, then back at his foe. "I don't...think so. What's a codpiece?"
All that was visible of Nocturne's face beneath her hood was her mouth, and it was currently contorted in horror. "You...that's *you*? Good God! Get...get...some compression shorts, or a...a cup, or...duct tape? Something. *Anything*."
"Ha ha ha! Your attempts to distract me will not work!" He clicked a button and light flooded the room. Nocturne screamed.
"Ahh! It's even worse! Where is the rest of it? Why are you...did you shave your *abdomen* but not your *legs*? And...are those...are those *nipples*?"
Lieutenant Kernel shifted awkwardly as he looked down again. He had a molded breastplate that left his midriff bare, like some sort of medieval sports bra. The lights were mounted on the shoulders. Below the waist, he was wearing tight - extremely tight - shorts, and they were definitely short. He looked like a basketball player from the early 80's. For reasons that Nocturne could not fathom, there was nothing from his mid-thigh to his lower calf, leaving his hairy legs exposed.
"What?" he frowned. "I made it myself!"
Nocturne's lips were now closed tight, the corners of her mouth twitching. "You...don't say." She looked him over again, cocking her head to one side. "Oh...oh, honey, no. What's on your head?"
"It's a fedora. Why?"
Nocturne's body was shaking with barely repressed laughter now. "But...what's on top of your...fedora?"
"It's the energy pack! I couldn't figure out how to strap it on myself without it burning me. See?"
He turned around and showed his bare lower back, which was marred by an ugly, rectangular welt.
It was too much. Nocturne threw her head back and the empty museum rooms echoed with the sounds of her cackles. Lieutenant Kernel's eyes were wide as he stared down at the floor. "I need to power my unit somehow," he said quietly.
"Your UNIT!" Nocturne shrieked, tears running freely down her face. "To be honest, I think your *unit* has plenty of power already! Oh...oh...I think I peed myself a little. Your unit!" She continued laughing, dabbing at her eyes with the glove she had removed earlier. "Okay, kid, I...I can't take this anymore. I'll go with you if you promise to never go out in public dressed like this ever again."
She had mostly recovered but every now and then something would set her off and she would lapse into a burst of giggles. The hero gave a somber nod, his face tight, and escorted Nocturne out of the building.
* * *
/r/ShadowsofClouds | Tracy Stewart wanted nothing more than to leave the date she had been preparing for weeks to stop good ol' Dr. Nefarious. She even shaved. Luckily, as Dr. Nefarious' usual nemesis Atomic Man had to stay at home to watch his grandchildren (more like they making sure he didn't wet his pant), Tracy could look forward to spending the rest of her life alone.
Two and a half hours later, Miss Vortex destroyed the final machine in Dr. Nefarious laboratory. She had expected to unleash her fury upon the old scientist, but was more surprised of how indifferent she felt. And to that, she was scared. Scared that she no longer fear loneliness. Scared of living more for the public than for hersef. Scared that one day she would be full of regret, that the world would remember all of Miss Vortex and none of Tracy Stewart.
Her train of thought was cut short by the coughing of Dr. Nefarious, in his grey fur coat and a classy wooden cane. The man, before she could do anything, reached for his closet and threw her a trenchcoat.
"Put this on for Christ's sake! Have you no shame?"
"What are you--"
"Back in my day even prostitutes had more manner than you do! Did your--"
The man paused for a bit, a sadness rose in his gaze. He sat down, sighed.
"You're a orphan?"
"Wha--? No! My parents are still alive." - Tracy gasped at the comment.
"Then they should be ashamed of themselves, raising you to dress like that! I swear, that piece of outfit can't even be called a rag. And they call you a hero? What's the world coming to? I can't even imagine you being a role model for anyone. Back in my times Atomic Man even had to eat broccoli in front of the nation to promote healthy diet, and he hated the damn vegetable so damn much. That's a real role model I tell ya. The poor guy after taking so much hitting couldn't even swear. 'Bad language' they said. And now what? The newest superhero, what is he called? Lil' something? He smoked weed in front of the camera man! Madness."
"Enough with your time! The world changes, grandpa! This is fashion!"
"Ooh, so this 'fashion' you speak of, what's the next trend? We go back to being naked like cavemen? Great! They have already started painting on walls!"
"You don't know anything about me!" - Miss Vortex shouted, her eyes teary - "You don't know who I am in real life! I never get a chance to dress up in my 9-to-5 job, I never get so much as a glance from a man! I just want to be special, even if nobody knows who I am beneath this mask!"
"Our little princess' crying! When I was young, being special gave you a ticket to gulag. You know what gulag is? You better don't. And I know your generation's 'special'. It means your picture takes away five seconds and a Like of an unknown stranger. How superficial, a society where women sell out their bodies like whores."
"You... You..." - now she was really crying. Unable to make a come back, she mumbled between her hiccups - "You...know a lot...about social...networks..."
"I did an attack on them once." - the doctor shrugged his shoulders - "And your generation gets offended by just anything. 'Oh look at me, I am a certificate-less, job-less human waste working at McDonald and my opinion stands above mankind's and I'm never wrong'. You worship false gods under the name of Equality and Liberty. Back in my days we fought against real tyrants. Hitler, Stalin, Mao Zhedong,... I even have a piece of the Berlin Wall back home. Villains and heroes battle for ideologies so great your genderly-challenged minds could not comprehend. Sadly, all good things come to an end..."
Slowly, he raised an arm toward her. Tracy, clearing her tears from her face, asked.
"What?"
"'What'? 'What' my wrinkled ass! Help me get up. I'm surprised your grandparents haven't disowned you already."
"My grandparents are dead."
"Better than being alive with a granddaughter like you."
Still, Tracy let the old man leaned on her for support and guided him to his car. Along the way, Dr. Nefarious talked joyfully.
"My son's coming home tomorrow. If I get back now I could set him up for a prank and still get enough sleep so that he wouldn't suspect. Let's see, for this year I'll--"
"You have a son?"
"Three sons and five daughters. Thirteen grandchildren, about to be fifteen."
"I never thought a villain like you would have a family."
"Villany is my passion, but there is more to life than just passion."
As Dr. Nefarious about to get in his car, Tracy asked abruptly.
"How can you manage to have both a private life and doing this? I mean, I barely have any time for myself."
The old doctor thought for a bit, then he told her in a less sarcastic voice.
"Value yourself."
"That's it? That's the secret?"
"No, but you'll live, and if you're lucky, die, with dignity."
"Dignity won't bring me love, or a man, or a family."
"There is more to marriage than just love. I didn't love my wife when I married her."
"You didn't? Then why..."
"She was old for an unmarried lady, I was older. We didn't want to end up alone. Over time, I learnt to love her. But not your kind of 'love', not the kind that hurts your heart and clouds your mind. No, such is an fluttering flame, and you cannot build a family, or anything, on so unstable a foundation. You must love in a sense of commitment, in the belief that you want nothing more than a good meal everyday after work, a bed to sleep on and an environment where your children could be safe. That's what you started with, and so on. You do not marry for the sake of happiness, you marry hoping you two would spend the rest of your lives together, watching each other backs, no matter how that life could be boring or uneventful. And you hope, in the unlikely event that one of you dies, the other could move on. It's like the commitment between man and dog."
"You're comparing man with dog."
"And who is to say mankind are more noble than the canine? The point is, you start a family by living less for yourself, not more. Just like being a hero. But your generation doesn't understand this, you opt for divorce instead of trying to change yourself. The youngsters always say that the world changes, but they refuse to change to keep the sacred vow under the witness of God. How ironic."
Tracy Stewart stood dazed, trying to absorb the rambling of the old doctor. When the man started the engine, she tapped slightly on the window.
"Are you sure you can drive safely? I mean you couldn't get up on your own."
Dr. Nefarious raised an eyebrow.
"You want to continue talking?"
Tracy nodded, and Nefarious opened the door.
"I'll drive."
He said firmly, although on the road back they didn't speak much. Dr. Nefarious didn't care, and Miss Vortex didn't know what to talk about.
But Tracy, yes, Tracy Stewart, was invited to the birthday party of a certain old man's granddaughter that night. | 2018-01-11T10:03:19 | 2018-01-11T09:26:02 | 249 | 117 |
[WP] You die, become a ghost, decided to explore space, and then you met a ghost of an alien. | It took Hector a full six months to forget about the laws of physics. Then, with nothing more than the ethereal threads on his back, and an incorporeal journal to record his findings, Hector set off for the stars.
Ten hours of forceful floating later, approximately fifty miles past the Karman line, Hector made his first real discovery. There it was, a giant blob of a jellyfish, distinctly waving at him, beckoning him to come closer.
“Over here, come say hello!”
“What the… how… are you…”
“Yes,” said the jellyfish, “I’m a ghost, just like you!”
“I suppose you are communicating with me… through my mind…”
“You’re not that bad at telepathy yourself,” said the jellyfish. “Can you see where I’m from? Here, take a look.”
Hector did, and peered into the creature’s mind. He glimpsed a planet far away, hidden behind a succession of stars which had thus far shielded it from human eyes.
“That’s my planet over there, Nauon.”
“Why, I should try to make a stop there myself! I’m on a journey, you see. I’m going to explore the whole universe!”
“Oh, you wouldn’t like that. Trust me, best that you stay here instead. Hang around a bit, enjoy the peace and solitude up here, then head back to Earth.”
“Why would I do that?” laughed Hector. “Unchained, I can take in sights never before seen by anyone, revel in the secrets-”
“The thing is,” said the jellyfish, “you wouldn’t be the first. There have been others like you, you see. We come across them from time to time, when we float through space.”
“What do you mean?”
The jellyfish waved its tentacles. “See, I wouldn’t expect you to know this. But all spiritual manifestations, like ourselves… we lose more and more of our sanity the further we drift from our homeworlds! Go too far, and then you’re reduced to nothingness, less than even the hazy storm of energy you are now. That’s why I’m here. I’m here to warn you before it’s too late.”
Hector laughed again, harder this time. “Why, I wouldn’t mind that at all! For centuries I’ve roamed Earth, and frankly, there are only so many people you can haunt before you tire of it all! Yes, I would like to see this planet of yours, and any others there might be! And if I should so dissipate, then so be it!”
“No, wait, you don’t want to do that, really. See, when you-”
But Hector had already floated off, after knocking off the sharpest salute he could muster. The jellyfish flubbed about, its tentacles flailing as it tried to hold Hector back. But phantasms rarely have any hold over other phantasms, and the jellyfish’s desperate overtures did little to hold Hector back.
In seconds, Hector was already a sparkle in the distance, speeding towards the nearest star which had taken his fancy.
The jellyfish sighed, then touched its tentacles to its head. It concentrated, found the right ethereal wavelength, then delivered its report.
“Human Spirit No. 22 has not been persuaded. I repeat, Human Spirit No. 22 has not been persuaded. Another one has broken free of the containment net. Time for Plan B!”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| An Afterlife Amongst the Stars
--
It's a strange sensation dying. I thought it would hurt, or would at least feel like something, perhaps just like falling asleep, but no, it just happened.
I was alive. I died. And then, I was dead.
That was it, just a very strange sensation and I was dead, but then somehow it all just got stranger.
...
I was never very religious, never thought much about an afterlife, or heaven, or hell, and never believed, in even my most spiritual moments, in ghosts and as such was just expecting a blackness, a numb and empty expanse. To be honest, I was actually expecting nothing, just a pure, unending nothing.
But then I woke up.
I was floating, looking down on myself as I lay there in bed, looking somewhat peaceful now, looking almost like I was asleep, eyes shut and a smile on my lips. It took a moment to understand that, but as the truth hit me and I realised I was dead, it was somehow a lot calmer than I thought it would be, and acceptance came quite easily.
I drifted then, up from my body, and my life, as I left it all behind and up further through the skies and through the clouds, my house becoming just a square in the mass of my town, my town becoming just another speck overwhelmed by the rest of my country, my country just a small bit more of green on a great blue ball.
I stopped for a moment, then, floating in a great expanse of blackness, looking down on all I had ever known, on a planet called Earth, that, for once, seemed peaceful, calm and still.
And I turned away, there was nothing left for me there, in that place I once called home.
…
I don’t know how long I drifted for, as I danced among the cosmos, wandering through great clouds of iridescent dust, drifting past supernovas, watching as stars were born, lived and died. I watched as life grew, blossoming from a small little planet I recognised from a memory I could barely remember, to spread its own way across the great expanse before it. And I watched as life fell, as the lights they built slowly went out, as the stars surrounding them burnt out into great dark holes and swallowed all they could take hold of.
And I watched as a new life formed, so different from those that had fallen, so different from what I had forgotten being.
I watched, and I watched, for what could have been an eternity, until *She* came and distracted me from my endless entertainment.
It could well have been eons, but for me it had passed by in only a moment, and I could only long for more.
…
But *She* had come, and now she stood before me, floating amongst the stars the same as me.
"Who are you?" Her voice echoed across the empty celestial void, but she had not spoken, not in any way I understood.
But when I answered, I realised neither did I. "I am-"
I did not know, I realised as I attempted to remember.
Once I had been a Man, at least I thought I had been. Once I had lived a life, I had loved and I had laughed, and I had hated and I had cried. I had lived, and I had died. But that all seemed so far away now, and I was no longer whatever I had been then.
For a moment that may have been a lifetime I was afraid. What was I now?
"The same as me." Her voice sounded beautiful, and she sang out across eternity.
I looked at her, and saw past her form, so different to anything I had ever known, so strange and so alien, to see an echo of who I was behind her eyes.
"Yes," I said without speaking, unsure of what else to say.
But she didn't seem to notice, or if she had, she didn’t care, for she took my hand in her own, and embraced for eternity.
…
And so, we moved on, drifting further and further through the infinity of an endless sea of stars.
---
Thanks for reading, and if you have any feedback, advice, thoughts, or anything else (the good and the bad), please let me know.
Cheers, Dylan | 2018-03-27T07:18:02 | 2018-03-27T04:57:14 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] Two minutes ago, every individual worldwide swapped bodies with another random person. You are now standing in a foreign city, in the midst of a confused and frightful crowd. | The screams were the first thing I noticed. The screams and the raging infernos spread across the streets. Despite the chaos, hundreds of people around me were gazing in shock at their surroundings. Some blathered on in languages I couldn't understand but recognized, some were even sobbing uncontrollably.
As for me? I was certainly confused, heavily confused, amazingly confused. Yet at the same time my burning curiosity broke through instead and I gazed around. When I looked towards the ground a pair of intelligent bright green eyes greeted me. Beside them, a pair of bright blue.
Two small toddlers, clearly no older than 5, gazed up at me. I blinked. They blinked. They surprisingly said nothing. After a few moments, one of them tilted his head. "Oh hello." A clear posh british accent. I bit my lip, as bizarre as it was I couldn't help but find those words coming from a child, small voice and everything, being pronounced so clearly as anything but funny.
The other child, looked around, then back up at me.
'WHO THE FUCKING FUCKITY FUCK ARE YOU? WHO THE FUCK AM I? WHY DO I SOUND LIKE A FUCKING CHILD?" After letting out a scream and grasping his head, he ran away.
The other child let out a small hum, "That was certainly interesting."
I snorted, "I'll say," my new voice was melodic, sweet, and almost dream-like, something airy and untouched. "Oh..." I muttered, "Well that's certainly interesting." My gaze turned downwards to the mounds that were on my chest. I'd seen bigger of course, but they were there.
"I'd find your repetition of my statement amusing, in fact I still do," the toddler responded, "but something tells me you mean who you are."
"I do," I answered, musing, "I wasn't female before this."
"I think I'd find myself in a panic if that happened," the posh toddler responded. "That, or, rather non-public things would be likely."
"I was never so attached to myself, so this is most certainly interesting," I mused with a small smile.
"Indeed..."
The large screen above me, it was blatantly clear this was likely New York, blared momentarily and a person appeared. Hillary Clinton of all people.
"MY FELLOW AMERICANS," she started, "I KNOW THIS IS A HARD TIME, BUT AS YOUR PRESIDENT, DONALD TRUMP, I ASK YOU BE CALM."
"...You think he knows?" I asked the british man in the child's body.
"It's likely, but the irony certainly isn't lost." | Pale white men dashing rampant across unfamiliar streets. A blonde woman looks onto me and screams in a tongue foreign to mine. The ground shakes and trembles to the repeated footsteps of 6 billion human creatures stomping away in unison. It's like the beginning of a low budget zombie apocalypse movie, with every blink I see a new image of horror taking in its glorious moments in the frame.
I am pushed to my knees by the running crowds and I hurriedly scramble for my glasses, but they are not there. I reach to my face but my nose is not bearing the weight of blunt plastic and layers of glass. I suddenly realize I do not them as I can see vividly without. My moment of epiphany is interrupted by another nudge that puts me closer to a pool of fresh crimson blood shimmering in the midday summer heat, and in that glazed surface I see my reflection, of a face that is not mine. I stand up as sweat trickles down from my collar bone to my pelvis only to hear the deafening cacophony of thousands of people screaming at once. I look up only to see the Santa Maria Del Fiore (a famous construction of the Renaissance age), even in the dreaded moment, it is a thing of beauty.
Last thing I remember before the after mentioned screams of horror, is running from my car to my house in my calm, uneventful British town of Bath. I had lived there almost all my life and the blackout that happened 3 years ago was the most important event in the town's recent history. I cannot remember how I woke up in the harbor of the Renaissance, Florence. To my dismay, everyone around me in a kilometre radius is as appalled as I am, some more than others. I watch them attempt pitiful ways to communicate only to be misunderstood as each was speaking a different language. It takes little time for the inevitable to happen, the realization that all consequences have been rendered obsolete, that everything is for the taking. Cars begging to be stolen, stores anticipating the pillaging, and the women vulnerable to the plunder. No law, no punishment, it is a dream come true to our inner most subconscious instinct embedded into our human fiber. It takes a little push to turn a shaved ape into his true prehistoric undomesticated chimpanzee form. Even chimpanzees would shudder as they witness what I witness. A popular apocalyptic concept I always thought to be overestimated but was apparently undermined as I realize no movie could express the real shrieks of women screaming for help, the blood trails painting the earth, the humane character terminated.
I wasn't going to let this opportunity be left behind. I pick up a large stone, bash the person ahead of stealing a Ferrari Testerossa left on a narrow street, break into the car myself, wipe his blood of my pale white shirt, and put my foot down all the way. Bodies fly off either side the car as I ram into them 100 Km/h, I watch them try to aviate mid-air only to meet the cold unforgiving ground beneath them. In a few seconds I leave behind tens of bodies, most only bearing little resemblance to their former shape. I could feel a man's skull crushed as I take in my time, savouring the precious seconds to roll my front wheel over his forehead. The wheel reaches its pinnacle, comes to an abrupt stop, and then meets the ground once again through the man's brain as it becomes a liquid cast on the asphalt.
"Well" I think to myself "when in Rome...or Florence for that matter."
| 2018-04-26T17:53:47 | 2018-04-26T15:42:33 | 363 | 19 |
[WP] Two minutes ago, every individual worldwide swapped bodies with another random person. You are now standing in a foreign city, in the midst of a confused and frightful crowd. | They really weren't kidding when they said New York was a large city. I've always wanted to visit the big apple—but not today, not like this. Just two minutes ago I was on highway 101 driving home from work; A blink later, well, I found myself like this, right here.
The first thing I noticed was my new height. Though I wasn't very tall before, I now found myself at least a foot shorter, having to look up to the towering skyscrapers and the frantic people running around me. Oh god, what was happening? Where was the highway, where was my car? What is going on? It was then that I saw a red BMW jerk off the road and crash into a fire hydrant on the sidewalk; suddenly, a cacophony of sounds erupted. People—no—everyone, began to panic.
I rubbed my eyes; just what kind of ridiculous dream is this? And that was when my hand graced my hair. It felt different. Very different. The once-electric black spikes were now replaced by golden curls that cascaded down my back, and my hands, oh, my hands, were now small and dainty. The nails glistened under the darkening night sky as I examined them, and I figured they had some sort of polish rubbed on top. THIS ISN'T THE TIME TO BE THINKING ABOUT THIS! I felt a gush of panic as I pushed away from the thought and placed my hands in front of my breasts and felt them jiggle under my crimson dress.
OH GOD OH GOD OH GOD! I froze, in a desperate attempt to do something, anything, I ran forward only to fall and trip on my high heels. I jolt of pain went through me, but surprisingly cleared my mind. I was a woman now—a woman wearing a tight dress, lost and confused amidst the crowd in New York. From the look of it, this didn't just affect me. Everyone's body was swapped, their souls ripped from their bodies and stuffed into someone else’s. I avoided thinking about my own body and how I was driving at 80mph before I swapped. Then, suddenly, the screams and wailing grew silent. People around me stopped running and looked up at the sky, despite the chaos and hell that still surrounded us, so I did too; there, imprinted between the stars, was a large projection that was written in comic sans:
Dear humans: hopefully you have realized by now that your body has been swapped. This is justs your friendly neighborhood alien scientist conducting an experiment regarding the consciousness and physical body. Enjoy your "out of body experience" while it lasts. And remember DON‘T PANIC! | Pale white men dashing rampant across unfamiliar streets. A blonde woman looks onto me and screams in a tongue foreign to mine. The ground shakes and trembles to the repeated footsteps of 6 billion human creatures stomping away in unison. It's like the beginning of a low budget zombie apocalypse movie, with every blink I see a new image of horror taking in its glorious moments in the frame.
I am pushed to my knees by the running crowds and I hurriedly scramble for my glasses, but they are not there. I reach to my face but my nose is not bearing the weight of blunt plastic and layers of glass. I suddenly realize I do not them as I can see vividly without. My moment of epiphany is interrupted by another nudge that puts me closer to a pool of fresh crimson blood shimmering in the midday summer heat, and in that glazed surface I see my reflection, of a face that is not mine. I stand up as sweat trickles down from my collar bone to my pelvis only to hear the deafening cacophony of thousands of people screaming at once. I look up only to see the Santa Maria Del Fiore (a famous construction of the Renaissance age), even in the dreaded moment, it is a thing of beauty.
Last thing I remember before the after mentioned screams of horror, is running from my car to my house in my calm, uneventful British town of Bath. I had lived there almost all my life and the blackout that happened 3 years ago was the most important event in the town's recent history. I cannot remember how I woke up in the harbor of the Renaissance, Florence. To my dismay, everyone around me in a kilometre radius is as appalled as I am, some more than others. I watch them attempt pitiful ways to communicate only to be misunderstood as each was speaking a different language. It takes little time for the inevitable to happen, the realization that all consequences have been rendered obsolete, that everything is for the taking. Cars begging to be stolen, stores anticipating the pillaging, and the women vulnerable to the plunder. No law, no punishment, it is a dream come true to our inner most subconscious instinct embedded into our human fiber. It takes a little push to turn a shaved ape into his true prehistoric undomesticated chimpanzee form. Even chimpanzees would shudder as they witness what I witness. A popular apocalyptic concept I always thought to be overestimated but was apparently undermined as I realize no movie could express the real shrieks of women screaming for help, the blood trails painting the earth, the humane character terminated.
I wasn't going to let this opportunity be left behind. I pick up a large stone, bash the person ahead of stealing a Ferrari Testerossa left on a narrow street, break into the car myself, wipe his blood of my pale white shirt, and put my foot down all the way. Bodies fly off either side the car as I ram into them 100 Km/h, I watch them try to aviate mid-air only to meet the cold unforgiving ground beneath them. In a few seconds I leave behind tens of bodies, most only bearing little resemblance to their former shape. I could feel a man's skull crushed as I take in my time, savouring the precious seconds to roll my front wheel over his forehead. The wheel reaches its pinnacle, comes to an abrupt stop, and then meets the ground once again through the man's brain as it becomes a liquid cast on the asphalt.
"Well" I think to myself "when in Rome...or Florence for that matter."
| 2018-04-26T19:52:42 | 2018-04-26T15:42:33 | 61 | 19 |
[WP] It's a known fact that you are incapable of telling a lie. This has landed you several opportunities, including your current job as Head of Security at one of the largest banks in the world. Except you got bored and decided to rob it all. This is the story of how you got away with it. | "Excuse me, detective? Are you suggesting I robbed my own bank?"
"So you now claim to own the bank, not merely work there? Your colleagues are under the impression you're unable to lie, Ms... Hansome? Am I pronouncing that correctly?"
"Yes, you are. And of course they're under that impression, I have a condition. Made my life in school very difficult, let me tell you. But the boss liked having a security chief that couldn't lie to him, so the pool of candidates was rather small. You'll need to warrant to get my medical file for proof of that, I'm afraid, my boss doens't want that getting out."
"So assuming I believe you on that, it says here you were one of the few people present in the building during the heist. What was it that you were doing?"
"Ah, I'm afraid I can't answer part of your question. Most of it would fall under my NDA, so you'll have to talk to my boss for that. What I can freely answer though, is that I was doing the job I was given. On a normal day, that ranges from checking the status of the different security systems, reviewing the performance of the guards, trying to find flaws in our existing security system and petitioning the board for an increased budget to spend on improvements. On bad days, I'll be doing a lot of paperwork. I'm fairly sure most of the office would say this was a bad day."
"Well, you could have had a profession as a lawyer with that answer."
"Oh no, you forgot my condition. I've heard you have to be able to lie well to be a good lawyer."
"Right. So let me get this straight. On the day of the heist, did anything happen out of the ordinary?"
"Well, for one, the alarms went off. That doesn't normally happen. When the Head Teller opened the vault, a whole bundle of cash was missing. That's also pretty extraordinary. But I suppose you're asking about if the things went strange from my perspective. When the alarms went off, I set in motion some plans I had made with my team, which would allow us to complete our objective. In case you don't know, the guards objective in case of a robbery is to subdue and arrest any would-be criminals. I've instructed the guards with different routes they have to follow, which minimise the ability of unprepared criminals to escape the scene. Unfortunately for the bank, the robbers seem to have been prepared for these tactics. I'll have to set up an internal investigation to see who could have leaked them that information. Do you have any other questions?"
"Yeah, just one. If you had to guess, who would you say leaked the information?"
"I'd really rather not say." | The air of the interrogation room was humid and stagnant. I wobbled back and forth on the chair's uneven legs and drummed my fingers on the cold table in front of me. The fluorescent light swung and flickered casting shadows on the otherwise barren walls of the interrogation room. The door swung open and two police officers walked into the room. One wore a conman's smile and held a steaming mug in either hand and approached me while the other stood sentinel at the doorway.
As if there were any point in running away. If I left the room I’d have to cross the bullpen...Out of the frying pan and into the fire.
“Coffee?” the officer asked, taking a seat across from me and sliding a steaming mug across the table. The foul bitter smell of the dark brew caused my nose to crinkle.
“No thank you. I don’t like coffee” I said, pushing the mug back towards the officer.
“Can I get you something else then? Tea? Water? I think there’s some soda left over from McDunagh’s retirement party last week. Probably flat though…”
“I’d like to get this over with so I can go home if it’s all the same to you,” I said interrupting him.
“You’re Head of Security for Global Bank. Is that correct?” he asked, pulling a notebook from his breast pocket. He pulled the cap off with his teeth and spit it onto the table. I leaned the chair back and silently prayed it wouldn’t bounce over to me.
“That’s correct.”
“How long have you been working there?”
“As head of security or in general?”
“Both.”
“I’ve worked security in the bank for the past five years and was promoted to head of security two years ago.”
“Were you aware that the bank was robbed on the evening of April 25th?” he asked, scribbling something in his notebook.
“Yes. I was the one that called the police the morning after.”
“But you never saw the robber or robbers?”
“No, I was off\-duty at the time.”
“You didn’t think to check the security cameras?”
“I did but there’s been a problem with them for nearly two weeks. I reported the problem...but no one from corporate has bothered to return my emails”
“What’s the issue with the security cameras?” he asked, raising his eyes to meet mine.
“I’m not really tech savy. I couldn’t tell you the problem,” I said, rubbing the back of my neck in embarrassment. I took pride in my job but the technical aspects went over my head.
“To the best of your knowledge what’s the problem?” he asked.
“The cameras will see everything but the footage isn’t being stored on the servers”
“So, if the cameras see everything. How is it that the guard on duty...Mr. Thompson,”
“Thomas,” I corrected. His smile broke for just a moment before chuckling.
“How was it that Mr. Thomas didn’t see the robbery taking place?”
“It must have happened when he made his rounds. There are blind spots in the camera so we have the guards do rounds every hour or so.”
“Thanks for your cooperation. One. You weren’t involved in the robbery were you?”
“Do you think I’d be coming into work if I had that kind of money?” I asked, chuckling and rising to my feet. “If you need anything else. Call me” I said, handing him my business card. We made our pleasantries as he led me out of the station.
Just a few more years of toiling away at this job. Then I could retire, with the generous pension that I had given myself. | 2018-05-03T07:18:24 | 2018-05-03T07:00:04 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] When you’re 28, science discovers a drug that stops all effects of aging, creating immortality. Your government decides to give the drug to all citizens under 26, but you and the rest of the “Lost Generations” are deemed too high-risk. When you’re 85, the side effects are finally discovered. | I leaned forward in my recliner, imploring the volume to rise from the TK implant. It wasn't real telekinesis but marketing teams thought it was cool to call it that. The retirement home seemed quieter than normal.
Everyone was tuning in.
The news cycle for the past few weeks had grown worse. People going missing then. Mass disappearances. Wild fires raging globally. Strings of arsons. Several space stations had even had catastrophes. Even on Mars there were occurrences.
And no one taking credit.
As the reason was revealed, I was glad that I never had kids.
The Immortals, essentially every one to be born since the anti-aging drug's release, were a literal ticking time bomb.
It artificially restored telomeres through chemical means but it seemed to eventually fail in a catastrophic chain reaction.
People gooified. Then the goo reduced to base elements of oxygen and hydrogen, then the spark of phosphorus hitting air. Spontaneous combustion.
The failure rate was 100%. There was no way to prevent it once the body reached a tolerance to the drug.
It was even transgenerational.
People were frantic to call family. I dreaded reaching out to a friend as the news started to go to talking heads who's youthful faces perspired fear.
The poor bastards. I let a slow breath, trying to not get worked up.
It was bad enough to have family die to it. Seeing young and vital people die after getting so advanced years resonated in me. My bitterness and regret at being aged out had long dried up. It was wrenching to hear the sobs from the nurse's station from the Immortals that took care of us. Poor Gina, she was nice. My lips drew tight as emotions began to well in me.
There were so few not on the drug, few brave enough to age and face oblivion. But the majority of them were the fundimentalist Christians who thought it was wrong to "play God." There were a few in the home. They were self-righteous and ignorant. Often a case of sour grapes more than a devotion of faith.
When the calmly smiling, pastor-slash-pundit appeared in my Holo-Screen and declared it "Rapture." I knew his face all too well. I had interned with the pharmaceutical company that made the drug during my biochemistry degree all those years ago. Funny how an R&D head could be born again. He was a self proclaimed Malthusian, which translates readily to immoral capitalist often enough. He had the CEOs ear because they were in the same fraternity.
I had disliked his sliminess then but I suddenly loathed him and his Evangelical helmet hair.
My chest began to seize with an extreme pressure coinciding with a terrible revelation. The nurses where too deep in sudden existential dread to care about my alerts pinging their implants. I tried to calm myself. Desperately and in vain. But I was old and my body couldn't take the burning implication in my brain.
The bastards had given a faulty drug but they had a plan. Now that people would live long enough to care that the Earth was fucked. Sweeping legalisation had pulled us from the brink of extinction. People had an infinite future so the made damn sure there was a lot of it.
The only issue was population. With no one dying it would grow exponentially.
They had solved that alongside global warming.
I prespired, I gasped. My chest felt like a collapsing star of pressure and straining pain. I was just too furious to control myself.
The pastor spoke as my vision and body grew distant as I was sucked down the tunnel to oblivion.
But I still saw him so clearly. His eyes delighted, his lips curved so smugly, "... And the righteous will live on in His Name through this time of Trial and Tribulation." | *"I wish I knew what I know now, when i was younger." - Rod Stewart*
Civilization is strange. Always tinkering with things. Hell, some jackass had to give himself small-pox just to cure small pox. This was long ago of course, but it stands to reason, people just can't leave well enough alone.
So, when Harold found himself at his familiar drinking hole, this very thought almost made him fill his depends.
"So, did you boys see the news?" Jeremy asked. Jeremy was a bastard of a man. Once a brawny lumberjack of great height, who had shrunk a considerable deal over time, and was now of normal height. Harold always assumed this was because cause trees naturally weigh more than people.
"What!?" Leonard of Downey Street yelled. The old man had forgotten his hearing aide again.
"I SAID DID YOU SEE THE NEWS?" Jeremy yelled.
"Oh! I find the Jews to be a very nice people." Leonard said softly while taking a swig of his pint.
"No. Not the Jews... I mean, yes. They are kind, a little complainy from time to time, but they seem well intentioned. You see, when I was a lad, we had a Jewish fella what lived down the..."
"What about the news?" Harold asked. Sometimes it was important to keep these older chaps on point. They were pushing mid-nineties. A lifetime away from where Harold sat at 84.
"What news?" Jeremy asked.
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"Jeremy was talking about the news Leonard, yah deaf bastard. Where is your hearing aide?" Harold asked. Leonard was essentially the anti-American Express ad for hearing aides. *Never leave home with it.*
"Mildred must have hid it from me. You know she can be sneaky like that." Leonard said, using a rather selective hearing method.
"You gentlemen need another drink?" A waitress had popped up seemingly out of nowhere. But, to be fair, anybody walking at a brisk pace was seeming to pop up out of nowhere for Harold these days.
"Jesus! What are you trying to do? Give me a heart-attack!?" Yelled Jeremy.
"Jeremy, if i wanted to, I could have given you a heart attack a long time ago honey." The young waitress said.
"Oh, you vile temptress." Jeremy said, "Alright, put the next round on me."
"Why thank you Jeremy." Harold said.
As the waitress walked off, Jeremy eyed her up and down, "Oh, if I were only 60 years younger."
"Then you'd still be ten years too old for her you ancient bastard." Harold said, which spawned a laughing/coughing fit from Leonard.
"Ah, whatever. You young bucks don't know what it's like to be my age."
"What!?" Leonard yelled.
"I'm only ten years younger than you." Harold said.
"Well, the difference between 84 and 94 is like the difference between young Philly and a dead horse. Hell, when I was your age, I was running marathons and could bench three hundred pounds."
"Hah! I loved Family Matters." Leonard chimed in.
"Jeremy, I knew you when you were my age, and you were just as decrepit as you are now." Harold said.
"Well..." Jeremy took time to think of a comeback, which in terms of a heavily medicated 94 year old was much like watching molasses swallow a city. "You should mind your elders."
"That Urckle was hilarious!" Leonard said.
"Ah. You got me." Harold somewhat admitted defeat. It wasn't that he felt he should respect his elders. Hell, he *was* an elder, but it was a good way to drop the subject. Especially with Jeremy. "Anyways. What was the news?"
"Oh right! The news!" Jeremy shouted.
"Your pints gentlemen." The waitress popped back in.
"Ye gods woman! You need to wear a damned bell!" Jeremy exclaimed.
"Right." The waitress put the drinks on the table and walked off.
"You know, if I was sixty years..." Jeremy began.
"...Yes. Yes." Harold interjected. "Anyways, what did you see on the news?"
"Oh yes! The news. So, remember that drug that kept all those little bastards young?" Jeremy asked, as if there was any way to forget the anti-aging drug.
"Yes. I remember."
"Well, it turns out it gives you stage 4 lymphoma! HAH!" Jeremy brought a fist down onto the table in exultation.
"Ye gods."
| 2018-06-04T21:18:49 | 2018-06-04T21:07:17 | 135 | 25 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | “Nobody’s spoken that language in thousands of years.” Whispered the cashier, dropping my McNuggets. “I thought I was the last one! I can’t believe there’s more survivors! I mean, you skin is a little more pale than I would expect but who cares? Follow me, we need to talk!”
“But my McNuggets” I said
“Don’t worry, I’ll make you however many nuggets you want if you come sit and talk with me.”
I shrugged and decided I would entertain this guy. I wasn’t really listening to what he was saying but I wanted to entertain this little crazy man. We sat down in a small booth far away from anymore McDonalds connoisseurs and he started to talk.
“So, how did you escape? What do you remember? Are there more like you and me out there?”
“Look buddy I have no idea what you’re talking about, escape from what?”
“From the earthquake of course! What else would I be talking about?”
“There was an earthquake? What language are you hearing right now exactly?”
“ATLANTEAN OF COURSE!”
Now this threw me back.
“What? Atlantis is fake my guy.”
“Well then why are you speaking fucking Atlantean?”
“I’m not, I’m just talking! What happened in ‘Atlantis’ that I should be worried about, hmmm?”
A look of sadness and remembrance came over his face.
“Well I’m from there. Over 1000 years ago my island was swallowed by the ocean. Earthquakes, fires, tsunamis... they plowed over my island and I was lucky to have been on a traders ship outside of Atlantis’ main port.”
“What makes you think I’m going to believe you?” I said, actually quite curious now. Either he was a good actor or telling the truth.
“Well, Atlanteans live forever unless killed, and since I’ve been around for that long I have some pretty neat stuff back home that might convince you.”
“As long as you get me my fucking McNuggets.”
________________________
________________________
Hey r/WritingPrompts , long time lurker first time poster here. I left a lot of plot holes, I know. But the first thing I thought of was Atlantis and I wanted to do something with it. I have an idea for more of this story but my formatting and the gaps between my dialogue made me cringe too much to keep going.
Don’t tear me apart pls | Oh, here we go again. The pale, skinny, tattooed, creep behind the counter was freaking out, whispering, shaking, stammering, "nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." So, of course I had to screw with him a little. "Well, obviously you don't get out much." "Now, how about my Big Mac, or do I talk louder?"
I had no idea what the sewage spewing out of my mouth sounded like to him. Nor did I care. When I wished for this, I didn't think of the consequences. But nobody ever does, do they my *little* *Jin*? It was all so clever at first, math to mathematicians, Hindi to Lyft drivers, a little Telugu, Yue, and Hiligaynon here and there. Happy times for the attractive, magical hyperpolyglot. But not for long.
Who knew there were so many weirdos in San Francisco? Not foreigners, they're not weird. I mean the real freaks: aliens, time travelers, walking dead, the "ancient ones," demons, angels, Jin, and of course, the endless vampires. And that's exactly what I had on the other side of the counter. Working the night shift at a McDonalds. Don't they all? And that skinny little psychopath was getting ready to jump the counter and rip my face off.
Maybe screwing with this one was not exactly the right idea. I lowered my voice. "Listen dear, I just want a Big Mac, fries, and a chocolate milk, and I'll be on my way. Nobody will know, nobody will ever care." "Oh, and could I have some *extra* c*atchup*?"
That didn't seem to work. His eyes were changing colors faster than last week's gay pride parade, and he was developing a serious overbite. I was getting further away from my Big Mac, and closer to a stainless steel bed at the morgue. So, I did it. I didn't want to do it, but time was of the essence.
He didn't make it over the counter. My vampire, the assistant manager, the old woman running the takeout window, and the pimply fry boy, exploded like boxes of rusty detonators stuck inside pigs.
"Go to Hell" in English is rude, bitchy, and ineffective. But when shouted using the filth those freaks speak, it was a curse that was *extremely* *imperative*.
Maybe I'd have better luck getting some Chinese, after I went home and cleaned up.
^(--- Edit --- Thanks to) [^(t)](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/132536.Robert_G_Barrett)^(he late Robert G. Barrett for the bit about detonators. -- More edits -- because that's what we do around here.)
Continued at: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8tqase/wp\_you\_are\_walking\_down\_the\_street\_and\_realise/e1av1qo](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/8tqase/wp_you_are_walking_down_the_street_and_realise/e1av1qo) | 2022-06-29T16:29:01 | 2018-06-24T21:27:25 | 647 | 165 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | The cashier in front of me froze, his eyes narrowing. I'd read books where the author described someones eyes as being calculating, but I thought I could actually see him doing math. Weighing variables, probabilities and even analyzing a threat.
"Care to repeat that?" He asked, though it was more of a command. His previous, jolly personality gone, replaced by a flat sheet of the coldest ice. It was unnerving.
"I, uh, I said I'd like a number one meal. Large. Are you okay?"
He stared for a second more, then his jolliness was back, the ice melted.
"Of course. Coming right up. Will that be all?"
"Uh... Yeah. That's it." I swiped my card and sat at the table to wait. As I ate my burger, I could feel his gaze in my back, even while he helped other customers. The burger tasted bland as I ate it as fast as possible, so I could get away from this strange man.
I had put it all behind me when I pulled up to my house, ready to relax. Coat abandoned on the floor for tomorrow, I sat and turned on the TV, beer in hand.
"Kind of you to join me, Kaitlyn."
I jumped to my feet, spilling my beer on the couch. "What the fuck?! Who are you? Why'd you follow me?" He sat cross legged on the armchair, unnoticed until now.
"I'm afraid I will be conducting the interrogation today. You see, you are speaking a language that's not only dead, but extinct. No one should know of it, save myself. The fact that you even know *about* would make me shudder in fear if I were capable. The implications alone make me consider if killing you now would be for the best. I offer you a rare opportunity in my line of work. A chance. How do you know how to speak English, and how did you follow me through The Gate?"
My brain had decided to call it quits, and to be fair, shock is a helluva drug. This man was talking about dead languages and gates. He put a lot of emphasis on his mention of the gate. I didn't know of any gate. I'd never even heard of English. Of course, I knew he was just hearing me speak in his native tongue, but the fact that he said no one but himself should know of it was throwing me off.
I must have paused too long because he sighed and began to reach for a long, steel blade. "Wait, wait, wait! Hear me out. I have a special power. I can speak and understand any language. People always hear me in their native tongue, so that's what's happening, you're hearing me speak English. Please don't kill me."
He took his hand off of the blade and nodded to himself. "I see. Yes. I will not kill you."
"Oh, God. Thank you-"
"You will be most useful."
Everything went black. | The man behind the counter froze in the middle of typing out my order. They looked up at me wide eyed and said,"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." Sounding somewhat surprised.
That night, standing in the empty 24/7 McDonald's of our small desert town, it finally happened. The thing that I had been waiting for for my entire life, and had a feeling would happen eventually.
"Shit. You're an alien?" I said more worried about making a good impression than running away.
They responded with a look of 'are you kidding me' before dryly stating "what else would I be?" and they quickly regained their compsure.
I was struggling to hold back my enthusiasm.
They did not seem as amused by the encounter and they were actually starting to get concerned. "Uh... Is everything alright there? You look like you are about to piss yourself." They went back to typing.
My mind ran at a thousand miles an hour, as the cashiers words flew over my head.
"Oh my God! Is the name on your tag your real name? How'd you get here? Wait how long have you lived here? I mean in this town not just, you know, on the planet. " This went on for about half an hour. It stopped when the cashier stuffed a burger in my mouth while I was lost in the nervice tidal wave.
They said a single word " Eat." and that was that.
I sat down at a table and began to nibble away at my fries. The cashier disappeared around a corner for a minute or so before returning to sit across from me. The taste of food suddenly reminded me that I had forgotten to have lunch and dinner that day, due to getting cought up in fixing my car's engine.
He sat down with the chair facing backwards to so he could lean forward with out touching the sticky table. He said "I don't know what the deal is with you, but I am going to have to ask where you learned to speak like that. Because you are obviously just one very confusing human being."
While going to town on the burger I said "don't know. I was sort of born with this weird super power to communicate really fucking well. Almost like mind reading but without the mind reading. I honestly don't know what language I am speaking in most of the time unless somebody either tells me or they say something very specific to that tounge." I stop to drink a sip of soda. The cashier, whom I just then noticed had 'Stanly' on his name tag, showed a visable confusion drawn on to his face like a sudden migraine. He muttered something. He muttered 'God damn it, Jax I told you not to go sleeping around.' I think. Muttering isn't an exact language. Stanly sighed and asked "would there by any chance be a rumour in your family that somebody anybody met an alien?"
I finnished off my burger not fully grasping the situation, "Not that I know of. Why?"
Stanly mumbled to himself again and said " I don't have any easier way to break the news to you, kid. Someone in your family line has... engaged in some cross breeding."
I choked on my drink, "what?!"
Stanly continued "Your powers are a knockoff version of my races abilities to process information."
"I just thought I had autism."
I guess this was not Stanly's best night. He paused to figure out what to say next.
He then hesitantly said " I wouldn't... rule that out entirely. The weight of this really doesn't seem to be, um... Regestaring correctly."
I gave an understanding nod an said "Ya, that tends to happen a lot. I'm getting better though." (I only realised two days later that I had been drinking my soda very obnoxiously. )
I drank some more of my sprite.
Stanly tried to get back on track. He said "Right... How would you like to meet your something far back grandfather?"
| 2022-11-14T01:20:47 | 2018-06-24T20:39:44 | 163 | 41 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years." | "oh, I'm sorry, I actually don't understand you. I have a condition that only allows me to speak your language, not understand it."
"what? So... You're not here to destroy this reality?"
"yeah, sorry, don't understand a word. You would not believe the issues it causes"
"thats good because I'd have to kill you"
"can I just order?"
"yes sir, sorry about that, what can I get you?" | "Hey thanks, I hope you have a good afternoon"
The swirling void took me by surprise, really. The crimson red eyes of the cashier, not so much. I'd seen it before, I thought. Glimpses and glances, really; bad punctuation as a coda to the overbearing sentence of ordering a Whopper.
"We don't sssserve Whoppers," she hissed, hissingly. She was a she. And she didn't like what she heard.
The tail hadn't struck my eyes, but now it was striking my face. In a very feminine, demonic way at McDonald's. I thought about all the times I'd made children smile with a wink, a nod, an utterance I barely understood in a language I must have butchered around the world. Airports, ESL classes, daycares... something had always touched me.
It was too late though. The room melted away like guess on an SAT analogy I'd glazed over. Never enough time. Never enough time.
A feminine body curled snakishly and femininely atop me, a forked tongue darted in and out, the sound a hiss but the words I heard:
"If you 'Go Looking' for your Lovecraft book in the ball pit again I'm calling the fucking cops." | 2018-06-24T21:11:48 | 2018-06-24T21:01:01 | 39 | 20 |
[WP] A medieval village makes a human sacrifice to a werewolf that lives in the woods every year. This year they picked you, which is very awkward considering you're the werewolf.
Edit: Wow, did not expect one of my posts to blow up this much. I'm speechless. | A sigh.
It was the best reaction I could muster, and it did not fit the role of the dying. My mother and father had been trying all day to console me, to apologise for their role in the yearly lottery, as though they could’ve felt my name about to be chosen and stopped the inevitable. I did not blame them— I could not blame them for circumstances out of their control. The blame would be pointless, as I would be relatively unaffected by the lottery.
I could not deny the fact that I was woefully unprepared to embrace the full responsibility of an adult werewolf, and the prospect of playing the part of a surprisingly resourceful tribute whose cunning and quick legs rendered him safely back from whence he’d been sent was not only risky, but would doubtless bring more trouble than it would erase. No, I would have to move on from my hamlet, driven from it by dumb luck of the draw.
I was grateful to them for their years of tribute; do not think I had forgotten their sacrifices. But when a person, no matter how beastly, has become accustomed to a village’s sympathies, compliance, and charity, it is hard to let that go without some form of disappointment.
My father had offered me his very best suit, his only suit which had not been worn to the point of near-transparency, but I had politely declined it.
“I shall exit this world as I came into it, Father,” I had told him. “When I’ve reached the cover of the wood, I shall leave my clothing behind, folded neatly. I should like my sacrifice to remain as devoid of evidence as possible, for Mother’s sake.”
“Thank you, son,” he had said, the tears pooling heavily in his eyes so that it was a wonder they did not spill over. Should they have spilt, it would have been the first time in all my years that I had witnessed my father cry, but they did not, so his record remained without blemish.
The day had slipped through fingers idly grasping at time, slender appendages half a world away running through sand as a lover might comb through a tangle of hair. I was detached from much of the goings on in the town, knowing that this was to be my last night living as a child to my parents. I had not locked myself in my room, but had kept mostly therein, where I sat at my desk, scribbling down what I thought would be an apt farewell. I crumpled each attempt and by the hour I was meant to depart for the wood, I felt I would have nothing to leave my parents as a parting word.
My father came up to my room, and as I heard his footsteps coming up the stairs, I hurriedly threw the crumpled pieces of parchment into the furnace. He could see I was distressed and told me the wagon was ready to depart. He left to wait in the wagon, and I wrote down my final attempt at a farewell.
I had been in the wagon on this road out of our village many a time, but this last was the longest and most quiet. Neither my father nor I seemed to be able to come up with something good to say, so we said nothing as the fading light of day stretched itself thin across the sky, its reds and golds exhaling their last as the dusk grew dim.
At the edge of the wood I bid farewell to my father; a simple wave, and I was off into the trees. I left my clothes as I had promised, my final note tucked in my shirt pocket. I stood in the darkening wood as a hard breeze blew, my goose-pimples rising with my hair. This would be my last time as a man in these woods; if ever I were to return, it would be as the wolf I was about to become.
I thought about the journey I would have to take into the world beyond my village, and I as my skin shifted into the pelt of a wolf, I howled mournfully, longingly at the moon, hoping my words would be enough:
“Remember me as the boy you raised, and never from your hearts I’ll stray
For though time chose to part us now,
We’ll meet again in the woods someday.” | The hardest part of being chosen, other than the part of being a human entree, was saying goodbye to the village. It was a slow, lonely, shamble to the altar on the woods, where kids would want to hug you and cry, but staved off in fear. For me though, it was the acting.
"Thank you for allowing yourself to the beast! We will never forget you for protecting our village."
Once he was done with his noble speech, he turned and allowed the villagers to have their last words. Along came running down a beautiful young girl, with a sweet charm.
"Daddy, why do you have to go!?" She screamed.
I turned to her, and stroked her hair. "Sorry sweetheart, he demands it to keep us safe."
Along came eve, and I was placed on the altar, and bound with rope. The servant said nothing, and averted his gaze when I tried to meet his.
As I lay, waiting nightfall, I thought about the speech. The Lord's words were somber yet shallow. As night came, the rope snapped in half as my teeth became fangs, and my hands were padded and furry with razors on each digit. It was a haze when this happened, and it called upon old memories.
It was a stormy night. A Mother from a cottage outside the walls was leading her daughter away as a snarling, unchained, beast came after them. Frantically, The mother shouted at the gates,
"Hurry open the door, A devil's chasing us!"
Soon, I was already nearing the manor, spotting the iron that locked it.
Back at the gates, on that night, the metal rattled until a pompous man stepped out to a tower.
"Diana, what do you need to wake me up at this hour"
"Lord Edgesworth, Please let me and my daughter in, there's a cursed wolf on his way"
He saw the beasts eyes, and he sat there for a moment, and he backed away into his marble estate.
The woman pleaded, "Please! Please! Please! Let us in! Let us in.."
but there was no response.
It neared the gates, with each claw driving on instinct, and the beast leaped towards a ledge, unsecured, for no man could jump that high. Soon every guard was alerted, and defying animalistic survival instinct, I rushed towards the glistening manor.
---
Panicking, as the wolf grew closer, The lady hugged her child at the iron bars. Crying tears, she gave her child a slow kiss on the forehead.
Looking at her daughter, she whispered "Hazel, sorry for leaving you. Be good, I'll always be with you."
With her last seconds, she squeezed her daughter through the thin gap, only passable by a child.
Soon the beast was on her, and the shredding and gnashing of skin and bone could be heard though the whole land.
"Mama!" Yelled the daughter, as she was taken away by guards inside.
She was nothing more to the beast than a meal.
---
Inside the house was a magnificent, exotic collection of paintings, rugs and furnishings.
"GUARDS! HELP!" Screamed the terrified lord as he slugged every one of those valuables at the beast of fury. Wolf stared him down as I was flooded with anger and rage.
---
The morning after, I awoke in a grass yard, with no memory and nothing on me but a shredded pair of pants. There was a group gathered around Edgesworth, stood tall in the center.
"a Beast has claimed one of us, and now we know a terrifying creature lurks. We tried everything we could to save this young woman, but sadly there was no effect. We must respect this devil, and to keep us safe, every moon we will have a brave man go and sate it"
The crowd was stunned for a second, and then cheered for the brave man on the pedestal. Even though last night was a haze, I felt a deep primal anger and fury contrast his words.
---
I was jolted back to the room as a he threw his gold timepiece at me. I felt different. Instead of instinct driving me, it was a sense of retribution against a sinned man. Staring him down, he cried a shocked look as he realized that nobody would come in time. Boots could be heard, but would come too late.
He slid down on his knees. "No, no, no, no, save me, somebody!"
His pleading was cut by my howl. And raising my claws and teeth, I slashed and bit at him until his screams died down. The soldiers marched in, seeing a giant on a body, barley recognizable, with features strewn out bloodied throughout the room.
I sat there, unmoving, letting them approach me even though I could of killed all of them in a second, and even as I felt their spears pierce my back, I didn't resist at all.
Feeling everything turn cold, I whispered to you. "Diana, Forgive me"
---
For more tales go to /r/smashbros. | 2018-08-26T23:25:46 | 2018-08-26T22:58:12 | 157 | 49 |
[WP] "Death is a gentle thing if you welcome it, like a soft breeze or a bashful kiss." - "Then what's the scythe for?" - "The people who resist." | And at this, I stopped.
"So... we *can* resist."
And though the toothy grin remained, it's smile was gone. "**Ah. Cunning. But clever wheat is still just wheat...**"
But as it swung the glittering edge at me, I heard, as if through deep water- "Charging to 200 Joules. Clear!"
And I was back, surrounded by the white coats of my colleagues, the cold paddles still pressed to my bared chest, the shrill warning cries of machines attached to my veins and nerves settling back to tame chirps -
"Did you see him?" My partner said, face neutral, but eagerness betrayed by that quaver in his voice.
"*It*. Yes. Yes, I saw it." It, the reason for this dangerous gambit...
The room hushed. An expectant silence.
I looked at them, and I felt my eyes well with glad tears. With pride. For us. For humankind.
And for the kind of thing we were finally showing ourselves to be: not scared, not wheat in a field.
"*We can win.*"
A great whoop of joy filled the room, spread into the hall, out the doors into the streets beyond. And the sullen darkness between the stars began to hear the footsteps behind.
| Gehrman sighed, his long, bony fingers resting upon the wheels of the chair. "I suppose you think you're a more worthy hunter than those before you?" He gestured to the graves on a nearby hill, only a few dozen, but already their names and stories were becoming indistinguishable in his mind. "The waking world cannot persist if I allow someone like you to wander through it."
The hunter looked back at him, steadfast. Finally, he muttered, "I did not ask for your permission, I will not let myself be vanquished so easily. I can't go back to that doomed world, let myself live as a commoner again, ignorant of the creatures of the higher plane, letting my very soul be studied by creatures that look upon with indifferent disdain."
"So you see them too," Gehrman smiled. "Yes... I can see how the paleblood reflects off your eye, your pupil is already starting to rot-"
"I am not one of them!" The hunter snapped, spit flowing off his teeth as he wiped his face. "They have no remorse, no mercy. I would have never joined the hunt if they left me with a family to return to." He lifted his cane and slammed it upon the ground, as he did before each hunt. The blades elegantly unfolded in elegant motion, revealing a vicious serrated whip. It was pristine, polished with care after every hunt in the workshop, where he would talk with Gehrman for hours to distract himself from the cruelty of the hunt. "If you wish to stand in my way, you are no better than the beasts we hunt."
Gehrman stood from his chair, his joints ached, but his body moved as fluidly as it did on his first hunt. He reached behind his back and his blade unfolded, gears locking in to reveal a tremendous scythe. "You must accept your death. Be freed from the night."
First time trying something here, so I tried to do an adaption off Bloodborne because it fit the prompt. (Can't guarantee it's lore-friendly.) Only had a few minutes so it's a lot briefer than I like.
| 2018-10-25T09:22:40 | 2018-10-25T08:58:55 | 71 | 34 |
[WP] You grew up in a Druid village. By 17, every teenager except you can shape-shift into wild animals. Just as you thought you were done with becoming a Druid , a life-threatening event occurred. On the brink of death, you finally shape-shifted......into an otherworldly creature. | Stormlights tormented the skies, teasing, needling and gouging the crooks, the crannies of deepest horizon with pitchforks of blue and white. The sluicing rain tumbled on the boy's back. A broken back that belonged to a shivering boy.
The thundering skies observed the unspoken lamentation of the outcast; eyeing him with the stormiest of contempt.
Failure was not easily forgiven in the Fellwood Forests--home to djinn, dark elf and druid alike.
For that was the boy's crime; one that had warranted and been met swiftly with banishment. He had failed. Not only had he failed, he had failed spectacularly.
The boy's name had once been Re-Kin, but he'd been stripped of that too, along with his garments. Now, he had no name. He had no shape, nor form to call on. He was a two-leg, a spit-person, a nobody.
His own father had taken the clan earring, his mother had poured ash on his family tattoo.
To fail the choosing; to fail the shifting was to fail all things.
Friendless, fatherless, motherless, boy lay curled beneath the storm clouds, trembling and shivering on a bed of detritus and mold. Lichen tickled his toes and storm water caressed his fallen form. Then, the music started.
The song of the cloudmen; the song of the wish pirates; those who hunted nightmares and brought destruction and wrath. These were the gods of the druids, the forefathers of the wild hunt. The cloudmen came in frigates drawn by fell beasts; armored with scale and snorting lightning. They pulled their ships through the storm clouds, dipping towards the forests below, preparing for a raid on the druid ken.
One such cloudman; Forefather Rekar had assigned twelve of his sons and daughters of light to scout ahead. It was this raiding party, the precussor to the fleet that arrived in a dinghy pulled by venti. They spotted the boy.
Flaming eyes beneath granite brows observed the fallen child.
Even the gods have pity sometimes.
One such god stepped forward, a hand glowing with sigils long forgotten, buried beneath the grains of an hourglass.
"What should we do with the pinkman?" cried the harsh voice of a cloud demon.
"I claim him," said the sigil god. "The cloudmen are in need of champions on this wretched ground. The wild hunt's reach has grown too long."
He raised his hand to the skies, lightning flashed, a flash flood gushed through, ripping trees and overturning tumbling rocks. The flood waters caught the boy, whisking him away.
The boy's eyes fluttered as he tumbled head over heels; he gasped, trying to draw breath, but swallowed water instead.
Death took him.
But that was only the first part of the curse.
For winter knights; champions of the cloud folk always returned.
The boy was now immortal, though he didn't know it yet. His skin pulsed with electricity where veins had once been. An angel of death had been born, he just didn't realize it yet.
***
A bunch more stories at r/josephdanielauthor | -Fair warning this ended up darker than intended.
-Now with Part Two!
There was fire everywhere. I could heard screams and smell blood thick hanging in the air. I was going to die oh god I’m going to die. A body hits the ground next to me a lion with a spear sticking out of its side. It’s skin crawled revealing the Druid underneath. I dimly registered the screaming Druid as my eyes stayed pinned on the group of humans advancing on me. Brutish creatures greedy and destroying everything in their path. And I was in their path. No defense. No second form. Helpless. I started to shake uncontrollably. Useless. I need to do something. Anything. The humans stand in a loose semi circle around me laughing amongst the destruction and sneering at me. Rage. It filled my body and my trembling is renewed from a different source. “How dare they. How dare they come into your home and slaughter your people,”A poisonous voice dripping with venom whispered. “Join with me. Let us punish them. Punish them for what they have done. Done to you and your village, your family.” I let it in. The rage. The anger. It consumed me entirely burning my soul carving itself a place a home in my heart. There was pain and a scream ripped itself out of my throat as my body morphed claws bursting from my nail-beds and teeth extending sharp and dripping from my mouth. My body fought the transformation as is common among my people and I gave my soul over to it giving in.Then the humans... yes the humans they were backing away no longer laughing. Instead they were afraid. Eyes big in their sockets begging to be plucked out to the sounds of their dying screams. A bestial otherworldly howl pierced the air and the screams of my people stopped and I replaced them with the deaths of our attackers.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Part two
Drip.Drip.Drip. It just kept dripping the blood. From my hair. My face. My hands. The morning light was shining through the trees showing off the carnage for anybody to see. My body was my own again but my mind was not. Poison. It seeps through the cracks. the scenes of the previous night played before my eyes again and again as on my hands and knees I stared listlessly into a puddle of blood. Drip.Drip.Drip. Snap!
My heart races and my body turns on instinct towards the sound. A Druid woman with elaborate tattoos and a broken stick in her hand. My sister. Her name tumbled from my lips and not a second later she’s throwing herself at me arms clutching me like a life line. Druids seemingly melt from the forest soft and hushed not making a sound as they take in the burnt wreckage of our home, smoke coiling in the air. What now?
My sister, my chief hauled me to my feet. “I do not know what Parala transformed into last night.” She softly stated gazing back at me. “I do know however, that she has saved us. Saved us from the savage humans that tried to destroy each and every one of you last night.” Her voice rose furious,” And it is solely because of her that they will not come back and try again.” The crowd drew closer hanging on her words a lone voice crying out,” and if they do come back? What then?!”
The rage came back bubbling away from the inside the poison rising as I shouted back in return,” then they will meet the same fate as their brethren!” My face twisted into a pain ridden snarl as I continued under the gaze of the village, “I will protect my people and follow my chief to hell itself!”
I knelt at her feet in the blood of humans and druids alike and bowed my head to her. I heard one by one as the crowd followed suit in subservience. The air was still. The smell was cloying and suffocating.
“Sister, would you follow me not to hell but to war?” I looked at my beautiful sister dirty with the grime of battle, fire and anger in her eyes a fierce warrior and leader, the tatters of our home burnt and blood soaked.
“My chief are we not already there?”
THE END | 2018-12-07T17:02:09 | 2018-12-07T13:43:23 | 34 | 17 |
[WP] Demons have to do at least one evil thing every day to survive. This one comes to your bakery everyday to buy bread for the homeless kids and steal exactly one cookie. | I closed the shop for the night, and as I retire into my quarters.. a cracking sound radiated through the air. Sensing danger, I took up my trusty umbrella and ready to fight back whatever was there.
“*Ahem,*” was all I heard after opening the door.
There was nothing in sight as I glanced around, until I felt something tugging at my loose trousers.
“*Ahem.*”
Lo and behold, I see a cat-dog creature, fluffy and adorable as hell. It looked at me with huge puppy eyes, and I bent down to give it a pat, a boop or whatever you call it.
“Yo dawg, I haven’t got all day, gimme lika’ 8 pieces of whatever you call those puffy white things,” it said to me in the cutest human sounding voice I’ve ever heard.
“Y-you mean bread? I-I’ve only got a few left,” trembling at the thought of a talking.. cat dog.
“Either you give me whatever you have or I’ma end your life right now, it’s for the goddamn homeless kids down the alleyway, I haven’t got all bloody night,” it snarled at me. Still cute though.
I quickly gathered the loaves of bread I had leftover and had them packed into a bag.
“H-here you go..” as I passed it the bag of bread.
And it morphed. It grew spider legs around it’s back.. still maintaining the cutest cat dog features ever. I stumbled backwards, fearing for my life. My days of running the bakery and flirting with the female townsfolk was coming to an end.
 
And then it happened.
 
A leg stretched out and stole a cookie, and it disappeared after a crack. I’ve never seen it come back again. But I did hear a day later that the alleyway was quarantined, and they had disposed at least a dozen of dead bodies and a weird looking creature.
 
Well.. guess my evil deed of the day was accomplished that night.
 
*Time to move on to the next town.*
 
EDIT// formatting, and this was my first writing prompt, sorry if the story isn’t as cohesive as I’d like it to be! | "Lisa, where's the cookie?" Mom asked me, holding her trusty leather strap in her folded arms.
"I dwont know mwommy." I puffed up my lips and blinked really hard. A combination of the puffy lips, blinking puppy dog eyes and baby voice was my mom's worst kryptonite.
She didn't look impressed. "Listen young lady, that trick might have worked on me before but this time I have to draw the line." She wasn't yelling, but she wasn't speaking softly either.
"Everyday for the past two weeks a cookie goes missing from that jar," she pointed to a jar of oatmeal cookies on the counter, "and then you lie to me and say you didn't take it."
"But I really didn't take it mommy." I said.
"That is enough young lady." She started. "Give me your hand."
I instinctively stepped back.
"Lisa! Don't make me come over there and get you." My mother warned.
I remained where I was and dodged quickly when my mother tried to grab me.
I was backed into a corner. She loomed over me with the threatening presence of her strap.
"I was just going to give you a little slap but I'm afraid you leave me no choice."
She raised the strap and I knew that this would be the end. Her hand stopped short of my butt at the sound of the bell hooked up to the door ringing.
"Hello?" A familiar voice called.
"Ugh. You are very lucky missy. I will deal with you later."
Mommy tucked her strap into her waist and put on a fake smile then went out to greet the man at the counter. I followed quietly.
"Justin. Hi." My mother said, her voice filled with fake glee.
"It's so good to see you Harley."
"You too. So, what can I do for you?"
"I need bread."
"Regular order sized?"
"You know it." They both laughed, this time, Mommy's laugh was more genuine.
"You're in luck, I just baked a whole oven full. I'll be right back."
"OK." They both smiled again and my mother disappeared behind the counter.
Justin looked at me. He wasn't exactly what *I* would call attractive but by everyone else's standards he was.
Dirty blonde hair, stocky physique, green eyes. Although there were times his eyes weren't so green.
He looked around to see if anyone was watching and when the camera spun the other direction, he grabbed a cookie from the jar. It wasn't the first time I saw him do it, but mommy would never believe me and she would slap me even harder if she thought I was lying about an adult. Much less one of her friends.
He looked me in the eyes and put his finger to his lips. He made a slight 'shhhhing' noise, then his eyes became a deep red. His iris, his pupil, all vanished beneath a crimson layer.
Mommy emerged from the back room with his regular order. He paid and left and Mommy turned to the cookie jar.
She slapped her knee, "Again? That's it young lady."
She pulled the strap from her waist and headed toward me. And I knew... I wouldn't be sitting down well for another week. | 2019-03-24T13:51:36 | 2019-03-24T13:32:48 | 32 | 17 |
[WP] Shaking, you say "They believe its part of their nature". You discover Humanity and find them to be carriers of the universes most feared disease, thought long eradicated... Sleep | All eyes were on the human figure on the other side of the glass. The girl reached up, shivering as she stretched. The noise she let out echoed through room, carried by the ship’s intercom. Kiral heard one of the technicians retching. The noise was jarring. She’d read about this in *Quartal’s Compendium of Dead and Gone Diseases.* The sound was called a yawn. It was said to be one of the first symptoms of sleep. She turned to her ships primary research physician.
“Are we sure certain they have… sleep?” Kiral asked, voice tense. The idea that the disease had somehow survived in the dark recesses of the Milky Way was horrific. Had it been ravaging this poor race of people for so long?
“It appears the entire planet is infected” Larkus responded. His features were tense, clearly, he was unsettled by the discovery. “It’s not just the ‘human’ species either” he continued, making sure to use the correct naming convention and emphasis for the most advanced inhabitants of the planet, as was required of the *Interstellar Treaty for Equal Rights*. “It appears every sentient species on the planet is infected to at least some degree”.
Kiral grimaced. This was concerning beyond degree. Had they not won this war millennia ago? Had the stories, passed down by the Council of Irk, of the complete and utter eradication of the *Five Great Plagues of Sentience* been untrue? Her attention was pulled out of her thoughts as people around her began to gasp. The humanoid in their containment cell had lay down on her bed. Kiral noticed one of her veteran soldiers, Mork shivering in fear. The human creature rolled to her side, facing out towards the glass of the containment cell. Her eyes shut. Kiral felt nauseous. She heard people breathing heavily and more retching. It was true, this was the sleep. She turned to Larkus.
“Do they know… Do they know what it does to them?” She let out, through heavy breathes. Larkus looked at the human girl in the cage, shaking his head. | The amber light washed on then off again, it’s pulse a steady hated rhythm of panic. An alert to take charge and put into place certain precautions, to take action. Yet only a dull hiss stop, hiss stop, hiss stop, sound filtered through the twisted metal corridor. Almost in synchronicity with the emergency light. The tensile rods felt cold unmoving under my hand as I glided forward pulling from one hand hold to another. The quiet growing more and more oppressive as I flowed forward to the bulk head door sliding with a practiced grace to look down. My fingers gripping the rim of the port hole at the blue planet suspended in its cradle turning slowly around its sun. It’s glory pulled at me as I stared down at it seemingly pulling me into it closer, closer, closer, down. It was pretty, twinkling on the night side where the species below had lit up large swathes of it or exploded in its own electromagnetic storms. So wonderful, so still; yet not the same stillness of say the emptiness of the expanse. No just quiet, a kind of thought shifting quiet. My fingers relaxed and I found my jaw snap open as breath puffed out from me my mouth snapping back shut. Ice flowed through my veins suddenly then as all of my synapses snapped. The first symptom, an involuntary synapse response to an ancient plague. The Wasting’s our ancient ancestors called it. Or the Mini death the prophets had proclaimed it. A shallow coma that if delayed could produce damage of the mind and even death in those that resisted its pull. It was one of the great triumphs of peace amongst the coordinate when CA-FFe1Ne was synthesized taking us into our first step towards a cure. Many brave geneticists worked hard to over come the Wasting’s working against the urge that imprisoned so many of the worlds so long stealing life’s precious moments robbing the many peoples of their lives as they wasted away approximately one fourth their life. We had taken it for granted, the triumph of our ancestors, and why shouldn’t we the disease was dead, destroyed eradicated from all known living species untying the shackles it had enslaved our short lives with. So successful had we been we lost the cure long forgotten and unneeded for millennia.
So here I stared down drawn powerless to resist, when a hand gently grasped my shoulder. “How long was I out?” Her voice gentle and muffled as if in confusion. “You lost one fourth of this planets rotation cycle.” My voice cracked my fingers clenched the port hole frame, shaking as my muscles tensed. A tear floated past me gentle sparkling for a moment before picked up by the soft stream of machined atmosphere. “I can’t get it back, can I?” Her voice quavered. “No,” my voice came out in a sob. “It’s incurable, they didn’t know.” My voice caught then snarled. “ they thought it, was natural.” Her hand fell away making me feel small and helpless, for a moment again alone lost, asleep. | 2019-05-31T22:05:13 | 2019-05-31T19:58:53 | 115 | 79 |
[WP]The Suit is powerfull. A mech for some, body armor for others, always unique to each person who wore it. Those who wear it, hear the words "not original user, booting basic mode" As a joke, your sergeant gives you The Suit and the first thing you hear is: "User detected: Welcome back, Commander" | \[User Detected. Welcome back, Commander.\]
Phil looked at his commanding NCO with a look of wide-eyed surprise. "You hearing this shit, Sarge?"
Phil had stepped into The Suit in it's default state, a plain-looking man-shaped sculpture of unadorned metal. Today was his Pilot Ceremony, the day where the base and the surrounding town all came to celebrate the induction of a new pilot for The Suit. Phil was ready for it to shift around him, to adopt it's form to best fit him as it had done for so many other soldiers, but this was different. It had never said anything more than \[Not original user. Booting Basic Mode\]. But as it whirled and melted and sculpted to Phil's needs, new and unfamiliar phrases played across the courtyard.
\[Combat Priority: Melee. Redirecting weapon systems output to palm plasma projectors, claymore configuration. Preparing morphology matrix for light combat to Commander's favored specs.\]
"Favored specs! I don't HAVE favored specs, I've never seen this before!" Phil shouted, as the suit collapsed and shrunk around him. A whirl of dull grey metal began to urn brightly colored. Pinks and reds and whites swirled around Phil and fit to his body. The lower half of the suit shrunk to the shape of a banana hammock, and snugly form-fit itself around Phil's groin, settling into a pink-and-red striped pattern with white trim. The upper half of the suit swarmed towards Phil's chest, covering his nipples and a bit of the surrounding flesh in a similarly patterned red pink and white bikini top.
Pink and red swirls ran around his hands into fingerless gloves, and a bright red candy striped bomber jacket draped itself across his shoulders. Similarly colored thigh-high boots coalesced on his legs, and The Suit topped off the transformation with a snazzy pair of pink-lensed goggles sitting jauntily on Phil's forehead. The gloves glowed, and emitted a bright pink and white energy sword as tall as Phil itself, and he held his hands as if wielding the sword braced for attack.
\[Morphology Matrix adaption complete. Favored configuration, now active. Welcome back, Peppermint Paladin.\]
The entire audience on the courtyard looked at Phil, in his candy-striped outfit and barely-concealing new bikini, and burst into laughter. His NCO stifled a chickle. "Well, soldier, we all know The Suit configures itself to fit the Pilot but.. well, I didn't know THIS was your preference!" and he joined the crowd in bawling laughter.
The laughter was cut short, however, by a sudden growing storm in the sky overhead. Black clouds swirled angrily, and the sky was filled with a scent both sweet and acrid. Lighting struck, as a figure clad in black descended from the storm cloud. A definitvely female shape, black cables lashed wildly from her hands. Her outfit was slinky ink, hugging all her curves, with strategically placed gaps along her chest hips and thighs. She was barefoot, light on her feet as she lowered herself through the air.
The lady in sweet-smelling black laughed maniacally. "Long have I waited for this day! For my Sugar Suit to fall into the hands of one WORTHY of it's power!" The black cables danced like snakes from her hands, and she poised herself for battle. "I am Lady Licorice, rightful heir to the throne of Planet Glucosine! Now, after thousands of years, I have located the last survivor of the Royal Bloodline! I will end you, Peppermint Paladin, and then all Candy will be LICORICE FOREVER MORE!"
Lady Licorice charged towards Phil, whips of sweet-smelling black flying towards his head, and the Battle of Candy had begun. | > "... Welcome back commander."
No sooner had the words issued from the speakers next to my ears than the personnel door flew open at the end of the machine bay.
Lt. Colonel Jefferson was known for his appearance. His uniform always appeared freshly starched and the rummor mill had it that he kept at least three extra freshly starched uniforms in his office in case the one he was wearing became the least bit rumpled from strenuous excercises, like getting up to fix a cup of coffee.
This was not the case at the moment, however. The Colonel looked like he had run the entire way from his office. His perfectly quaffed hair looked slightly askew, making it obvious that it was a hairpiece. His face was somewhere between the ruddy pink of anger and the ashen grey of horror as he took in the situation in the bay.
He said something to the Seargent, but all I saw were his lips moving and the seargent turning towards him. All sounds from outside the suit were muted.
Directly in front of my vertical pilot's couch was a slightly holographic MFD or multi-function display. This display was normally rather boring, showing a radar and lidar schematic of the surroundings of the suit. Just now my eyes had been drawn to it because it was showing a face. My face.
As I watched, the face spun to it's right and zoomed in on region of the head and hairline just above and behind the left ear. A schematic diagram flashed up in red just as the speakers next to my ear spoke.
> "Forein biotech detected, would you like to deploy countermeasures?"
I glanced up from the display, which was now flashing an alternating red and yellow alert below the schematic of the thing that the suit was saying was lodged in my head. The Colonel had crossed half of the machine bay. My seargent, a decent enough guy most of the time, had taken a few steps towards him and was now gesticulating wildly to both the Colonel and the rest of my platoon. A few of them were glancing nervously between the Colonel, the seargent, and me. Or perhaps they were looking nervously at the suit.
Looking back down at the screen, I considered my options. Very soon now I was going to be ordered out of the suit and given some meaningless labor-intensive task. That seemed to be the colonel's only function. He seemed to pick a platoon each day and then go out and give them some meaningless grunt work to do. From boot camp I of course remembered being forced to do meaningless work as a form of discipline, but this had been going on for us for over a year now and it never seemed to be promped by anything.
But now, just this once, I could do something on my own. I could try something different. What the hell.
My hand reached out and I flicked a finger through the confirm option. Almost immediately I smelled something awful and heard a hiss. The smell reminded me of fresh blood, sharp with a hint of iron like too much rust but mixed with an atiseptic smell like an operating room immediately after being cleaned. It was so overpowering that my vision blurred as my eyes watered. I also felt an intense headache coming on.
Oh sweet Jesus what the *fuck*... My hands involuntarilly went to the sides of my head. I'd had hangovers from some truly epic benders and there was this one time I got a migraine just like my mother used to get and that was horrible. This was worse.
> "NNNNgggggaah..."
It just came out, forced through my gritted teeth by the pressure of the pain. And then it was gone. Just like that. And with the pain, so went my doubts and confusion.
The implant had been a synaptic shunt used to block access to specific portions of the occipital and temporal lobes, effectively preventing large sections of long term memory from being accessed. I pulled my hands back down from my head and looked through the canopy of my Mk7 Multi-Role combat environment suit... directly into the eyes of that weasel of a pollitical officer Lt. Commander Jefferson. Colonel my shiny black ass.
Without much conscious thought my hands starting flicking around the cockpit, engaging the suit's crowd control functions. My hands moved precisely and with assurance, the muscle memory still there from hundreds of hours of training with the suit.
I didn't know what stunt or coup the political officer was up to, but this time we'd investigate the situation on *my* terms. | 2019-08-19T12:17:02 | 2019-08-19T12:00:37 | 92 | 65 |
[WP] At once, and everywhere, each living person has heard a voice in their head: "Hey! It's me, God. I've noticed there's a lot of confusion, so I've created a website called 'Will I go to hell and why dot com'. Just write your name in the search bar. And don't forget to share, like and subscribe." | ..and why dot com
I woke up after hearing that. It was a very lucid dream. Far more than any other I had. I was plain awake, but decided in grabbing my phone. Just to feel safe and reassure myself that it was a dream.
The webpage started to load and..
"Maximiliam Smith. Heaven."
I stared, unflinching. Was this a joke? But in my quiet room, in the night, nobody was laughing. I did heard a few screams outside my apartment. But the screen called to me. There were two other paragraphs.
"Worked hard and persevered through the tier 1 problem provided by the DD (Divine Department) in his psyche. Saved 3 lifes unawarely. Expected result was suicide due to depression at 20 and a would-be reward at our DRCSS (Divine Rehab Center for Sad Souls). Actual result was hard working to keep his sick mother well and a 7.8 average in empathy towards the ones around him. Potential candidate to work at DD as manager and virtue provider."
I started crying. Fuck. Was this a dream? Fuck. There was another paragraph which I read through foggy eyes.
Your effort was noted. Well done :)
\-G
​
Beneath the signature there were a few buttons.
\-Deep detail analysis
\-Statistics
\-What about my friends?
\-Will I see my dog?
\-Contact us
​
I let my tears flow.
​
Edit - Part2: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cw3owk/wp\_at\_once\_and\_everywhere\_each\_living\_person\_has/eyacrrx?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cw3owk/wp_at_once_and_everywhere_each_living_person_has/eyacrrx?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) | “Hey! It’s me, God. I’ve noticed there’s a lot of confusion, so I’ve created a website called ‘Will I go to hell and why dot com’. Just write your name in the search bar. And don’t forget to share, like and subscribe.”
Kevin stood still, mid-step.
“Ohhhh, sorrywhatnow?” he queried.
He looked around, expecting the crowds of people around him to be fixed on him. It was, after all, rush hour and he had just stopped on the pavement with his right boot a foot and a half off the floor, and muttered to himself.
“Did you just say something?” asked the 7 foot tall Manglorian female next to him.
*At least I think it’s a female…* he thought.
“Who? Me?” answered Kevin.
“Yuh, you.”
“Sorry, I thought I heard something so was like, ‘huh?’”
“About God and some website?”
Kevin’s mouth dropped like a fat child from a swing, “you heard that too?!” he gasped.
The tentacles around the Manglorian’s neck shivered and her three eyes widened.
“I thought that was you! How can we both have heard the same thing?”
“Well damn, I’m glad!” said Kevin as he finally lowered his boot to the floor. He wiped the sweat from his brow and slapped his thigh, “I thought I was having another psychotic break down! It was eerily similar you know, a deep bellowing voice in your heard from God, but last time he told me to go and kill my neighbour’s dog…”
The Manglorian’s tentacles retracted and shivered simultaneously.
“But if we both heard it, then it’s all alright! That or we’re both going crazy?” he queried, stroking his chin.
The Manglorian let out a shriek and threw her arms above her head and proceeded to run down the street. As she wobbled off, Kevin became aware of the crowds muttering all around him.
*“You heard it too?”*
*“We all heard it!”*
*“They’ve finally hacked our brains!”*
*“Look, it’s an actual website!”*
Kevin whipped out his transponder and like a randy teen going onto the internet, went on the internet.
“Will…I go to Hell… dot…com…”
Scores of people around him were also typing away on their transponders, eager to check out the site that the mysterious voice in their head had told them to visit.
Kevin typed in his details, and let the site take a retina scan to confirm that it was him.
*Loading… Loading… Loading…*
*Kevin Thomson, a.k.a God, welcome back. Please click below to see the latest results from this planet.*
“Ohhhh, sorrywhatnow?” | 2019-08-27T09:16:07 | 2019-08-27T06:06:48 | 4,258 | 884 |
[WP] At once, and everywhere, each living person has heard a voice in their head: "Hey! It's me, God. I've noticed there's a lot of confusion, so I've created a website called 'Will I go to hell and why dot com'. Just write your name in the search bar. And don't forget to share, like and subscribe." | ..and why dot com
I woke up after hearing that. It was a very lucid dream. Far more than any other I had. I was plain awake, but decided in grabbing my phone. Just to feel safe and reassure myself that it was a dream.
The webpage started to load and..
"Maximiliam Smith. Heaven."
I stared, unflinching. Was this a joke? But in my quiet room, in the night, nobody was laughing. I did heard a few screams outside my apartment. But the screen called to me. There were two other paragraphs.
"Worked hard and persevered through the tier 1 problem provided by the DD (Divine Department) in his psyche. Saved 3 lifes unawarely. Expected result was suicide due to depression at 20 and a would-be reward at our DRCSS (Divine Rehab Center for Sad Souls). Actual result was hard working to keep his sick mother well and a 7.8 average in empathy towards the ones around him. Potential candidate to work at DD as manager and virtue provider."
I started crying. Fuck. Was this a dream? Fuck. There was another paragraph which I read through foggy eyes.
Your effort was noted. Well done :)
\-G
​
Beneath the signature there were a few buttons.
\-Deep detail analysis
\-Statistics
\-What about my friends?
\-Will I see my dog?
\-Contact us
​
I let my tears flow.
​
Edit - Part2: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cw3owk/wp\_at\_once\_and\_everywhere\_each\_living\_person\_has/eyacrrx?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cw3owk/wp_at_once_and_everywhere_each_living_person_has/eyacrrx?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x) | The world was in turmoil. It wouldn't be that bad, had it not been for that paranoia infused fool in charge if quite a few nukes.
You see, some Russian guy found a way to trick our brain into believing it was hearing something. By emitting electromagnetic pulses into someone's brain he could mimic sounds without any sound waves. After years of testing he managed to convey spoken messages.
Of course, the tech was top secret and not even the Russian Prime minister knew of it, though the Russian president naturally did know. And this maniac saw it as a way to shake the core of western civilization. The message was broadcasted globally. as for the site, no matter the identification you gave it, the answer would be Hell.
Most of whom English was the second language mainly wondered why it was in English, and those that didn't even speak it were puzzled what was even said.
Well, things weren't that great for some states. The British were going crazy, not cause they were going to hell but because the message was in a Polish accent. Half of Scotland was enraged at "God" for speaking such incomprehensible gibberish. And London went completely ham, within the hour there was a priest pronouncing the poles as the chosen peoples.
And that was just some crazy, but the Americans, they were a story all together. Half of America pronounced the apocalypse and anarchy. Those ragged crazy folks screaming 'the end is near' became an authority in an instant, some even called Messiah before the next church bells rang.
But that fool in charge if this hotbed of religious chaos, the so called leader of the free world, earned himself another name that day. To all those that managed to survive his actions, he became known as the Harbinger of the endtimes. The one that brought the scorched winter, the last summer.
Those that did survive tell his tale, so that when humans once again reach the height of old, we know, never react to fear with fire. And justify your actions in this life. For it was the fear of Hell that ended the world, and hellfire that was it's tool. The Harbinger believed that if he would go to Hell, and his actions didn't matter anymore, he might as well open the gates of Hell to let it swallow the world.
And devour it did. The fires started in the west, but ser aflame in the east. The sparks from the east spread to the rest of the world, and soon engulfed us all. Now we, the chosen, the living, the damned, we walk on the green stones, and the dead fields, drink from glowing rivers and die underneath the black sky.
My path, and the paths of our tribe will forever be lost, but maybe my son, you will one day find a path you can walk on. Grass that is green, water that is living and blue, a sky filled with light. | 2019-08-27T09:16:07 | 2019-08-27T09:06:44 | 4,258 | 101 |
[WP] At once, and everywhere, each living person has heard a voice in their head: "Hey! It's me, God. I've noticed there's a lot of confusion, so I've created a website called 'Will I go to hell and why dot com'. Just write your name in the search bar. And don't forget to share, like and subscribe." | The weather outside was dark, with the sky illuminated solely by the occasional lightning streak that ran across the clouds.
Jason was driving and on his way to work, when it began to lightly sprinkle, the automatic windshield wipers activating at the slightest hint of moisture.
He switched the radio on and dialed through the channels, *static noises*...”I want you to love me...living on a prayer...” Finally settling on the first clear channel he heard—104.7FM. “Hey! It's me, God. I've noticed there's a lot of confusion, so I've created a website called 'Will I go to hell and why dot com'. Just write your name in the search bar. And don't forget to share, like and subscribe.”
“What in the world?” He muttered out loud. “Must be a prank caller,” He pulled into the first available slot in the office park.
Badging into the secure access door he noticed some chatter amongst his late night teammates. “Yo, Jason did you hear the announcement?” Baffled he asked them what they meant.
It became obviously clear that what he had heard from the radio was not subject to his sole experience, everyone seemed to have heard this announcement from God.
Quickly, Ricky, a shy introverted computer nerd launched the latest version of Firefox from his laptop and threw up the cast on the nearest meeting screen.
‘www.WillIgotohellandwhy.com'
Immediately he typed his own name:
Ricky Punnam
STATUS: Hell OFFENSE: Lust, Blasphemy, gluttony, ... the list continued.
“What the hell,” he exclaimed quickly realizing the folly of his remark as another sin to his list.
The other began to search their names on their computer and phones only to find the same.
Jason an information security specialist by trade. piped in, I wonder if God sanitizes his inputs?
He entered his query:
Jason’); DROP TABLE Sinners—
Instantly the screen went blank. Ricky searches his name again—Nothing.
Moral of the story: Sanitize your inputs people. | The world was in turmoil. It wouldn't be that bad, had it not been for that paranoia infused fool in charge if quite a few nukes.
You see, some Russian guy found a way to trick our brain into believing it was hearing something. By emitting electromagnetic pulses into someone's brain he could mimic sounds without any sound waves. After years of testing he managed to convey spoken messages.
Of course, the tech was top secret and not even the Russian Prime minister knew of it, though the Russian president naturally did know. And this maniac saw it as a way to shake the core of western civilization. The message was broadcasted globally. as for the site, no matter the identification you gave it, the answer would be Hell.
Most of whom English was the second language mainly wondered why it was in English, and those that didn't even speak it were puzzled what was even said.
Well, things weren't that great for some states. The British were going crazy, not cause they were going to hell but because the message was in a Polish accent. Half of Scotland was enraged at "God" for speaking such incomprehensible gibberish. And London went completely ham, within the hour there was a priest pronouncing the poles as the chosen peoples.
And that was just some crazy, but the Americans, they were a story all together. Half of America pronounced the apocalypse and anarchy. Those ragged crazy folks screaming 'the end is near' became an authority in an instant, some even called Messiah before the next church bells rang.
But that fool in charge if this hotbed of religious chaos, the so called leader of the free world, earned himself another name that day. To all those that managed to survive his actions, he became known as the Harbinger of the endtimes. The one that brought the scorched winter, the last summer.
Those that did survive tell his tale, so that when humans once again reach the height of old, we know, never react to fear with fire. And justify your actions in this life. For it was the fear of Hell that ended the world, and hellfire that was it's tool. The Harbinger believed that if he would go to Hell, and his actions didn't matter anymore, he might as well open the gates of Hell to let it swallow the world.
And devour it did. The fires started in the west, but ser aflame in the east. The sparks from the east spread to the rest of the world, and soon engulfed us all. Now we, the chosen, the living, the damned, we walk on the green stones, and the dead fields, drink from glowing rivers and die underneath the black sky.
My path, and the paths of our tribe will forever be lost, but maybe my son, you will one day find a path you can walk on. Grass that is green, water that is living and blue, a sky filled with light. | 2019-08-27T09:24:21 | 2019-08-27T09:06:44 | 223 | 101 |
[WP] Nations around the world are hellbent on taking out this journalist that has been trying to publish pieces about things that are supposed to be top secret. But for some reason, all attempts to silence this “Clark Kent” fellow have failed. | "Superman is dead."
Clark Kent stared at the words on his laptop, the blinking cursor taunting him to write more. The infuriating curl popped out of place and landed square in the middle of his forehead. Clark pushed it back with an impatient hand. He squinted at the screen and continued to type.
"The age of the Vigilante is over, but the rise of Super Non Governmental Organizations is also ineffective, since they always wind up fighting each other rather than the true ills of the world."
Clark leaned back and allowed a small "hrm" to escape his lips, his hands trembled slightly as he weighed his next words.
"What are these ills? I'll give you my short list: Intolerance. Indifference. Ignorance, willful or imposed. And greed. Greed is the mortar that keeps all the rest of it in place."
Clark had to concentrate now: he was on a roll, and he didn't want his enthusiasm to cause a misplaced finger to go through the keyboard.
"So what is the answer? We still need our heroes, but they won't be wearing spandex with attractive logos on their chests. We will strike from the shadows to bring light to the world. Some of those truths will be ugly. Some of those truths will reveal us to be less than we hoped to be, but unless we face those truths, real progress cannot be made."
Clark grunted in satisfaction. It was time for the coup de grace.
"You knew me as Superman, but Superman is dead. You will know me now as Clark Kent, reporter, lately of the Daily Planet, but now an independent. I will try to serve you as faithfully in my present incarnation as I did in the last. Power to the people."
Clark hit **send** and leaned back. His cell phone buzzed. *That was fast*, Clark thought, but he had learned long ago never to underestimate the Batman.
"Kent here," Clark said.
"Just read your post," Bruce Wayne said. "I still don't think it was wise to 'out' yourself."
"A Kryptonite bullet still makes a noise," Clark said, adjusting his glasses, "and we both know that Kryptonite can't take the stress of flying through the atmosphere near the speed of sound."
Wayne chuckled. "Yes, I know that from personal experience." A grim memory, from long ago, but also long forgiven.
Clark got to business. "Are we ready, Bruce?"
"Ready as we'll ever be, Clark. All the rest of the Justice League is going quiet, but the alters will be ramping up their 'extracurricular activities.' Diana has had a list of the beneficiaries of Nazi art theft for decades. She's aching to have that released."
"I'll bet," Clark said, "but first things first, Bruce."
"Then cry 'Havok, and let slip the dogs of war. Good luck, Clark," Wayne said.
"Good luck to us all," Clark replied, and closed the connection. He then crushed his cellphone. He then pressed **send** on the other message he had queued up: the complete 'customer list' of one Jeffery Epstein, with evidence. A lot of heroes were going to get a major black eye because of this, but you can't make an omelet without breaking eggs.
Superman was dead. Long live Clark Kent. | Its rare for enemies to cooperate. Something of catastrophic proportions must have happened to united them all. Every continent was represented at the council meeting; The Americas, Africa, Asia, Europe, Oceania. Most notably were the powerhouses; US, China, Russia.
I walked into that room expecting another standard job only to be met with my president. He wanted to hire me.
The job, funnily enough, was rather simple. Kill a reporter. They knew where he was, where he'd be, who he loved, possible weaknesses to exploit etc etc. The catch was, 24 others had gone and failed, that's why they needed me and were willing to pay my fee. My name is Deadshot, I asked if the boy scout had stopped them and they had no evidence for either answer.
It took a few weeks of planning but I managed to get to Metropolis rather early. I started setting up at 12 pm and didn't finish until 3:30pm, ready for his arrival home at roughly 6pm. I could normally have done three jobs in that time but this was special.
Meta-humans do exist, no one wants to admit it but falsehoods don't help me kill people. I used a custom made 50 cal anti-material rifle with an optical scope of up to 5x magnification. Explosive rounds tipped with depleted uranium and with enough firepower behind them to knock out a tank.
If you lined up Bane, Grundy and Cyborg and shot this at them? They'd be stains on the pavement. Im not taking any chances with this one, I have a horrid feeling about this job.
As if on queue, the reporter heads home. He bumbles around with his neighbour rather clumsily, someone he must know. I line up the shot through his window, covering my blindspots with cameras and a computer with tracking software.
His mask drops. I don't know what ran up my spine when it happened but it wasn't nice. Just after he closes the door, his goofy grin dissappear, he sets his glasses on the counter, perfectly lined up, his face is unemotional stone. I'm really not liking this job.
I line up the shot from my perch 2 miles away. I use my drones to calculate wind speed and trajectory, run the data through the computer and......
Bang
The recoil was tough, there was a brief second as the bullet travelled, I waited for the crash and....
Nothing.
What? I look through the scope, there is nothing there. The apartment is still intact, the window has no mark and the man is no where to be seen.
"I heard your finger pull the trigger. I had more than enough time."
I spin, raise my pistol and fire at the figure. The bullets bounce off him. Its the boyscout.... oh god. Its the man.
"Enough time?" I ask
"To pack away my gear, climb the fire escape, descend the building, pluck your very impressive bullet out of the air and get behind you." He explained, deadpan.
"Listen pal, I didn't know it was you alright, this is just a job." I started to explain, panicking.
"Thats what your predessecors said, secret multinational council right? They must be desperate if they sent you...." he passed, thinking. "... They do so much foulness, I hold them accountable and then they try to kill me. How many are dead just to cover their arses?" He asked, solemn and grim.
"I don't know, this is my first time working with them" hoping information will save me a prison cell.
He looked me up and down and grimaced, spitting at me.
"You people ruin yourselves, you maim and kill and destroy for no reason other than money or an insignificant different perspective." He mused "I'm tired of my friends being hurt, you need someone to guide you to a new direction, a new world!" He started exclaim passionately.
"If you say so Superman" I quipped.
He span quickly, the realisation of what I was washing over his face.
"Yes Deadshot, it will be as I say. From now on you can call me, Lord Superman."
The last thing I saw was the twisted grin on his face as his eyes flared red. | 2020-11-29T03:13:20 | 2020-11-29T02:38:17 | 63 | 47 |
[WP] You are a respected supervillain that is more of a managerial type. You take good care of your minions and have an open door policy. One day a battered minion comes in your office. The heroes tortured your minion for information. You rarely go out into the field, but when you do heroes tremble. | The sudden blaring of the alarm brought every head up in unison at headquarters, its distinctive tone meaning only one thing: team member in immediate peril, send all available help. Nerine had been missing for two days, which was not unlike her, moody as she was. But she could handle herself, and always turned back up to my eternal frustration and affection.
After I lost two members last year I insisted every member of the Organization wear bio-monitors that could be manually activated in time of need, or automatically in case of serious trauma. The monitors glowed blue-white, tracing the signal across the city to its origin, a red slash of pixels on the map. As we prepared the glider to move out, a ragged form thumped to the concrete pad in front of me. Ballistic, one of my earliest proteges, and one of my favorites. Not that I ever tell him that. But seeing him like this, even after everything we've been through before, was shocking. The auto-scan built into my mask noted dozens of injuries, including three major fractures, a concussion and extensive internal injuries. How he made it back at all is nothing short of miraculous.
"Boss.....it's bad....I tried to stop them, but.....Nerine...."
"We know," I told him. "We're moving out now." I turned to our medic, Anodyne. "Get him stabilized, and then follow us. We will need you for Nerine as soon as you are able." Without a word, she took him below.
I took three other minions in the glider, and three more who were flight capable followed alongside as we shot across the skyline. News helicopters and police paid us only momentary attention, and they were too slow to do anything about us anyway. Chatter among the different Guilds was already hitting the airwaves, both for heroes and villains. Tonight's incident was different. Voices were strained, tense. As if there was a hidden meaning that everyone knew but all feared to voice it. Nerine's tracker was already moving. One good thing about a city full of superhumans is our first responders are top notch. She was en route to the nearest hospital a few blocks away.
"You three outside, head to the alley they found her. Secure it and look for evidence. There will be heroes there too most likely, so watch yourselves."
"Yes, sir." Three streaks of light dove for the streets, arcing among the buildings like tracer fire. I banked to the hospital and set the Glider to hover.
"I will leave from here. Stay on station until I order otherwise." My crew nodded and took the controls as I opened the hatch and dove into the evening air, the hospital helipad a hundred feet below. As I drop to the pad, another form materializes across from me. His golden aura flickers briefly and fades, revealing a face I did not wish to see, but missed seeing. His golden form rippled in the sunset, interlocked plates of a metal not formed by man. They called him Aureate. One of the most powerful beings on the planet. His presence spoke volumes.
"Thomas...." he said. I tensed, despite myself. Only two people alive knew my birth name, and he was the only one who had ever spoken it.
"Don't try to stop me!" I snapped. "You're here just as quickly, you know how bad it is."
"I'm not here to stop you." he said. "I'm here to keep things from getting worse. I'm also here to tell you this action was not sanctioned by us or any other hero Guild. We know who did this, and we do not condone this"....his mouth twisted. "Butchery."
My stomach dropped. My hands began to throb with energy, and it took all my will not to vaporize anything within range. Aureate stepped to face me, and I saw the anger in his eyes. He was as furious as I, and God help anyone on the receiving end of that anger. Few lived to see it, and fewer survived it. He put a hand on my shoulder. I could feel the energy coursing from his form into mine, familiar despite all our years apart. Comforting, as it always was when we were children discovering our powers.
"Go, my friend" he said. "No one will stop you. They're taking her in now." | The man blankly stared at his computer screen. He was supposed to create a presentation to 'raise workplace morale', but he wasn't sure what they'd expected from him.
Suddenly there was a noise at the door. Expecting it to be his advisor, he opened it. "I don't know what you expected from m-" his sentence trailed off. It wasn't Claire. Instead, a brown cat looked up at him. He sat on his knees and looked at the cat for a moment. He then placed his palm on the cat's forehead, and channeled his powers into the cat. With a flash of light, the cat transformed into a young man.
He was covered in bruises, scratches, and... were those *burns*?
The older man stood up.
"What.. happened." The older man asked, his voice nearly a snarl.
"I- I'm sorry, sir! I- I was-" The older man cut him off.
"No, you don't need to apologize."
"But sir-"
"It's not you I'm angry at. Who did this to you?"
"I- it was that.. that group of heroes.. the ones that were slinking around the building.."
"Any names?"
"It was something stupid like 'Fireball'. That one.. I think it was a guy.. had fire powers."
"Anything else?"
"N- no.."
The older man sighed. "Alright, I have to go make a call. Do you need help walking to the infirmary?"
"No, sir."
The older man helped the younger man up, and they went their separate ways.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The older man entered a woman's office.
"Hello, Claire." He said, seeming rather tense.
"What is it, sir?" Claire asked.
"I need you to make a call."
"You know that's not all the information I need, sir."
"Call Geo, and ask if he knows a hero called something like 'Fireball'."
"Will do, sir. Please go sit outside."
The man walks out of the room and sits down.
After about 20 minutes and a lot of barely audible talking later, Claire opens her door.
"Done, sir. I was given contact information." She hands him a piece of paper.
"Thank you Claire." He goes to leave.
"And by the way, I'm not doing that presentation."
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He was sending an e-mail to this 'Fireball'. He would act professional, if he showed his anger, it would not end well.
Greetings, Fireball.
I have recently gained the information that you have gained some knowledge recently.
I would like to discuss this knowledge in a private location.
This is not a threat, unless, of course...
You make it one.
When you respond, I will send the location.
Don't leave me waiting.
It was only *slightly* threatening. Perfect.
Send.
5 minutes later, he got a response.
Hey!
What's with the eerie tone?!
You don't need to be so serious.
I would, however, not mind having a discussion.
I'll be waiting for that response e-mail.
*Perfect.*
There is a button hidden on a tree in the nearest park to my office building.
Don't pretend like you don't know where my office building is.
Now, I won't tell you where the button is, and it will be moved soon so don't
bother looking, but the third picnic table from the bottom on the right
slides to reveal a ladder. I will be down there at exactly 4:00. I expect you to be there sooner than 4:30.
See you there.
Send.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
4:00.
He was waiting in the hole.
Then, at 4:10, somebody climbed down the ladder.
"Are you Fireball?"
"Of course." 'Fireball' responded.
"I heard you... *interrogated* one of my employees."
"Oh yeah, that guy. What're you gonna do about it?"
He was being taunted.
He was being *fucking* taunted.
His hair was turning white.
He didn't try to stop it.
Fireball watched as the presentable, middle aged man in front of him turned into a large, white tiger.
He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, the thing had pounced.
It was on top of him within a second, and it's large claws dug into his shoulders, tearing through his shirt.
"This." the large cat said, the English words looked odd leaving it's mouth.
And then everything went black.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The man sighed and climbed the ladder, his suit covered in blood.
Everyone in the park whispered among themselves, two people had gone in, and one left covered in blood.
He pressed the button, and the table slid back into place.
He then returned to the office building, to talk with Claire.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Come in!" Claire said.
Her boss walked in, looking rather content..
And covered in blood.
"What did you *do*?! I though you said you wouldn't kill anyone!" She said, bewildered.
"Oh, I didn't *kill* him. He's not- know what, he probably *is* dead by now..
It's a shame, too. This was such a nice suit." | 2021-03-22T14:27:12 | 2021-03-22T13:10:28 | 22 | 13 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students". | "EMP! FREEZE!" Shouted young Pyroclast. It was slightly ironic but I'll forgive it.
I raised my hands and turned, clearly at their mercy. Pyroclast, Phaser, and Wraith. Pretty cool names, in my opinion. Cool powers too. Temperature control, molecular manipulation, and electromagnetic refraction. Plus they weren't dickheads. Good kids.
"Very well, you've captured me!" I vamped pretty well, it helps I'm a baritone. I turned to them slowly.
According to the supposedly accurate Dangerous Power Index, I'm at best a C-. Shorting out electronic devices is pretty bad but definitely not "melting people alive" bad.
Granted, I never have had a reason to demonstrate the exact scope of my ability to well, anyone. Commander Death and The Steel Legionnaire both knew what I really was, but they're far more interested in keeping the balance than dealing with my absolutely unambitious ass. Terrible poker players, the both of them. Death is shockingly polite for the most powerful villain in existence.
We have an informal agreement that I serve as a gateway for new heroes and villains. Everyone has a barely successful heist with me, or a faintly victorious fight against me.
I saw Wraith approaching me, when sudden the bank entrance evaporated. Just bloop, gone.
Floating in the gap was The Obliterated.
Frankly, he's kinda terrifying. Psychotic fucker with the ability to produce sonic blasts WELL IN EXCESS of healthy limits. He didn't even start a monologue, he just tossed a wave of air compressed to the approximate density of enriched uranium at these poor fucking kids. It was definitely going at least 5000 feet per second.
I quietly and pseudo-instantly turned about fifty feet of air into fifty feet of air colored neutronium for like a yoctosecond.
Everyone saw a hand flick out, felt a kind of vibration, then stared confused at each other.
I'm really not the sort of guy to upset the balance. I'm a big fucking fan of the game. It's safe uh, ish. Predictable. Choreographed.
The Obliterated was not dumb. His gaze immediately fixed on me with a very reasonable amount of suspicious concern.
The heroes were murmuring to each other, pretty concerned. I quietly brought one hand down and pointed to a shattered piece of tile.
I then altered the electromagnetic disposition of the piece of tile in such a manner that it simply vanished. I held a single finger to my lips while making an uncomfortable amount of eye contact with The Obliterated.
He pretended to fight the heroes for like, two minutes. They honestly did really good. They'd have instantly died, but they did really good. I got arrested, The Obliterated got arrested, and The Steel Legionnaire even showed up to honor the heroes.
Well, I guess there are three people now, but I wasn't going to let him annihilate them.
Pretty sure that Phaser is going to replace The Steel Legionnaire one day, because she's got the gumption. Maybe Obliterated and I will catch a beer sometime and hash out the rules a little better for the higher tier villains.
Maybe not. Maybe I'll finally have to evaporate an asshole and everyone will realize that the electromagnetic spectrum is literally everything. I can turn your punk ass into gamma rays and uh, "yeet" you into a pulsar. Is that how kids say it? I "yeet" you? Whatever. For now...
For now, I'm playing cops and robbers. | A bank heist. A simple bank heist. It was a textbook example of Hero 101 down to the small side street and number of guards. My employers had controlled for every variable, including me, the robber.
As an Encore Enterprises hero trainer, I get paid better than I ever did as a straight-up villain. Plus excellent health coverage, including dental! The only downside was the lack of fame.
That should bother me a lot more than it does. As one of the world’s most powerful villains, I can melt buildings, explode things, fly…you name it. But innate skills only go so far in this game. It was like what my teachers always said at Frolich’s School of Fiends — I was both the most talented and the laziest student they’d ever seen. I just didn’t apply myself. It’s not my fault that top-level criminal exploits take a lot of time and effort that could be better spent on D&D.
As I waited for my pupils to be in the vicinity, I reviewed the heist plans one more time.
Entering the branch, I twirled my fiery velvet cape to draw attention.
“I’m Captain Chaos, and this is a bank heist. Please stay calm.”
As various customers yawned and the teller went back to filing her nails, I realized a little more fame might be useful in inspiring fear at this moment. Ah well.
“THIS IS SERIOUS! I am here to empty the vault!”
Muffled laughter was the only reply. I’d have to step things up a notch.
Surveying the bank's banal beige walls and carefully identical potted plants, I looked in vain for something to use. The piles of papers strewn about might be helpful. Some sort of paper cut tornado? Then I settled on an easier solution.
Flicking my wrist, I levitated everyone to the ceiling and assumed my most villainous pose.
“This is a robbery, and you will be safe if you comply.”
A few shocked murmurs emerged. The teller finally looked up from her ad hoc manicure.
I stared her straight in the eye. “Did you call Encore for hero assistance?”
Her awkward eye shift let me know she didn’t even as she mouthed the words “Of course.”
Great. Do I have to do *everything*?
“Well, cancel it. I don’t want those fools here! Let me let you down for a minute then so you can turn off the panic button.”
The service rep stifled a smile as if she was getting away with something. Good. Let her think that.
Paragon and Goddess spread through the door at that moment, slightly botching their entrance. I’d have to mention that in my report.
“Captain Chaos, I presume?” Goddess glared at me, twirling her own blue sequin cape with a vengeance. Full marks for style, although she’d need a better opening line…
Wait! Who’s that coming through the door? I was only supposed to train two heroes today. At least it would mean a bonus!
I turned to face my new pupil with a leer.
“Major Ego?!? What are you doing here?”
“I was in the neighborhood and saw you were botching yet another heist. Thought I’d give you a hand dispatching these supers as I could use the exercise.” Ego grinned, patting his perfect mid-section’s non-existent fat.
“Umm. I’ve got it covered. Practice makes perfect, right?”
“Not in your case, I’m afraid. Let’s tie these two up and head for the vault.”
“I’ll do it!” I almost shouted. Maybe I could save this class after all.
Tying the world’s loosest knots, I hurried back to Major Ego’s side.
The vault was a simple, standard lock. One I could open in my sleep. But I figured if I let Ego open it, we might buy more time.
As he struggled with the lock, I felt like my plan might work. And then it opened. *Just* as Goddess and Paragon emerged, throwing all three through the door. The vault locked behind them.
Great. Two students caught in a vault with a so-called super-villain. Not a good look.
Thinking quickly, I opened the vault and hurried the students out as I locked it behind them.
Falling to my knees, I surrendered to them.
Sure it wasn’t the cleanest lesson, but at least the kids were safe and could brag about the big ‘catch.’
---
Thanks for reading! Feedback is always very much appreciated | 2021-06-23T15:33:15 | 2021-06-23T11:03:38 | 73 | 48 |
[WP] You find yourself in purgatory, you will be forever stuck unless you write that book that "you are totally going to write". The book will be published in the world of the living. | I was amazed at how short St. Peter was. I doubt he was more that 5 feet tall so I had a foot and a half on him easy. St. Peter, he has a temper on him this one. He plops down a book the size of an unabridged dictionary and puts a finger on top and growls, "This is a listing of all your sins! All of them boy! You should be going downstairs, but you had to go and save that baby from being run over by a bus. No greater love my eye."
The pearly gates were shining and I made my way toward them. I rubbed my hands together. "This will be fun. I want to see just who you let in here." I was halted in my tracks and drawn back to Saint Peter.
He snarled, "Just what I need another funny boy. You will remain in purgatory with the other novelists who can only gain admittance to heaven by completing their first novel. Now go until you have redeemed yourself."
Most of the people I know who want to become writers, find out pretty quickly that publishing is the biggest legal con out there and the houses hold all the cards. You could write the greatest novel in the world, but if vampire stories are hot, they won't even send you a rejection letter. They want women writers, who are people of color, maybe bi or transgender, who struggle with depression and who will write a love story that will bring the average woman to tears.
Yeah, that's not me. What old St. Pete didn't know is I'm a writer see. I never have writer's block; I have too many ideas bouncing around in my head. My idea notebooks filled up three shelves in my writing room. Give me a pot of coffee and some quiet time and I can knock out a book in six weeks.
There are plenty of cool things about purgatory; the coffee is always hot and you don't need to go to the bathroom. The supply of paper never runs out if you write by hand and your computer's hard drive has unlimited space. On top of all of that, there are no interruptions. Your kids never come in and ask, "What cha writing?" You wife never interrupts with "Where did you put the check book?" She had it on top of the bills she was paying. Nothing ever breaks and you have all the time in the world.
Just like I said, in six weeks I knock out my first book about a little kid who runs away from home to meet his grandparents who are estranged from his parents. The kid escapes from the cops by riding barebacked on the fastest pig this side of the Pecos River. I even took the time to edit, found a few instances where I was telling and not showing and corrected all my spelling, grammar and syntactic errors. Man I was on a roll. I hit the print button and the printer magically created a hardbound first edition. I signed it with a flourish.
A small television appeared, and my wife was wiping away tears of joy and saying, "It was husband's greatest wish that he could become a published author. My only regret is that he's not here to see his dearest wish come true." One more thing that's cool about purgatory; you could see a million sappy things and you'll never cry.
Saint Peter just appears and says, "I can't believe it. This is some kind of record. Come with me my boy, it's off to heaven you go."
I have to tell you I was tempted, I was really tempted to follow good old St. Peter back to the pearly gates. "With all due respect sir, my novel really isn't finished. I envision at least a twelve part series of the continuing adventures of our hero. It wouldn't be right if I just stopped now. The story's not finished. I have to see it through to the end. You just let me get to work and come back when this series is finished your blessedness. It's the only right thing to do."
Saint Peter clapped me heartily on the back and said, "Now you've got the spirit. I'll know when you're finished. I won't bother you, I'll just let you get on with things."
I got back to writing volume two. With any luck, I could pull a George R.R. Martin and never finish. Things were looking better and better. I think old Pete made a mistake. This isn't purgatory, it's heaven. When you can write as much as you like as long as you like, that's a perfect state of grace. Now get out of here. I have writing to do. | # Timeless Literature
**Refusal**
"Can't do it," I firmly state.
The scaly woman sitting behind the desk across from me glares in disbelieve, her reptilian eyes widening, "What do you mean you *can't*? You've been wanting to write this your whole life and now you have *all the time.*"
"Exactly, there's no deadline," I state.
She reels back as if I had just just tossed rotten garbage at her, "Fine then, how about next week?"
I think about it then ask, "When's next week? I don't see a calendar."
"Oh muh gaaawd!" She fumes, then continues, "I have no idea, this is purgatory. Or did you forget?"
"Huh."
"Huh what?"
I shrug, "I guess why bother, then?"
"You'll be stuck here for all eternity if you don't!" I can see she's angry at me. *Finally.*
"So? How long is that, anyway?" I ask, not only because it seems meaningless, but to...
See her explode in rage, "How long?!? Ask fucking *God*!!!"
"Okay, can I get a meeting scheduled with him?"
She stare in disbelief, at a loss.
"It's okay if he's busy, I can wait," I continue.
"*No*. No, you cannot get a meeting with God," she manages to hiss.
"I see. Well, that's pretty indefinite, so we're back to square one. I need a deadline to write under, otherwise I can't focus," I explain.
She shakes her head and hisses a sigh out, "Do you have to be like this? Don't you want people to read your greatest work, unwritten in life? To pass on?"
"No."
"No?"
"No."
"I don't understand, you don't want to write that, or for people to read it, or to go to whatever afterlife you belong in?" She asks.
"No," I repeat yet again.
"Can you explain?"
"Yes."
"Okay?" She prompts.
I sit there silently with my lips pursed, and stare at her. I notice that just above the blue tube top she wears over her oddly-shaped torso, her scales start turning yellow.
"Okay," I finally reply.
"So?"
"So, no."
She pushes herself back again and sighs, "Fine. I'm going for lunch. You can wait here, okay? I'll bring you something after."
"Sure."
Then she gets up and leaves, shaking her head in frustration as she hisses under her breath.
**Recusal**
I start looking around the room. There's a dusty clock, but it doesn't have any hands on it, no way of knowing the time even assuming it did work. Her desk is the typical clutter of papers you find on any overworked publisher's desk. Piles of manuscripts, some in pretty poor condition, other clearly still unfinished. I find one that's nearly burnt up, it's entitled, "*Rahab And The Leviathan.*"
As I start to read it, I barely notice the sounds of scuffle inside. *'Rahab ran up the wall,'* it read, *'she knew the beast was close by the smell of the darkness around her. She knew she could find it if it did-'* Then the door slammed open into the room, tearing off the top hinge and falling to hang at an awkward angle.
"Come with me if you want to... wait, we're already dead, huh? Just come on, okay?" A mad woman had burst in to stand behind me and say this, dressed in wisps of shadowy fabric that unformed and reformed around her not like gauzy silk, but a strange dark armor. "Come on, let's go," she insisted.
"But I'm reading, it's about-"
"I don't care! Come on, they call me Rahab; I can tell you all kinds of exciting things later, but dead people's unfinished stories aren't worth your non-existent time. Okay? So drop it and let's go."
Rahab? "Okay," I decided, and dropped the charred pages back on the desk.
"Gimme another second here," she had been digging through the bookshelves looking for something.
"I thought you said those weren't worth our time?" I asked.
She shook her head, "These are finished, their authors moved on. Except for-" she had found the tome she was looking for. It looked like a pulp novel with a faded red cover, a few hundred pages at most, "*-this guy.*"
"Okay." I couldn't read the cover from how faded it was, but she must have known what to look for.
"Ready?" She asked.
I didn't have anything to bring, so I nodded and she led me out of the office into the chaos she had created outside.
***TBC in:*** *Lies and Re-Destination*
*(this story is part of the same novel that 'Rahab and the Leviathan' will be in, which is preceded by* ['Whispers of Damnation'](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/oc9m2b/comment/h3uu81c/?utm_source=reddit&utm_medium=web2x&context=3)*)* | 2021-10-07T08:23:04 | 2021-10-07T07:55:26 | 53 | 15 |
[WP] The finest blacksmith the kingdom has ever seen is personally invited by the King to his palace. He is given access to the most forbidden and advanced magic, a plethora of resources, all the assistants he could ever need, and a simple request: "make something sick as fuck". | The Royal Wizard was on edge, to put it mildly. As the ‘Final Judgement’ was about to begin in the balcony of the highest tower in the southern castle, he rambled at the unfortunate audience member to his left:
“I have seen a lot of bullshit competitions in the name of politics and pandering; “celebrating the harvest,” “neighboring kingdom day;” whatever - but this is something different. The prince has lost it. He essentially gave a carte blanche position to anyone that was willing to take a risk. Do you remember the fliers? He offered “the most forbidden and advanced magic” which isn’t even real – everything we know is all out there already, there really isn’t much that’s even outlawed. Well, I mean, we kind of make it seem that there is, but it’s wild out there. OH. And get this. He also offered “a plethora of resources” which is to say – what? Access to the royal bank? Because what else is a “resource” really? Frankincense? Mir? Oh god - And me, right? He promised ME. He LITTERALLY said “all the assistants he could ever need” – fuck man, I AM that. He never funds any assistants for me, but then he thinks our infrastructure can suddenly produce “assistants”? It would take at least three months to onboard someone to an assistant level – FUCK!”
The entrant who finally won the blacksmith competition stood before the council for the Final Judgement. He showed his wears with which he defended his standing in the competition until now. Everyone was on the edge of their seats ready to see the show of what they had already read about in the broadsheets, but no one could come up with how they would be put together in the end.
The Royal Wizard continued to monologue at his trapped seatmate.
“Anyway, I was allowed to watch, but that’s it. The prince, for whatever reason said I shouldn’t be part of the judging until the end, but the end is just the last finalist here, so there IS no final judgement, just an expo at the end of the day. I don’t fuckin get it.
So, a sword imbued with lighting… ok. Sure, enough to get through the applications phase, but whatever.
And then he’s got a "human-blood-soaked cotton armor" – gross, first off – cursed with StoneSkin, but cast on the blood itself… Weird – I know, technically works - but that’s a lot of work for something with the qualities or just normal-ass leather armor. I mean, it’s just a combination of common spells and really not even that much to do with blacksmithing now that I think about it. But *I* wasn’t allowed to *judge*! FUCK! And to the dummies in the tower it’s certainly interesting enough to get through the second round of academic review, but what is this thing supposed to be? Undergraduate symposium? Have some pride!”
The Royal Wizards seatmate began to get visibly shifty, but it went unnoticed as the diatribe continued, even more loudly.
“’And get this - a 'skull-that-cannot-be-touched-without-massive-electric-shock-possibly-ending-in-death’ – what kind of bullshit title is that? Again, really cool, don’t get me wrong, this shit is right up my alley, and certainly enough to pass the second to last stage of the competition - which was something about arcane knowledge – I skipped it. But really, how does ownership of a skull actually say you are “The Finest Blacksmith” - I don’t know. Ok, shit, fine. Sorry. It looks like it’s starting – Sorry man. I’m just edgy. Ok. Shit, looks like he’s starting.”
The finalist stood in front of the Prince and the 99 members of the Royal Audience, invited to possibly the most amazing and spectacular performance of power and ingenuity in the lifetimes of anyone in attendance. He spoke - finally,
“So check this out”
Biting his lower lip. He paused just a moment. With wide eyes he showed the smile of a man about to jump off a bridge. He drew the sword from his side with his right hand. Glancing back up to the crowd and holding a skull in his left, he started chanting… something. Then his eyes flickered white, and he shoved the sword through the skull cutting through his own hand - didn’t even flinch.
Immediately the sky turned black. A giant wave of lighting rose from the horizon crackling with thunder as it grew into a sparking web growing around the whole visible kingdom. Moving toward the top of the sky, all the while spider-webbing and flickering, cracking - taking almost a whole minute to finally get overhead and complete an orb as everyone gazed up in fear and amazement.
And then, it was gone. And the blacksmith was gone.
No one could find him. They weren’t all that worried at first, seemed like part of the show - Everyone was overwhelmed with sights and sounds of the performance. However, over the next few minutes, as everyone’s vision and hearing was struggling to come back, people in the palace started to notice that ever single piece of gold plated anything and solid silver something and copper core whatever was gone - and replaced by just some kind of metallic dusty white powder.
They’d been had. They’d been fucking had. The entire ‘Final Judgement’ was just a smoke and mirrors show to rob the kingdom of all the precious metals under that damn dome. No one thought to look into the “Blacksmith” and his background because the Prince wanted the show ASAP. Turns out he was just a goddamn warlock with enough guile and chutzpa to fool a few judges, and enough balls to risk it all.
The Royal Wizarding counsel had nothing to say, they didn’t even have an idea of how to start thinking about the greatest theft in history. Days went by while the royal board rushed around trying to look busy with having absolutely nothing to show for all the busy work they had 'overseen'.
The whole kingdom got got.
The Prince only had one thing to say about the fiasco, which would ultimately dethrone him. Twelve days of the entire kingdom coming undone due to some filthy charlatan’s lighting storm of thievery:
“…that was fuckin sick.” | It is a special, special honor to be Markus Torbar, the recipient of the first “sick as fuck” of any Celestial King in recorded history.
I remember that day, only a year-odd ago, almost exclusively for those three words. It is, as the natural laws of society seem to define, “unbecoming” of rulers to express themselves casually or carelessly. Cursing slots neatly into those highest definitions of unfitting for nobility. But nevertheless, the Celestial King himself, prophesied to be chosen on the day of a solar eclipsing when the stars themselves will align in his full name, willed those normalities away when he addressed me with The Sentence, one to be remembered by every person in The Palace for as many generations as they can pass the story down:
“I, by the power imbued in me through the will of the Celestial Sphere itself, will give you, Arcane Artisan Markus Torbar, any object in this world I can provide, so that you shall make me something truly sick as fuck.”
\~\~\~
Though I remember that moment so well, it was not from shock at the phrase. It was from the pleasure of a long-standing plan falling into motion.
When I was still in the cradle, my parents became fine acquaintances of the noble Larocus family. Though Torbar was but an artisanal name, few in the world were practitioners of legal and marketable Arcane Artisary - my mother’s healing charms and my father’s magical armor earned us high, high connections in the sphere of nobility. The count and countess Larocus, very near in age to my parents, were two of their first, and their longest, clients. In return for our gifts of magicwork, they gave us land, guarantees of safety, and when Liir Larocus and I came into the world on the same day, a promise of a rich childhood for us two.
It would’ve been impossible for Liir and I to not have been the best of friends. Those happy days will always bring me warmth. But, not just warmth from their idle pleasantries - the deep, satisfying heat of the progress from now to a grand plan’s first exigence.
Liir and I made plans, as young boys sitting upon sun-dappled porches and hills. Oh, such grand plans. We planned from our stomachs, who vied to one day feast daily upon feasts grander than our own coming-of-age banquets and think none of it. We planned from our hearts, to bury ourselves into admirable hobbies and the finessed arts of romance to assemble ourselves groups of friends and partners to rival our storybook heroes. We planned from our noses to grow gardens of the world’s finest flowers, from our ears to be versed in the fine world of music, from our behinds to never know a surface but silk cushion and wool bedding.
And from our minds,
Well,
We planned to be gods.
Because that would be, according to the only other time the words were uttered from future Celestial King and my deepest companion Liir Larocus’ lips,
“Sick as fuck.”
And what wall between humanity and godhood can’t be broken by a little youthful determination and a few royal boons?
\~\~\~
“A year ago,” I say to Liir from across the palace hall, “You petrified every other soul in this room when you asked me to forge you a request.”
The great Celestial King Liir Larocus bursts out in deep laughter. Despite my mandatory distance and formality, he trusts me and the otherwise empty room with a less-than-proper visage. “Indeed, I did. It remains a cherished memory of mine.”
“As it does for me, Liir. So now, I’ve come to show you every detail of this completed arcane beauty. You will not be disappointed.”
“Never by you, Markus, or your creations. My eyes and ears are yours.”
Showing off the chest-sized, gold-gilded, arcanically-glowing device to Liir, I launch into a dissection of my greatest creation yet.
\~\~\~
“Meet,” I say, gesturing over the entire hourglass-shaped contraption, “the Word of God.”
“This sphere,” I say, gesturing to a head-sized crystal ball polished in the center of the hourglass’ edge, “Is a binding sapphire. Though meant only to bind beings of demon scale, I’ve routed through it a portal tap into the Realm of Power,” I gesture around at the sapphire’s ring of thick, rune-covered segments that make the hourglass shape’s base, “to expand its capabilities into containing deities. Within it, I’ve placed a minor creation god.”
I grin up at Liir. “Your boons have been incredibly useful. You wouldn’t dare believe how close to all-out war we got for mining out this gem, were it not for your sociopolitical aid, and that’s not to mention asking the Celestial Church to help subjugate a lesser god.”
Liir’s eyes widen. “That’s amazing on its own, Markus. But that sapphire and portal are only a third of the whole device! What’s the rest?”
“This center,” I continue, gesturing at a spiked, undulating, fist-sized diamond floating in the hourglass’ center, “Is an attuned Infinity Crystal. Though they don’t appear in this room, it creates seemingly infinite versions of the entire binding apparatus. Every possible version of what’s happening in that sapphire flows through this diamond.”
Liir watches on with rapt attention. I can see the cogs grinding in his head, and cannot wait for them to click into place in a moment.
“And finally, this endpiece,” I say, gesturing to a thick gold ring at the opposite end with blackness and tiny stars swirling within, “is the Void of Babel. Opposite to the Infinity Crystal, which creates infinite different clones of one changing thing, the Void absorbs seemingly infinite things and can summon a specific one on command. It’s the final receptacle for the infinity.”
Liir ponders for a moment. “What does the Crystal take out of the Sapphire, Markus?”
“It takes words, Liir. His very being is refracted into infinite copies by the Crystal, each of them speaking different divine commands as he lives out infinite lives.” I gesture at the swirling imperfections inside the sapphire - what from Liir’s further view must seem like light-tricks, I can discern as various swirling forms of a serpent god. “And thanks to this device, every single one is absorbed into the Void, ready to be called forth at a moment’s notice whenever that particular command would be useful.”
A light flashes somewhere behind Liir’s eyes.
The light of a plan finally, fully, totally realized.
“So, whenever I need anything,” he ponders aloud.
I continue his thought: “Anything at all, limitless within infinity, you simply request it from the Void of Babel…”
“And it will give you the appropriate, power-infused words of a god.”
"Pre*cisely*.” I grin ear-to-ear.
Liir smiles. “You never fail to disappoint, Markus.”
“That is truly, undeniably, and unbelievably,”
“Sick as fuck.” | 2022-06-15T00:12:22 | 2022-06-14T23:38:34 | 200 | 113 |
[WP] This was the most depressing thing the villain has ever seen. It’s one thing to be invited to their archenemy’s birthday party. It was another to be the only one who showed up. | The letter came unexpectedly. **You're invited to Samuel's birthday party this friday!!!**
He was confused. Who was Samuel? He didn't know a Samuel. The idea of getting this letter meant he had some type of connection with this person, maybe it was the child of one of his old colleagues or classmates. He was popular back in his day so it was reasonable to believe.
He decided to go, after all, the child wrote this themselves. The crayon drawing that was the card was adorable.
Friday arrived and he grabbed the small bunny plushie and crayons he bought for the occasion. While the card didn't have an address, the mini map on it was easy enough to decipher as it was only a few blocks from his place.
Upon arriving however, he was confused. In front of him stood an abandoned house that was falling apart. The neighborhood wasn't in the best of conditions but none were as bad as this house. He looked around for any type of balloon or indication of a party before stepping up the steps to the house.
In response to the thumping of his black boots on the steps, rampant small footsteps ran from inside the house. He nearly fell backwards as the door flung open and a little body slammed into him.
"You're here! Come on come on come one!!!" He let himself be pulled by a small dirty child into the house. "Thamuel!!" He was confused, weary, and sad. He didn't know how this child came to living in an abandoned home but it was obvious by the empty food containers that they had been here a while.
"Marcie, what are you doing?" A familiar voice came the stairs and 'Marcie' giggled before shoving him into a room. She silently closed the door as footsteps above him ceased and the creaking of the stairs began. He looked around to find himself in a small kitchen that had make shift party supplies all around it. There were limp dirty balloons on the floor and cruddy hand drawings all over the wall with words like "I love you Samuel" "Happy bithday " and somethings that were unreadable.
He didn't know what was worse, the thought that two kids were living in a shithole, or that one of them worked so hard to create a birthday party that was so sad to look at.
"Marcie hold will y-" He looked over at 'Samuel' to see his archenemy. The 'hero' of Starsis was a kid living in an abandoned house. Samuel just stared at him, a large range of emotions crossing his face until he ended up on fear.
"I invited lotth of people to your birthday party!! Otherth will come thoon!!" Marcie jumped around excited as she presented the different things she did to Samuel. Both of them just stared at each other before Marcie grabbed his hand and pulled him to the table. "Whath your name? I'm Marthie! Thath Thamuel!" He smiled at her as he sat down, careful of the hole near his chair leg.
"I'm Thomas but you can call me Tom. I brought presents. This is for you and Samuel." Tom glanced at Samuel as he moved closer to Marcie. She was to busy playing with the crayon box to notice the stares each other gave. "Want to show me around Samuel."
Samuel glanced down at Marcie and nodded. Tom could tell he didn't want him near his sister. "Marcie, why don't you get out that special soda I was saving for yourself. You deserve after doing this much for me." Marcie gasped and jumped up before running the falling apart fridge. She opened it to reveal packaged food, chips, and a few water bottles. She grabbed the only soda container in there before rushing over to Samuel.
He opened it for her and she went to take a sip before pausing. "Do you want thome?" She held it out to Tom before he shook his head. "All yours kiddo." She smiled before turning to Samuel and holding it out once again. "Birthday thip." He smiled sadly at her before taking a fake sip and giving it back to her.
Tom followed out Samuel as the exited the kitchen. They barely went a few steps before Samuel whipped around glaring. "What are you doing here." Tom sighed and held out the card. That was all it took for Samuel to start crying.
He took the card and held it close to his chest as silent cries shook his body. He didn't look much like a hero in this moment. Instead he looked like a scared and lost teenager trying to survive day by day. Tom wrapped his arms around him as Samuel cried.
"Why are you doing this? What agenda do you have to stay and comfortable your enemy?" The questions seemed stupid now.
"Right now I'm not looking at my enemy or the hero of Starsis. I'm looking a frightened teenager whose run himself ragged from trying to survive and keep his little sister alive." The answer hit Samuel hard as the tears came out hard and faster. He clung to the shirt of Tom as he finally let himself be scared and comforted instead of the strong one.
"If it alright with you, would you and Marcie come to my place for food and a bath. Both of you are smaller than you should be. I don't even need to know your age to tell you that."
That warmth and caring was all it took for Samuel to nod. He knew from fighting him that he wouldn't hurt Marcie because she's just a child. Even as a villain he has standards.
As all of them walked out of the house, Samuel held tight into Marcie. She was his everything and he would do whatever it took to protect her, even if it meant siding with the villain.
Thus began the new life of both sides of the penny. | My face filled with glee as I tightened the perfect knot which I had made with a ribbon. The blue and black colors of the mystery box are themed to match Gregory’s horrible costume. If Gregory thinks he can play pranks on an immortal being like myself then he is in fact in for a surprise. I stood from my chair and held the box up; it was hard not to take note of the extra weight the box had put on since I placed the prized item in it.
“You think the weight might give away the surprise?” I looked down at Emilia who sat on a short stool not too far from the table.
Emilia’s tiny ember eyeballs elevated to the top corner of their frames. She shrugged and returned her gaze to me.
“You’re right” I smiled “This weight would mean nothing to almighty Greg.”
I studied the gift wrap for the last time to confirm the absence of creases before placing the box back on the table. I held my hand out to receive the last tool that would enable me to finish this project. Emilia jumped from the short stool unto the table, her hairy tail jolly as ever as she passed the calligraphic pen to me. I uncovered the pen and I leaned unto the top surface of the box. In a few pen strokes, I’d printed the words I desired onto the white sheet of cardboard that I adhered to the box earlier.
\[ *TO MY DEAR NEMESIS: muscle Lad*\]
I couldn’t help but chuckle and grin as I imagined the look on Greg’s face when I reveal the contents, or should I say content, of the box to his party peers. I was so immersed in the conjuring of this scene that I hadn’t noticed I was now laughing out loud. The empathy of my audience, Emilia, kicked in as she stood on her hind legs with her marvellous incisors bared while she squeaked and clapped simultaneously.
“Okay Emilia” I stretched my arm out “Let’s go see how we look”
Emilia raced up my arm’s length and sat on my shoulder as I walked to the bathroom. I adjusted my black bow tie and straightened my tuxedo. I espied Emilia stroking the gray hair surrounding her face before moving on to adjust her blue gown. “Oh Emilia, this would be a night to remember”
\*\*\*\*
Gregory had chosen a rather odd location. An abandoned pub downtown was the scene of a crime that occurred a few years ago. One of the few crimes in this city that I had nothing to do with. As I walked in, I was greeted with the sound of a violin playing the popular happy birthday song. Regardless of all the experiences, I’d had in my, very long, lifetime my heart rate stepped up as I looked around the room. Furniture parts were distributed to odd parts of the room, the large hole in the wall, and right there in the middle of the room sat Gregory with a round plastic table in front him of and a Bluetooth speaker on its surface.
Why are we here? Where are the other freaking guests? As these questions raced through my mind, I felt Emilia’s feet grip tighten upon my shoulder. The music had stopped, and Gregory was advancing in our direction. Skip a few seconds and the tall spandex-wearing brainless muscle mass stood right before me staring down as he usually does to make his opponents feel inferior. I stared right into the fool’s eyes to let him know that I was prepared for whatever foolish act he had planned. The inscrutable expression he had on his face quickly morphed into a smile. “Immortal, you came!!”
His excitement put my senses on high alert. “What is this?”“Holy!” the idiot continued “is that a present, for me?”
Gregory grabbed the box from my hands and shook it with curiosity. He stared at the words on the paper and looked up at me. “I see what you did with my name again. But I can’t possibly be mad on my birthday, right?”
“I can’t possibly have the answer to that question Gregory.”
“It’s Muscle Lad!” he retorted
“My apologies” I held my hands up.
“Oh, and how could I forget everyone’s favorite monkey” he reached out with his index to pet my dear Emilia.
Emilia hissed and bared her teeth in response.
“Immortal, you need to tame that thing” he retreated “Now have seat, I know you have a lot of questions hovering in that sinister mind of yours.”
Gregory pulled a plastic water bottle from beneath the table and handed one to me. “I wasn’t sure what kind of drinks you like and I’m also having some financial issues now, so I just got fresh water.”
“Interesting,” I ignored the bottle “where is everyone?”
“Oh right,” Gregory lowered his head “I gotta be honest ever since I stepped out of that creatin chamber two years ago my social life has been a landslide. With all these talk show hosts discussing how I could be doing a better job as a hero, the noisy activists who got me kicked out of my apartment, and the police always talking shit about how I’m interfering with serious affairs. It’s been a wild ride for me.”
Gregory grabbed the bottle from the table and drained all the water in one gulp. I started to feel sorry for the poor idiot but maybe it was too late for that. I could attempt to grab the box and make a run for it while Emilia unleashes hell on him, but he’d inevitably catch up to me. I spent so much time preparing that present that I forgot to make a proper getaway plan. Well then, the only option was to see where the path of sorrow leads to.
“You know I actually was seeing this pretty lady called, Lottie, for a month now and I could swear she was the one. But then she ghosted me just like everyone else except you. That’s the irony the only true companion I have is my archnemesis. I wonder what evil scheme you packed into this box. Some kind of bomb or toxic gas to render me useless?”
“Now why would I render you into something that you already are?”
“Saucy as ever, eh?” Gregory began to peel the box wrap. “Let’s reveal tonight’s surprise.”
I gulped down a wave of saliva as Gregory tore through the gift wrap and opened up the box. Gregory’s eyes squinted as he stared through the fog coming out of the box. A frozen human head, eyes wide open and mouth slightly pursed as though she was about to speak before the beheading.
“Lottie?” a teardrop trickled down Gregory’s face. | 2022-08-18T07:46:18 | 2022-08-18T07:46:11 | 63 | 40 |
[WP] Every time you die, your power brings you back a bit stronger. As you slowly become less and less human, the other heroes become more wary of you. Today, for the first time, you were mistakenly attacked as a monster…and no one is coming to help. | Every time I came back I looked a bit different. That was a given. My team knew that. They expected it. My body adapted to each death. Thrown into a vacuum? Came back with pressure safe skin and nictating membranes. Stabbed in the heart? Came back with interlaced ribs. Drowned? Came back with gills and retracting webs in my hands. That wasn’t the problem. They knew I would look strange. They knew I was still me. What makes you human is on the inside.
Then I died after a magically cursed game of chess. That was the first time I realized. My power could change me on the inside. My mind could laser focus on strategy. It was frightening to have my mind fundamentally changed. But I could compensate. I told my team and they accepted the changes. They supported me. They even put up with me becoming a bit of a know it all in battles… I had never seen it before, but our tactics were *terrible.*
The second strike was when I lost Steel Flower. We had just defeated the Sky Pirates, and were left aboard their de-orbiting satellite. Steel had been hit in the gut by debris going thousands of miles per hour. It left a clean cut through his torso in the perfect shape of a bolt. He bled out in under a minute while I held him to me. The love I felt for him was transformed to agony as I watched the light leave his eyes. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t drag myself to an escape pod. I secretly prayed that this would be the final death.
I woke up in the charred rubble of the station. And I was profoundly different. I laid there for maybe an hour, dreading the pain of loss returning. But it never did. I slowly realized that I could not even recall the sensation of that pain. Just the memory of a memory. The emotions that had lead to my death had been wiped away. No more love. No more regret. No more crying. I want to tell you that was difficult, but it was not. How can you care that you’ve lost the ability to care?
My teammates didn’t know how to react to that. I think maybe some of them didn’t believe me. They thought I was simply in shock from losing the love of my life.
Then came the last. The third strike. I was faced with an ethical dilemma. Red Arrow was holding an entire school hostage. I had reached him in his lair, but he grinned as his finger hovered over the switch which would release deadly nerve gas in the innocent students. He grinned at me with malice and said “You’ll just have to kill me if you want to both save the children and keep me from taking my weapon cache.” He knew I couldn’t. I would never take a life. Then he casually brought his atom rifle up and seared by body from existence.
This time when I woke up, Mind Witch was there. I think she had been motorizing me for some time. As I lost the parts that make you human. No, there are plenty of non humans on our team. As I lost the parts that made me *a person*.
She read the thoughts as they came to me. As the disgust I should have felt never came. These “heroes.” Their petty prides and their showboating tactics. They cost lives. They had to go.
There was no hesitation as I reached up and crushed Blue Kite’s throat in my hand. No remorse as I threw him at the feet of his wife. With her in shock, the rest would be weakened, defending her. And hers were the only powers that could stop me.
Some part of me tried to remember what it was to feel remorse. But I knew that was tactically unsound. I quelled it. | The first time... it was so long ago now. I suppose that is part of what being like this is. Memories with perfect recall.
The first time was when I was an elder, 20 summers old and I went out for my final hunt. Always different with my red hair, pale skin, and ice blue eyes that could see a bit better, I knew I would not be missed by many in the tribe. No, no surprise turn of events it went as you would expect. I chose worthy prey, a great fanged cat. You call them smiladons or sabre-tooth tigers now, but then I called it my choice of death. It took four sunrises to corner it, and I charged with my obsidian tipped spear level. It pounced, claws and fangs and pure fury. I lost.
I was suddenly watching myself be a meal for the cat. Do you know how disturbing that was? I felt a presence then, near me. With no flesh I still managed to turn towards the spirit. Of course I knew the shade, all people did as it would visit often taking who it would. It simply seemed to look at me, weighing something. Death said to me in words with no sound, "Not you. You are for the end.", as it plucked something from the aether and shoved it inside my own shade.
I was once more in my body, agony absolute screaming in my mind as my body regenerated and changed that first time. When it was over I had a body not just lean but strong as well and the retractable claws were the first outward change, but something changed in my mind as well, something became more of a predator's instinct. I knew my tribe wouldn't accept me, so I decided to go and explore, to see how big the world really was.
You see the final change wrought upon me was evolution of my consciousness and intelligence. Aging would turn out to be something everything else did.
I watched humanity grow and change and advance. Learned everything thing I could from language to cultures to science. As they grew I saw cruelty and evil take root in some, then more, and more. I couldn't, wouldn't stand by while innocent people suffered. So from I hunted once more. Keeping to the shadows over the centuries and guided by the instinct.
It was when I took up this pursuit I eventually died again then a third time, and so on. Each time waking changed ever so slightly.
It was the early twentieth century when The Miracle happened, as well you know, and the "Age of Heroes" was born. Humans showing extraordinary gifts, helping others and fighting for right. For the first time in a very long time I stepped out of the shadows and into the public instead of just individuals. We fought fascism and hate across the world, and at the time I would of course be killed but it was always a natural cause. The changes small and mostly unnoticeable. The Heroes started to call me Lazarus and I didn't mind. Thought it a good way to honor an old friend.
Ah, but time marches onward and progress with it. It wasn't long before the villains came and bioengineering allowed for nightmares to walk the world. In fact it was during this time, during World War One that I felt unseen eyes. Watching us, following us. At first I thought it simply journalists. It was also then the deaths became less natural, my changes more... pronounced. Yet for generations I was able to still side with the Heroes. The moniker went from Lazarus to Primal. Until today.
My friends, my NEW TRIBE dead at my feet and you government puppet, blood sucking, social media icon wannabes come and attack me with power gained from laboratories because you think I'm the monster? Broadcast it around the world and villanize me? No. No more.
So scurry back to your masters little puppet. Tell them what happened to your "Squad", and how much worse it was in person. They feared us for we would have stopped the total control by a few over the many. So when I release your neck crawl home and tell them I will remember this day with perfect recall. Tell them I have chosen my prey. As for the one viewing the footage in this one's eye, tell them I am hungry.
------- 2043/5/5, 1409 CST, Retinal recording of Project Hero / Designate: Cosmos (Notes - Deceased. Succumbed to injuries after return to base not thought possible to sustain internally due to alien physiology. Cosmos last one known to kill Designate: Primal [Re-designated: Omega] with "Power: Singularity". End Notes.
Personal Note - I fear what we have awoken.)
FINAL ENTRY | 2022-08-26T15:52:54 | 2022-08-26T15:28:07 | 89 | 51 |
[WP] SETI receives a transmission from intelligent life. After some deciphering, the message reads, "Keep quiet or they'll find you!"
The message was clearly sent from elsewhere in our universe, from outside of our solar system. | The dusty screen flashed to life.
We had begun to wonder if it was useless. A waste, billions of dollars down the drain. We started to think of ourselves as alone again. Or at least, too far away to matter.
But, then the ones and zeros poured in. Not a long signal, but enough to send us reeling. Some thought it was a joke. A mistake. A random signal sent from some far off star. We had to be sure. SETI hadn't picked up anything in years, so anything was worth working towards.
We sent for decipherers and decoders. Linguists and brainiacs came pouring in from around the country, just to look at these 26 lines of code. It took months on end of these scholars poking and prodding, finding some way to break it into something understandable. We, once again, thought our hopes were dashed.
But then, we broke through. Through some amalgamation of math and language, we put it into English. Our hearts were racing as our eyes scanned the page for the first time.
And God, I wish we hadn't.
"Keep quiet, or they'll find you"
That's all our billions earned us. Many didn't believe that we were correct. "It must be some flaw with translation" they said. But, us remaining minority that cared wouldn't listen.
We sent back, using the cipher we worked so hard to uncover. We sent back literary works, art, music, and, most importantly, questions. How had they found out about us? Who was it that we should be afraid of? We waited with bated breath as our message was sent in the direction it was received.
It took days that felt like millennia, but eventually, our far-off-friend responded.
"No time. Silence."
We were baffled. What were they so afraid of? Why did we need to fear?
We had only begun to question these, when the second signal came. A little different, a little stronger, a little louder.
"Have fear. We come." | Elisa hurries through the hall, shedding papers from the heavy stack in her arms. Without knocking, she bursts into Fred Turek's office, and spreads the papers across his desk. "It's a message."
"I hear that once a week. One of you gets your undies in a bundle over a little blip in data," he replies, shaking his head. "We often see patterns were there are none. It's like watching the clouds and thinking you see a dog. Or seeing Jesus' face imprinted on your toast."
"This is real, Fred."
"Dr. Turek to you."
"I've shown it to Mark, Gabe, and Alyssa, and they all agree -- there's something here, Fr-- Dr. Turek."
"Well, then, what do they think it says? 'Hello, dear Earthlings'? 'May I borrow some sugar'? 'We want to serve man'?" Fred says, sipping his coffee and scrunching his face at the bitterness.
"They think," Elisa says, in a wavering voice, "it says 'Keep quiet, or they'll find you.'"
Fred's eyes widen for a moment, and his face goes pale. "You say Mark, Gabe, and Alyssa all agree that there's a pattern, and that's what it says?"
"Yes. They all came to that conclusion independently."
Fred taps his fingers on the table nervously. "Tell them I'll meet with them in a half hour." He gestures for her to leave; the door clicks shut behind her. He picks up the phone, sweaty fingers slipping over the numbers, and says into the receiver: "We're in grave danger." Silence. "We received a transmission: 'Keep quiet, or they'll find you.'" Pause. "Well, you know we're in danger when damn aliens are warning us!" A sigh. "Yes -- notify them all." Click.
Meanwhile, Elisa stares at the monitor, eyes glazed over. The jagged dip of the graph, its irregular curve, and scattered flatlines all read like a death sentence. Every pixel is familiar to her; she's stared at it for hours, now. As a lowly intern, she initially didn't know what it meant, until the other three deciphered it for her; but she instinctively feared it. The tingling in her arms and legs intensifies; the world reels around her. "We're dead. We're all as good as dead."
The door bursts open. Mark, the experienced decipherer, paces in. "Elisa, we got another transmission."
Faint overcomes her; she can barely think straight. "What? What did it say?" she asks, breath catching in her throat.
"I don't think the message was intended for us, Elisa."
"What do you mean?"
"The second message says," Mark says, his voice wavering with fear, "'If you don't keep quiet, they'll find you. Earth will find you!'" | 2014-10-03T12:03:07 | 2014-10-03T11:59:23 | 46 | 32 |
[WP] St. Peter opens the pearly gates and lays out the majesty of heaven before you. You respectfully decline. | Peter sighed and shook his head when he saw who had arrived. There were so many that were so young. The boy couldn't have been more than seven. He wore khaki shorts that were scuffed with grass stains, and his Iron Man t-shirt was torn at the shoulder down to his opposite waist. The boy looked like he had been crying.
Peter knelt down and set his hand on the boy's shoulder. "Shhhh. Come on now." He held his arms open, and the boy only hesitated for a moment before resting in Peter's embrace. Peter pulled the boy close. He could feel the boy's nose against his shoulder. "I'm so sorry."
After a few minutes, the boy pulled back, wiping his eyes. Peter stood up, doing the same. He sniffed and looked away, wiping his hands on his knees. "Well, Isaac, are you ready?"
He gestured to his left and The Gate appeared. No sound came forth, but the light bursting out sang. Peter looked down at the boy. The child had a wary look on his face, and Peter smiled.
"What's wrong?"
The boy looked up at him. "Is my dad in there?"
Peter's smile faltered, but he kept it up. "Sorry. He has some time yet, as does your mother." He gestured again. "But they will be here. They would want you to go on."
Isaac gaze turned back to The Gate. Slowly, he shook his head. Peter's eyebrows raised. "No?"
Isaac shook his head again, resolute. When he spoke, his voice shook, but it was firm. "I want to wait for them."
Isaac looked up with a worried smile. The worry disappeared when Peter smiled back. The saint nodded and turned away. The Gate was gone.
"I suppose you can wait here with me. I'd love the company." | It had been one of the coldest winters in history, and we tried everything to get through it. When the economy tank and he was laid off, he promised he would find another job, and that everything would be alright. We pawned our belongings, one by one, even the heirloom wristwatch that was the only thing my mother ever gave me. We sold our flat, and moved into an apartment that could only be described as a cesspool; none of it mattered. The winter months stretched on and on, and we grew desperate. First he began begging, then stealing, taking from others so that we could survive. Finally, the best news of our lives: he had found a job. Soon, we would have food, and he promised we would buy back my darling wristwatch. We would be happy again.
That night, the temperature dipped. In our tiny apartment, we huddled together under a blanket, basking in the knowledge that in a mere few weeks, our bills would be paid and our heat would be turned on. That night, we fell asleep in each other's arms.
I woke up somewhere unfamiliar, it was warm, and soft. This place, it looked like, well, it looked like the shiver that runs down your spine when you first get in a hot shower. Being here was like the first warm day of spring, or the feeling you get when you wake up your parents on Christmas morning. It was exquisitely beautiful, and the winds here sang like a choir. As I bathed in the ecstasy of merely existing in the place, I drifted through it. After some time, or perhaps no time at all, I came to a place of gates that glistened so brightly it was as if they were made of light itself. When I saw those gates, a voice boomed through them, both terrifying and soothing, and welcomed me. At once, in the face of eternal happiness and wonder, I froze in terror.
He and I, we froze that night. In the bitter emptiness of our apartment, we died in our final embrace. He had done everything he could to protect me, but by doing so he was damned. His crimes were small, yet in this instant I knew that he was being held accountable for them. I screamed, and cried, and clawed against the force pulling me through the gates. I could not bear to live in this hell, this eternal separation from the man that I loved. Nothing could torture me more than the knowledge that I was in a state of pure bliss, while he burned. The gates shut behind me, and I collapsed. | 2014-11-11T10:29:32 | 2014-11-11T09:28:30 | 56 | 10 |
[WP] [EU] After getting his ring back from the engraver, Sauron realizes it mistakenly says "One Ring To Rule The Mall". | Three Rings for the Elven-kings in Junior High,
Seven for the Dwarf-lords in their halls with scone,
Nine for Mortal Men doomed to buy,
One for the Dark Lord with credit card bemoan
In the Land of Moredoor where the Shadows buy.
One Ring to rule the mall, One Ring to find them,
One Ring to bring the mall and in the darkness buy them
In the Land of Moredoor where the Shadows buy. | An orc doing an pornographic scrimshaw on the skull of his defeated fellow took a small step to the side as a screaming dwarf of questionable morals and spelling came crashing into the hard ground of Modor, "Fuck'n stunties should know better than to mess wif the boss" was final words heard by the doomed dwarf before the light went out behind it's eyes.
> ***"One Ring to Rule The Mall"***
A grand fury took over Sauron as blazed his hatred at the spelling error, he had poured his malice his power and not an insignificant amount of time on this project. And then there were the other rings given to the dwarf lords, the noble elves and weak kings of men, less than worthless, these rings had power and now strengthened his enemies rather than binding them to his will. Not that they knew he had planned to betray them, every day he received letter of appreciation or a fruit basket for his generous gift.
Sauron called for the greatest minds to help him find out what this mall was and what he could be do as a ruler.
Almost complete on the scrimshaw the orc got buried under the heaped corpses of the great minds who had failed to answer the question in a satisfactory manner.
| 2015-01-27T08:48:11 | 2015-01-27T04:46:37 | 16 | 10 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | 6:00pm: dark souls good items
6:03pm: dark souls leo ring
6:05pm: dark souls how to find Ornstein and Smough
6:51pm: dark souls how to beat Ornstein and Smough
8:13pm: dark souls Ornstein and Smough tactics
12:42am: dark souls Ornstein and Smough tactics phase 2
01:12am: dark souls Ornstein and Smough how to beat
02:01am: dark souls is it possible to beat Ornstein and Smough?
11:12am: how to fix hole in wall
11:17am: hardware stores
11:20am: how to fix cracked PS3 controller
11:24am: eb games return policy | Google search 1: *Dating sites*
Google search 2(one month later): *How to not be awkward on first dates*
Google search 3(one year later): *creative ideas for anniversaries*
Google search 4(another year later): *engagement rings*
Google search 5: *Flower delivery*
Google search 6: *Reservations for two at Papillon restaurant*
Google search 7: *Limo services*
Google search 8: *Wedding Chapels my area*
Google search 9: *Airline tickets to the Bahamas*
Google search 10: *Honeymoon suites in Bahamas*
Google search 11: *Best stores for baby registry*
Google search 12: *Hospitals near me*
Google search 13: *Pregnancy advice for men*
Google search 14: *Pregnancy classes for couples*
Google search 15: *Best ways to help with postpartum depression*
Google search 16: *child size caskets*
Google search 17: *Mortuary services near me*
Google search 18: *divorce lawyers in my area*
Google search 19: *Part time jobs near me*
Google search 20: *good deals on one bedroom apartments near me*
Google search 21: *How to deal with depression*
Google search 22: *How to avoid dope sickness*
Google search 23: *Methadone clinics near me*
Google search 24: *Painless suicide*
Google search 25: *24 hour storage units for cars*
Google search 26: *Best music in the history of mankind*
Google search 27: *How long does asphyxiation ta-*
| 2015-02-04T19:18:12 | 2015-02-04T16:28:08 | 128 | 10 |
[WP]Tell me an emotional story about a man, using only what he would type into Google search | Free dating sites.
Italian restaurants.
Italian restaurants near me.
Conversation on first date.
Tips for second date.
Tips for third date.
Mexican restaurants near me.
Long term relationship tips.
When to propose.
How to plan a wedding.
How to choose best man.
Pregnancy test.
How to tell if an unborn baby is male or female.
What foods can you eat during pregnancy?
Paleness during pregnancy.
Hospitals near me.
How long does birthing take.
Injuries during birth to mother.
How to raise daughter alone.
How to raise daughter alone for fathers.
How to stop drinking.
AA near me.
Elementary schools near me.
How to explain to child that her mother died.
How to explain death to children.
Middle schools near me.
High schools near me.
Average college tuition fees.
How to help child move to college campus.
How to say goodbye. | Google search 1: *Dating sites*
Google search 2(one month later): *How to not be awkward on first dates*
Google search 3(one year later): *creative ideas for anniversaries*
Google search 4(another year later): *engagement rings*
Google search 5: *Flower delivery*
Google search 6: *Reservations for two at Papillon restaurant*
Google search 7: *Limo services*
Google search 8: *Wedding Chapels my area*
Google search 9: *Airline tickets to the Bahamas*
Google search 10: *Honeymoon suites in Bahamas*
Google search 11: *Best stores for baby registry*
Google search 12: *Hospitals near me*
Google search 13: *Pregnancy advice for men*
Google search 14: *Pregnancy classes for couples*
Google search 15: *Best ways to help with postpartum depression*
Google search 16: *child size caskets*
Google search 17: *Mortuary services near me*
Google search 18: *divorce lawyers in my area*
Google search 19: *Part time jobs near me*
Google search 20: *good deals on one bedroom apartments near me*
Google search 21: *How to deal with depression*
Google search 22: *How to avoid dope sickness*
Google search 23: *Methadone clinics near me*
Google search 24: *Painless suicide*
Google search 25: *24 hour storage units for cars*
Google search 26: *Best music in the history of mankind*
Google search 27: *How long does asphyxiation ta-*
| 2015-02-04T17:51:52 | 2015-02-04T16:28:08 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] You wake up in an ice bath, large stitches down your torso. After the ER and subsequent MRI, you learn no organs are missing, in fact, you have a new one. | I woke up in my own bath tub. Weird. I'd have thought that if my kidnappers were going to go through with this whole steal-my-organs idea, they'd at least have their own bath tub. Must've been budget cuts, I guess. A bad economy takes its toll on everyone.
That wasn't the only strange thing, though. I didn't feel any sort of pain, aside from the ice bath, which was a little too cold. I mean, who bathes in ice? That's masochistic.
Come to think of it, the only thing different about me was a few band-aids on my torso. I just peeled them off. There wasn't even any blood.
I went to the Emergency Room and asked for an MRI, but the doctors refused. I told them my story, and they just thought I was crazy. Looking back, I'm lucky I didn't get thrown in some asylum, given how absurd my story sounded.
So, I gathered my senses and tried to find a logical explanation as to what had happened. There was definitely some sort of attempt to steal my organs, the kidnappers made that very clear. But there was no solid evidence that any of my organs had actually been stolen. I felt perfectly fine, and there were no scars anywhere on my body. The only reasonable conclusion I could make was that the kidnappers originally intended to steal my organs, but decided against it after seeing how out-of-shape I was. They probably wanted someone more healthy, I guess.
There's one more thing I should probably mention. When I left the ice bath, I noticed something new. A gift from my kidnappers, I suppose. In the corner of my living room, there seemed to be a some sort of piano. | Doctor Jacob Humphrey looked again at the image slice hanging in front of him. He switched his gaze to the woman, sitting surprisingly calm after being told what she was just told, and then looked again to the slice.
"You're sure, then?" She asked, voice unemotional, as though she were asking if he wanted jelly on his sandwich.
Jacob nodded and turned back to her. She stared in one spot of the floor, not shifting her gaze anywhere. "I... yeah. There's a second... uh, stomach."
She nodded. "I see."
Jacob swallowed despite himself. If those nurses hadn't found her passed out by the hospital doors with the scar on her stomach, she wouldn't be there. Maybe it would have been for the best...
He shook his head at the thought, yet he didn't want to in the same room with her. Even now, he stayed by the images instead of by her side.
"Yeah." He turned his attention to the computer screen showing Emily's brain activity. He would have sworn it was offline if it weren't for the slightest bit of activity in the temporal lobe. "This wouldn't actually be a big deal, as some lunatics could have added it in there, but the thing is the stomach is fully functioning. I mean, usually they don't *add* anything at all, they take a kidney, but I mean, even if they just threw this in there..."
She didn't respond.
"Emily?" Jacob asked. "Do you understand me? These guys, they did more than mess with you, they... they seem to have knowledge beyond anything I've seen. I think they did more than add a stomach, I think they messed with your hormones as well."
Jacob lifted the MRI slice and forced himself to take a step toward her.
She looked at him with wide, dead eyes. Jacob froze mid-step. Without a word, she shot her arm up and brought her mouth down, chewing on the fat of her bicep.
"What the Hell!" Jacob ran over, but stopped in his tracks when she again looked up, mouth still gnawing on her arm. Those eyes...
He backed out of the radiology room and closed the door behind him. He could still see her chewing on her arm through the window of the door.
The slice was still in his hand. He held it up to a light on the roof. A small word was imprinted on the secondary stomach. Something he had mistaken for static or movement.
Jacob patted his pockets, letting out a short breath of relief when he felt his magnifier. He put it up to the word.
*Zp-type0034*. | 2015-03-30T19:30:33 | 2015-03-30T19:00:03 | 141 | 35 |
[WP] Satan repents and wants to re-enter Heaven as Lucifer. God however, has a caveat. To prove his reform, Satan must resist an extremely tempting opportunity to sin. | I repeated “Why did you bring me here?”
We were standing in an endless field, the tall grass swayed softly. The mountains in the distance were painted on the horizon like hasty watercolors. The breeze felt cool on my bare skin. Felt. I could feel again.
“I have a decision to make.” He started walking and I followed along. We advanced for a few minutes, though it may have been hours… time seemed to hang stagnant in the air.
At last he stopped. He lifted his chin and spoke:
“The brook begins to gently flow as the beating stops. A single tear descending betwixt the mountain tops.”
I could feel my cheeks flush. “How…how do you know about that?”
“It was the first thing that you ever wrote … you had two published novels by then but it was the first time you wrote something real!”
“It was trite garbage. I never showed it to a soul. I didn’t even know what I was doing when I wrote that.”
“You don’t get it, you felt something! Something amazing and horrible, something no father should ever feel. You felt something and it was so strong that you had to rip a piece of yourself out and mash it into words on a page. Do you understand?”
I clenched my fist. “Tell me why you brought me here.”
He gestured ahead. About 5 meters away, a woman stood where moments ago there was nothing. My heart began to race – until then I hadn’t realized I had a heartbeat again. The woman was beautiful, so much so I felt sick like a first crush. She was indescribable – literally. She radiated, but when I tried to focus my eyes on an individual feature, there was nothing there, just an indeterminate blur of perfection.
He spoke, “I don’t know if I have it in me to be…me…anymore. I have asked permission to return to heaven, but before I do, I have to make a decision…I have to decide if I will once again, do what I did all those eons ago.”
A deep dread sank into my chest.
He continued “You all believe that you’re *his* creation. Damned lies! I created you all! I am the true father of humanity. Without me, you would all look like *that*, perfectly boring."
“She’s beautiful!” I protested.
“No! That is not beauty! Beauty isn’t just given to you. It hides between the folds of perfection, it runs and evades and sometimes it attacks! Beauty is loss. Beauty is pain. I created beauty!”
I said nothing.
“I brought you here because you are my favorite writer. Not because you are the best, I assure you that you are not the best. You are my favorite for what you fail to accomplish, for your flaws and shortcomings. Beauty is incomplete. *He* created completeness. I shattered his completeness with sin, and beauty seeped through the cracks. Shakespeare, Mozart, Da Vinci, the beauty they’ve created cannot exist without imperfection, without sin.”
I paused a moment before speaking. “What… what are we? I mean, what does *he* want us to be.”
“Fuel? Food? Some sick fetish? What do I know? We were never privy to his divine plan. Part of me isn’t even sure he knows. Maybe he is a servant to forces greater than himself. A timeless bureaucrat charged with maintaining order. But none of that matters.”
I rubbed my eyes, trying to wrap my head around it all. When I looked up, the woman stood next to a tree.
I turned my head back toward him.
“If you’re so proud of what you created, why change it? Why now?”
“I am defined by what I created. The original artist. Without beauty, I am dead. So the better question is, why would the artist take his own life? Why did Van Gogh? Why did Cobain? Why did you?”
I shuddered. Life. It was an eternity ago, it felt like a vague dream.
“You still haven’t told me. What do I have to do with any of this, why am I here.”
“I don’t know. Maybe I just wanted someone to tell someone… someone who would understand. Do you?”
I closed my eyes to think. What could I say? How the hell could I decide? Is all the pain of mankind worth the beauty it creates? After a few moments, I arrived at an answer.
When I opened my eyes, I looked around and only saw the woman and the tree. I scanned all around me, but saw nothing else. Then at last, I heard a faint hissing as I noticed something slither through the tall grass toward the tree.
| ”Say that again…” beckoned the tall man, dressed in his red robe with the whirling black stripes.
“You want me to just watch this guy?”
“Yes, Lucifer, that is the essence of it, just watch him. Don’t kill him; don’t hurt him, just watch.” The overwhelmingly white figure answered.
“Well, I can do that, surely. To be perfectly honest, I thought you would ask of something much more vile or degrading.” Lucifer noted
The white figure smiled, and everything in the world seemed just a little bit brighter.
“Usually your little games has a different… feel to them I must say.” Lucifer continued.
“Well there has to be some sport in it, does there not?”
“... Wait, is he saying that there’s usually not sport in the game?” Lucifer thought to himself.
Still smiling that bright smile of his, God gestured to the devil that it was time to go about his way.
Somehow, though, there was something unnerving about that smile of his. That smile that seemed to make the world just a bit of a brighter place by simply existing. A smile not quite reaching his eyes.
“Go now” God said, “You know what you have to do, and likewise you will know when it is time to stop watching.”
“I will do so” answered Lucifer “Though I wonder what makes this particular human special enough to warrant so much attention.”
… Getting no answer, or even recognition that he posed a question, Lucifer leapt from the skies, fell for a bit, and then teleported to New York. This was the place where the human could be found.
______________________
For Marc Sprigging, this was just a regular day. With being the CEO of Sprigging’s Incorporated, one of the largest, most successful companies in the world, he was used to having busy days.
Being only 27 years old, Marc had enjoyed an incredible amount of success in his life thus far, and coming from a below-middle class family, he had not forgotten about those less fortunate. This was the main reason behind how he spent his copious amount of money, on everyone else. Marc was hailed as one of the best CEO’s of the world, paying himself less than many of his employees, whom were getting more than fair compensation for their work. In addition, spending a percentage of the company’s total profits on charity, to great admiration of his peers.
Truly, it was no surprise for the devil, as he dropped in and started reading the life story of Marc from his memories, that so many people loved to work for Marc. He was genuinely and convincingly an incredibly nice person, always thinking of others before himself.
The devil felt a knot in his stomach. Something he did not get often. Maybe this was not going to be as easy as he had initially thought. Well, obviously not, there would be no reason why God would just let him back into heaven as easily as that.
The devil continued reading, feeling almost startled as he reached Marc’s personal life. He had a beautiful wife, and two incredible kids. Moreover, the wife, at a glance, was almost as incredible a human as Marc was. A pediatrician, working 50 hours a week to help children in the hospital, yet still finding time to be an incredible mother.
The son, six years old, was well ahead of his growth curve, already having complicated questions and discussion about the world, how it worked, and how its problems could possibly be fixed.
The daughter, a magnificent little girl of one year old, just now starting to form sentences.
This was truly an incredible example of a good human family, the devil thought to himself once more. God chose well, in making this family part of his trial.
Rarely had the devil felt the tingle, the need to intervene, to prank and to tempt as strongly as he did just now.
The devil watched patiently, as he took a bite out of the sour green apple that had appeared in his hand, as Marc went about his busy day. Taking phone calls, making phone calls, calming down distressed coworkers that came into his office.
Clearly, this was a busy time of the year for the IT firm, creating the most advanced and most popular operating system to date came with its drawbacks, both because of the support needed, but also because of the most recent wave of hacker attacks.
A hacking group called “The Wave” had recently breached security, and gotten away with a couple of passwords, nothing major, but the bad PR had hit the company hard.
Marc was feeling stressed out, and somehow... a bit ill, like how you feel after a cold, somehow a bit under the weather, except he hadnt been sick.
He longed to go home to his family after a long day of work. And as Marc was just about to shut down the computer for the day, as one of his most treasured co-workers came into the office.
Marc recognized the man from his shoes, as he was shuffling some papers up, and looked up at his friend, mustering a large smile on his face.
A smile that quickly disappeared when he saw the facial expression of his friend, terror painted on in thick layers.
“What...?” was all that Marc could verbalize, taken aback by the expression on his friends face
The answer came as an incredible shock of dread to Marc, but a bigger shock yet to the devil. He suddenly understood what this game of Gods working was all about. The hacking attacks toward the company, the bad PR, Marc feeling ill, and now…
“It’s your son, sir… There’s been an accident”
Edit: Part II and III in the comments below! Part IV - which will probably be the last part, will most likely be done sometime tomorrow. | 2015-05-06T09:52:19 | 2015-05-06T06:56:29 | 42 | 28 |
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :) | "Big Stander! Big Stander go on Walkie Time?"
"No...no walkie time right now, Bubs, I want you to tell me about the corner."
He whinged and fidgeted. The brow over his big, round eyes dipping down and then slightly up over the bridge of his snout.
"Bad Dog?"
"No, no, Bubs. You're a good dog. I just want to know why you bark at the corner."
"Don't like the corner.."
"I know, Bubs, why?"
"Stander with no feet, no smells. Stands. Stands. I bark. Say 'hey! Here I am! I see Stander with no feet!' No sounds. No smells. Big holes."
"Big holes? What do you mean, Bubs?"
"Big holes, no light. Stander with no feet."
"Do you see the Stander with No Feet anywhere else?"
Bubs glances at the door and begins to whine.
"Please please Walkie Time?"
"No Bubs, I want you to tell me about the Stander with No Feet first."
Bubs whinges and anxiously wiggles were he sits.
"No more stander sounds please. Please."
"No Bubs! We worked very hard on this project! I want to know why you bark at the corner!"
"Bark okay, Stander with no feet no mind bark..."
"Bubs! Tell me what you see or you're a very bad dog!"
The dog looked morosely shamed, but conceded.
"Big holes. No sounds. No light. Watches. Waits for Big Stander to be Stander with no feet." | Brian rested his forehead in his hands, trying to hide the fact that tears were leaking out of his eyes and slowly dribbling down his face. He'd known about fellow scientists getting picked off and 'disappearing' while researching dogs, but he never imagined the hole would go so deep.
Brian had discovered a virus in the brain of his latest experimental dog Rosie, but it wasn't a biological virus. It was nanotech, far more advanced than humans had ever developed. Talking with Rosie had been challenging, they would be having a decent conversation and then all of a sudden she would stare off into nothing. Asking her directly what she was seeing when she stared off into faraway places was pointless, she didn't realize it was happening and she would forget the previous 10 seconds of interaction every time. Once the nanotech was found, he analyzed it's I/O and discovered that during the 'nothing' periods Rosie was uploading massive amounts of data to some sort of computer in space. Brian started digging farther, and came across nanotech bots in an ancient mummified dog. Same signature, same broadcast.
Using the I/O from Rosie's nanotech virus he was able to reverse engineer it and built a radio for incoming transmissions. It was... bad. You know the wealth gap that has permeated our society since the beginning of the new millennia? Manufactured by them. Global warming deniers? Paid off by whoever was controlling these transmissions as an easy way to terraform earth.
The transmissions Brian saw suggested that these other worldly creatures had been here a long time, passing the years in cryogenic sleep while they waited for humans to become civilized enough for them to steal our technology so they could get out of this sector of the universe. They had been marooned here after some sort of emergency, and they had fed us all of our most recent technological advancements. Nuclear bombs, rocket engines, string theory, and quantum computers were all shepherded by them. Unfortunately they've got a new plan because we've been too slow to develop. The latest message Brian intercepted was a briefing to the world's most advanced 'Department of Defense'. The payload was a modified version of the mind control nanotech, designed for use against humans. It's unclear why they've suddenly decided to become slavers, but one thing is abundantly clear... humans have under ten years left as free people.
Brian had burned backup copies of all his evidence and mailed them across the globe, and he closed the door to his lab for the final time. He wasn't sure how he was going to stop them, but the entire human race depended on it. | 2015-05-18T14:37:16 | 2015-05-18T14:17:54 | 504 | 76 |
[WP] The year is 2055, and mankind has invented the technology to communicate with "Mans best friend". The horror we felt at discovering what they were staring at, when looking at "nothing", is humanities greatest regret...
Looking for horror/scary, but by all means, have fun with it. :) | Brian rested his forehead in his hands, trying to hide the fact that tears were leaking out of his eyes and slowly dribbling down his face. He'd known about fellow scientists getting picked off and 'disappearing' while researching dogs, but he never imagined the hole would go so deep.
Brian had discovered a virus in the brain of his latest experimental dog Rosie, but it wasn't a biological virus. It was nanotech, far more advanced than humans had ever developed. Talking with Rosie had been challenging, they would be having a decent conversation and then all of a sudden she would stare off into nothing. Asking her directly what she was seeing when she stared off into faraway places was pointless, she didn't realize it was happening and she would forget the previous 10 seconds of interaction every time. Once the nanotech was found, he analyzed it's I/O and discovered that during the 'nothing' periods Rosie was uploading massive amounts of data to some sort of computer in space. Brian started digging farther, and came across nanotech bots in an ancient mummified dog. Same signature, same broadcast.
Using the I/O from Rosie's nanotech virus he was able to reverse engineer it and built a radio for incoming transmissions. It was... bad. You know the wealth gap that has permeated our society since the beginning of the new millennia? Manufactured by them. Global warming deniers? Paid off by whoever was controlling these transmissions as an easy way to terraform earth.
The transmissions Brian saw suggested that these other worldly creatures had been here a long time, passing the years in cryogenic sleep while they waited for humans to become civilized enough for them to steal our technology so they could get out of this sector of the universe. They had been marooned here after some sort of emergency, and they had fed us all of our most recent technological advancements. Nuclear bombs, rocket engines, string theory, and quantum computers were all shepherded by them. Unfortunately they've got a new plan because we've been too slow to develop. The latest message Brian intercepted was a briefing to the world's most advanced 'Department of Defense'. The payload was a modified version of the mind control nanotech, designed for use against humans. It's unclear why they've suddenly decided to become slavers, but one thing is abundantly clear... humans have under ten years left as free people.
Brian had burned backup copies of all his evidence and mailed them across the globe, and he closed the door to his lab for the final time. He wasn't sure how he was going to stop them, but the entire human race depended on it. | Lucas walked into the intensive care unit of the hospital. It was late and the lights were dimmed, giving the entire wing a air of dread. Gurneys with men and women were strewn about everywhere. The rooms were filled long ago by the sudden influx of patients. Not a single person moved, the room was absolutely still and the only sound to be heard was the rythmic beat of heart monitors.
This was the first Lucas had seen of the afflicted. He walked down the hall dodging the mannequin-like bodies. He stopped to look at one man and quickly recoiled in disgust. The man's face was frozen in what seemed to be a state of utmost panic. His mouth and dark black eyes were wide open, blood began to ooze out of the man's nose.
Lucas regained his composure and looked around him. He noticed the same thing in every patient. Their black, soulless eyes stared at him with mouth agape at some unseen horror. Lucas, suddenly overwhelmed again, rushed through the doors at the end of the hall.
Hospital employees moved about the hall like zombies. No one spoke while they moved about their work. Two orderlies wheeled a little girl past Lucas. Black eyes. Lucas almost puked.
Lucas rushed down the hall and into the waiting room. Hordes of sleeping family members were laying everywhere. On chairs, desks, some had even made makeshift tents. The air was ripe with unclean human stench.
In the opposite corner of the room Lucas spotted his co-workers. "Lucas" Susan whispered, "What did you find out?" Lucas pulled them into the closest room. He whispered, "I don't know, I haven't seen anything like it before. The only thing I know is that every singly person in their had used the communicator." Susan looked disapointed, "We already knew that Luke, we need more. Millions of people are afflicted we need to figure this out."
Lucas was not surprised by Susan's urgency her husband had used the communicator. Lucas' other co-worker Rashid spoke up, "Lucas, I think it would help if we both could see it as well. Can you take us." Lucas nodded, "I have to warn you though. It isn't easy to take in."
When the three reached the ICU the situation had not changed at all. Dim lights. Black eyes. But now, Lucas noticed everyone had blood dripping down their noses. Under some gurney's blood had begun to pool.
Drip.Drip.Drip. The only sound was the blood hitting the floor. Wait, Lucas realized the hear monitors had stopped beeping. They were all off. "Susan, I think that they might be dead, the heart mon-" Suddenly a creak. Cccrreeeeaakkkk. The metal of an unknown gurney squealed.
Suddenly the man Lucas had first seen earlier was standing back turned to Lucas. The three stumbled back not daring to make a noise. Lucas ran to the door. Locked. The man slowly, painstakingly slowly turned around. His face was still frozen. Black eyes, mouth agape. Blood now pouring from his nose like a faucet.
A voice came from the man though his mouth did not move. The voice struck fear into Lucas' heart that he had never imagined. It was dark, loud and silent at the same time. "You have made a grave mistake." is all it said.
One by one the rest of the afflicted stood. "You have made a grave mistake." They spoke in unison. | 2015-05-18T14:17:54 | 2015-05-18T13:29:22 | 76 | 14 |
[WP] After moving house as a child you found adjusting to your new town really tough. Now as an adult you've realised that your family moved through time. | I knew I was born on the outskirts of Chicago and vaguely remember the split level house where I lived the first 5 years of my life. But we moved when I was very young, although I never really got the full story. I think it was for my dad’s job, but as I got older I picked up subtext of us kind of escaping something, although I have no idea what. My parents passed away when I was a teen, and I never got the full story.
We moved to a small town in New Mexico. I remember it being a stark adjustment from the cold of Chicago to the blazing heat of the southwest. We had no air conditioning, and really, a lot of the amenities I vaguely recall from being a kid. Like watching color cartoons on (what felt like) a *huge* TV on Saturday mornings, and a sort of portable jukebox thing. But the southwest was a simpler place, and we just didn’t have as much. Heck, nobody did.
Now, it’s 30 years later and by circumstance I’ve moved back to Chicago for my own new job with a government think-tank. It feels like a kind of full circle. And now I have my own wonderful family - my wife and I just adopted a beautiful baby boy and we’re looking for our own new house. I thought I’d check out the neighborhood where I lived several decades ago, and although I thought the landmarks would have changed over all those years, it’s actually strangely familiar.
I found a nice house on a street I think is close to where I used to live. It’s new construction, a whole new development. We got a nice split level, it feels comfortable and familiar, and I look forward to raising my son here.
*5 years later*
I have to get out of here. I realized where I am, *when* I am, *who* I am. So I’ve borrowed something from work, and we’re going to New Mexico. This time I have a plan, this time it will work out right. | My first childhood memories are of my parents' old house. Everything was so shiny and new. So clean.
I remember running around on floors made of wood so smooth it was like polished glass.
I remember the food - bright and sweet and cold and sour and so many many tastes.
I guess things really do get duller as you age.
I miss those times, when everything was louder and faster and more colorful. I didn't always like it at the time but what I would give to go back now! My imagination was so vivid I could see my dreams played out in front of me like watching a play - I remember staring at the wall and seeing the stories I created in my head. People and animals and creatures no one has ever heard of sang songs and danced. Some of them could fly, some of them were like creatures from another world, some were real and some like drawings come to life.
One story I made was about turtles who looked like men and fought thieves. Another was about a squirrel and a box and a star with eyes, all living and breathing at the bottom of the ocean. Sometimes it's hard for me to believe I thought of all these things - that I could create those stories - but how else could I know them? The mind of a child is incredible.
When I try to think of stories now I can't. I try access the world I once could and I come up blank. It's sad.
My dad thinks it's because we moved. He blames everything on "this goddamn place."
I don't mind it so much, but I guess I was too young to really remember what it was like before we first moved. I don't really know anything different.
Still, I think he spends too much time thinking about "going home."
It hurts me to see him longing for something that isn't here, like this world isn't good enough for him... like I'm not good enough for him.
I used to ask why we don't just move back to where we lived before, if he thinks we could be happier there. But he says we can't. He says it's impossible. I stopped asking a long time ago.
I've stopped asking because I can see it in his eyes: he doesn't know how to go back.
It's almost like he doesn't remember where we lived.. not that he doesn't remember the place, but more like he doesn't remember the way. We've travelled all over the country looking for... not *it* I suppose, but a way to get back to it. It's like he's trying to find the road.
Every time we get to a new city he's already defeated. Like it wasn't the city he was trying to find anyway. I feel bad for him, that he feels like he can't go home. I wish we could.
I wish he could be happy. | 2015-09-23T08:46:03 | 2015-09-23T07:00:33 | 111 | 26 |
[WP] After moving house as a child you found adjusting to your new town really tough. Now as an adult you've realised that your family moved through time. | I knew I was born on the outskirts of Chicago and vaguely remember the split level house where I lived the first 5 years of my life. But we moved when I was very young, although I never really got the full story. I think it was for my dad’s job, but as I got older I picked up subtext of us kind of escaping something, although I have no idea what. My parents passed away when I was a teen, and I never got the full story.
We moved to a small town in New Mexico. I remember it being a stark adjustment from the cold of Chicago to the blazing heat of the southwest. We had no air conditioning, and really, a lot of the amenities I vaguely recall from being a kid. Like watching color cartoons on (what felt like) a *huge* TV on Saturday mornings, and a sort of portable jukebox thing. But the southwest was a simpler place, and we just didn’t have as much. Heck, nobody did.
Now, it’s 30 years later and by circumstance I’ve moved back to Chicago for my own new job with a government think-tank. It feels like a kind of full circle. And now I have my own wonderful family - my wife and I just adopted a beautiful baby boy and we’re looking for our own new house. I thought I’d check out the neighborhood where I lived several decades ago, and although I thought the landmarks would have changed over all those years, it’s actually strangely familiar.
I found a nice house on a street I think is close to where I used to live. It’s new construction, a whole new development. We got a nice split level, it feels comfortable and familiar, and I look forward to raising my son here.
*5 years later*
I have to get out of here. I realized where I am, *when* I am, *who* I am. So I’ve borrowed something from work, and we’re going to New Mexico. This time I have a plan, this time it will work out right. | I remember, when I was just a little toddler running around in her underpants, getting my first Cabbage Patch doll. I loved that doll so much, taking it everywhere with me, and even giving it baths, and facepaints, and feeding it, and cutting its hair like it were a real little kid. It never recovered from the hair cutting, but I still loved that doll with its patchy haircut and all.
Then, when I got a little bit older, for some reason, I couldn't find Cabbage Patch dolls anymore. Weird, maybe it was just the times changing. But I had a Buck Rogers pistol, and it made zapping sounds just like the comics! Pew pew pew!
There was some scary stuff going on across the world, but I didn't quite understand it back then. Dad said some countries invaded some other countries, and I just said, "Why can't they just fight back against the bullies? You taught me and big brother to fight for ourselves when someone was being mean." All he said was something about it not being that simple sometimes, and patted me on the head.
Some years later, and we had to move, and at the worst possible time too! I wanted to stay with all my friends, but Dad had a new job somewhere. This new place had some weird interests, but Dad had told us we were in witness protection or something, so we had to forget our past and adapt. Something about the town we grew up in being peculiar enough that people would be able to figure out where we were from if we talked too much.
So, I made new friends and found new interests... like that dreamy Zac Efron. *sigh*. I loved watching his brilliant smile as he danced across the screen. I could never get my brother to watch that show with me, he was always too busy playing Halo or whatever.
There were new scary things happening across the world again, but with different people and different countries. But that stuff wasn't quite as scary as how sometimes we'd be stopped at the airport, for completely small things. I was always afraid my parents would be taken away and I'd never see them again. My brother and I would wait for hours and hours while they interrogated my parents. But every time, we would always get them back.
Eventually, my parents grew tired of all the surveillance and the security, and wanted to return to something simpler. We had to pack up and move again, to some totally backwards place. They didn't even have cell phone reception, and they were into super old stuff! Ugh. But, again, witness protection or whatever. We had to shut up and keep up again. Dad said they were some super conservative religious sect or something, and so they were only allowed to listen to the Beatles.
*************
I'm really not sure where I'm going with this anymore, so I have to stop with it for now. | 2015-09-23T08:46:03 | 2015-09-23T06:10:52 | 111 | 17 |
[WP] You are a supervillain, while your girlfriend is a hero. She doesn't know your secret identity but you know hers. After years of fighting each other you decide it's going to pull a heel face turn and join the heroes. | The first time we met, really met anyhow was at O'Fallon's. Made sense in retrospect that we'd meet there as it was one of the only places that day to get hammered. Between the bars that got destroyed and the places that were closed for a global day of mourning. Hardly a normal evening that some superpowered freakshow comes on the scene and annihilates nearly one hundred million people in one night, along with making every hero and villain he comes across look like chumps.
I took a shot and had to choke back a sob. Not every day your mentor and best friend gets atomized in front of you. "You lose somebody too?" A feminine voice said from a couple chairs beside me. I turned ready to slap on my best "fuck you" face and announce that with over one percent of the planet dead, that yes the odds were pretty damn good. I managed to bite it back when I saw that it was Apolla, although not in disguise. She didn't recognize me of course, after all my disguise wasn't based on my own old tech. My goggles let me see through most tech based illusion though, so in our battles I'd seen what she really looked like. Dark brown hair with blonde highlights, blue-grey eyes and a petite build. Although I knew this to be misleading as I'd been on the receiving end of a thrown car when I made her mad enough.
"Yeah...my friend, best friend" I said as I waves the bartender Will over to pour me another shot. She motioned for one as well, which got me wondering if alcohol even affected her with her superpowers. "Killed my brother last night...right in front of me" she said before downing another shot. I didn't need to ask who or what killed her brother. I never really put it together before, but Heracles must've been her brother.
I stuck my hand out towards her "Eric" I said when she took my hand. "Sarah" she replied. I smiled and reluctantly let her hand go, it'd felt warm, and I felt a bit of relief from the contact. "You're awfully brave to be out today" she said, apparently intent on carrying on the conversation. "Ha, furthest thing from ot really, I always run or hide from danger, but I guess I don't have anything to lose, so why hide you know?" I turned to look at her as I finished my sentence. "Makes sense" she said softly.
After that the conversation turned less dramatic, us swapping half-truths and outright lies about our life since it's not like we could just announce to eachother "Hey I'm the fake" "Oh that's interesting I'm Apolla." I don't know what compelled me to do it, but when I felt like I'd hit my limit and decided to leave, I gave her my number. Told her to call me if she wanted to talk. She accepted and told me to not drive, I agreed and said I'd take a cab. A lie of course, but my AI piloted stealthcraft was nearby and that'd take me back to the lair.
A few hours passed when I was fiddling with my tech, starting to sober up and getting increasingly frustrated. To hide myself from this new threat I needed a telepath to work with. He'd seen right through my illusions and read my thoughts. Stood to reason that I could alter the light around me all I wanted, but if i couldn't shield my mind from him, he'd still find me. My phone began to go off with an unknown number, normally I'd ignore it, but it was a weird day. "Eric?" A female voice came out. "Yeah...is this Sarah?" I muttered out. "Yeah...hey, do you mind if I come hang out? I don't really want to be alone right now, plus my house kind of got destroyed last night." I almost smiled at the irony, a homeless scared superhero. What a strange new world where even the superpowered felt fear and helplessness in the face of a new threat. "Sure" I said and rattled off the address of one of our....my more comfortable safehouses as I hopped in the stealthcraft to make my way there. Hopefully she wouldn't use her superspeed and beat me there.
To be continued here in a bit. | It was another beautiful day. The birds were singing, the sun was shining. You were safely nestled in your evil fortress overlooking the city. Ordinarily you would be on the top floor, overlooking the death and destruction you were currently reigning down the city. Today, however, the tower was currently being under siege by your girlfriend. She didn’t take kindly to you razing half the market district after the city didn’t give into your demands.
So instead of being perched on top of your seat of power, you opted to take refuge in your inner sanctum. Sitting in your leather chair, sipping your fine wine, you waited. She would surely find you within a few moments. When she did, you would do the usual back and forth with her and then casually escape in a flashy way. You brushed your hand across the expensive table you were sitting in front of. Right in the middle was a button for your escape. It was really quite thrilling. You can’t help but really love this life style.
Rumbling from the upper levels stirred you from your thoughts. Putting the wine down, you stood up from the very comfortable, expensive chair. She would be coming from the leftmost door this time, judging from the nearest crash. Casually, you walked in front of that door and put your arms behind your back like some kind of old sage. Yes, this was your default position. It showed you were in control, and you were always in control in front of her.
She punched down the mahogany door and locked eyes with you. As usual, she wasn’t in a very pleasant mood. Her costume in tatters, her hair in her face, and even her mask was practically falling off, she didn’t look like her usual intimidating self. Guess the traps you bought were well worth the money. She was panting heavily, trying to catch her breath. As an act of mercy, you decided to speak first in order for your beloved to catch her breath. As an added service, you even spoke a little more slowly than usual.
“Well, well. If it isn’t my nemesis. I’m surprised you got here so quickly. I hope my… sentries didn’t give you too much trouble?” You paused for a moment. She shot you a nasty glare. Hnngh. You began to pace around the room as you spoke. “Well, no matter. I can’t imagine how you found me, but you are too late. The second barrage has already been fired, and now whatever was left of the market district is… dust?” A shit eating grin spread across your face and you laughed softly like some sort of asshole.
Even winded and panting, she laughed dryly. You raised an eyebrow. You spoke out in mock surprise. “What’s so funny?”
She gave you an even bigger grin as she took a deep breath to speak. “Your plans have failed. Everyone was evacuated in time. Nobody was hurt this time, you devil. As for your second barrage? Well… let’s just say one of your interns were very willing to put a stop to it just in time.”
You scrunched up your face in mock anger. Of course you knew the second barrage didn’t fire. You specifically planted an acne ridden teenager there with the codes to deactivate it for her to save the day. Still though, you had to pretend that you were foiled. “You meddling WRETCH!” You shouted, secretly praising your acting abilities. Then, you twisted your face to one of calm understanding, before pacing the room again. “Well then, if you did so well. Then why are you here?”
She had finally caught her breath. At last, she slowly approached you. “Why else, Dr. Terrible? To take you in and have you pay for your crimes.” You watched her approach with glee in her eyes. Any second now… any second now…
Your girlfriend walked into an invisible wall. It took her a moment to realize there was an invisible wall between you and her. An invisible wall that was reinforced with a quadruple plated titanium alloy that even with her super strength she couldn’t budge. How exactly was this made? You didn’t know, but it worked so who cares. You laughed loudly. “FOOLISH GIRL! Not today, but perhaps when I’m in a more entertaining mood.”
She banged on the invisible wall repeatedly, screaming your alias. You ignored her threats and her demands and casually pressed a button on your table. Within moments, the room began to take off into the sky. Within moments, you were out of sight of her. You knew the ins and outs of her powers very well after all this time. There was no hope of her following you. Soon you would land in a safe, preset, secluded location. After that, you would get dressed in your casual street clothing. The evil helicopter would take your inner sanctum to the construction site of the next fortress. You have plans for it to bigger, flashier, and even more menacing, but until then you would go back to your apartment with your live-in girlfriend.
Oh, you can’t wait to see her. Tonight, the both of you have plans to be lazy slobs, order Chinese food, and watch anime. Maybe she’ll tell you about her adventures? Chuckling, you really doubted it.
| 2015-11-08T14:10:37 | 2015-11-08T13:30:27 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] Soul mates are real and technology has finally allowed for detection of some peoples “other half" at the speed of light using quantum messaging. When you were tested there was no response, now 10 years later you are called in to let you know a response has just arrived.
thats all you get to go on, can be born years apart, could be distance, could be missing soul, whatever you want.
theme, setting and genre all up to you.
*"technology" can be magic, natural human empathy, gods, whatever. | The Matchmaker - a modern day miracle, if you believe the press. An unprecedented triumph for science and humanity.
Mind you, they don't have to support the bloody thing. I do.
I won't lie to you - it's a seriously impressive piece of kit. I'm not too clear on the science of it all, but the technology side I have down to a tee. All it requires is two pieces of equipment - a cranial implant at the base of the neck, and a digital wristband capable of displaying simple messages once a match had been found.
The implant maps your entire being - hopes, fears, dreams, likes, dislikes, what you had for lunch three years ago on a Tuesday, everything. It then feeds back to the centralised database, where it compares your essence to every other Matchmakee (I know, I know. I had no say in the slang terms we use) and dictates your soul mate.
No new technology is without its problems - in the old, unproven days, the combination of limited participants and a basic matching algorithm, it wasn't uncommon for there to be mistakes, or even "no matches found". That was, until it went viral.
The more people signed up, the more matches were made. Parents had implants attached to their children; though they weren't connected to Central before their 18th birthday, the implant could monitor everything. The implant knew the host better than the host knew themselves, and the algorithm learned as a result - these days, the company boasts a 100% success rate.
Well, they would, if it weren't for one slight problem - they can't find me a match.
Nobody can figure it out - not even me, and I work tech support for Matchmaker HQ. I know all the error codes by heart - MM25, limited network connection (all implants come with built-in WiFi, because *of course they do*).
MM62 - Cranial Implant needs realigned.
Me? Any time I connect to Central, I get the same error message -
MM708724$xs - Unknown Conflict Error
My coworkers were stumped - none of them had ever seen that error code. I've escalated to Tier 2, who escalated to Tier 3, so on and so forth. It went all the way up the chain to the Lead Developer for the Matchmaker, who ended up shrugging his shoulders in disbelief.
"I don't know what to tell you, sir," he said, "I have never seen that error message before and *I wrote the backend code!*"
That was ten years ago. I'd all but given up on it - resigned to a life lived alone, the solitary failure, the dirty little secret the company would love to keep buried forever.
Until tonight, that is. I was beta testing a new version of the wristband - increased functionality, better speed, different colours - and was working on the message reception functionality.
Ok, don't judge me - I'd been drinking a little. I wasn't paying as close attention as I should have, and in my distracted state, I accidentally sent two messages to the test device at the same time.
The error flashed up on the screen.
MM708724$xs - Unknown Conflict Error
I froze, instantly sober.
*It couldn't be... No way...*
I tried again - two messages to the same device at the same time. Once again, the screen read those all-too-familiar words - Unknown Conflict Error.
*No. But that would mean...*
In a daze, I disconnected the wristband from the test Implant provided. I cradled it in my hands for a while - I guess I was afraid of what I had to do, and what I would find if I did.
I slid it on my left wrist, locking it into place and tentatively connected it to my Implant. Normally, this wouldn't be possible - the Implant is designed to reject two wristbands of the same firmware being attached to the same Implant. But this was a test device, with brand new firmware. The digital screen blinked back into life, displaying a single message.
*Awaiting connection to Central*
With my breath held, I logged into Central on both wristbands. Time passed at a crawl, as both devices authenticated against the database.
And then... *Ping!*
Both wristbands were flashing, indicating a match.
My heart was beating a tattoo on the inside of my chest, too afraid to look. But look I did.
**Wristband 1**
*Congratulations! Matchmakee Maria Hayes, 26, Florida, has been identified as your soul mate!*
**Wristband 2**
*Congratulations! Matchmakee Judith Hayes, 26, Florida, has been identified as your soul mate!* | Credits rolled lazily down the screen of Richard Luther's TV, punctuated by one of last year's summer pop songs. With each rhythmic thump, a new coupling of names dominated the screen.
"Maxwell Markov as Jimmy"
"Patricia Fennel as Alex"
The cast list ran it's course, and after paying his half-conscious respects to all the good people of the Taiwan foreign resource department, Richard turned off the TV and dug himself deeper into the visions of his sofa.
It had been a classic winter rom-com. Two revoltingly quirky individuals fall in love by their own terms and then find out that they were soul-mates all along. Everyone celebrates, happily ever after, credits roll, and Richard was left wondering what other roles he'd seen Patricia Fennel in.
Richard had never met his match. Although perhaps that is an understatement. Richard never HAD a match. The day he turned 25 he visited the Mitchell County General Hospitals Genealogy and Synthesis department with an unparalleled giddy excitement to meet his match. By then he'd had a fair share of summer flings and short-term lovers, but this was to be "the real thing".
But nothing became of the test. Not a single match in any nation. First it was a machine issue, then a problem with his blood, then a machine issue again, but as the months went by and Richards arms grew sore from giving blood, it became clearly evident that test was not flawed. Richard was.
And so he'd tried to content himself. He wasn't the only bachelor above 25. There were plenty of widows, anti-matchers, and folk with exempting religious ideals. Richard met many but loved none. And had this resigned himself to a moot life of solitude.
But as with most decrepit cases of human isolation, there remained a tie to the outside world. A spark of hope. Every year, Richard would drive to MCGH and get tested for a match. There wasn't a particular date on which he would go, just whenever he could get in. Preferably early in the morning. People hate going to early appointments.
And so Richard stared on from the couch and let a rerun episode of "Pair of Twos" fill the room with white noise. On the TV, characters spoke to an invisible audience, but their requests soon fell on deaf ears, as Richard fell asleep and dreamed something unsubstantial.
-/-
The next day, Richard pulled himself off the couch, cleaned up, and made a point to run an even dollop of gel through his hair. He believed in looking presentable. He drove to the hospital and waited in a full room. He savored each wasted minute.
After nearly half an hour in the waiting room, Richard was pulled into room B3 and grilled about his medical history. His dimensions were taken, and then his blood was sampled. "This'll only be a minute. I'm sure you're dying to find out!" The doctor merrily recited. "Certainly am." Richard responded, but by then the doctor had left.
Alone again, Richard took inventory of his surroundings. Cold and Flu prevention advice, a diagram of a double helix, a pamphlet on STD prevention with a smiling family on the front. Drawings from the doctors children over the door.
Earlier in his life, Richard would have felt a crushing sense of hopelessness in this room. He would have hated himself for coming back here, for pursuing a fantastical future. But the anger had left him quickly, and the despair that followed withered as well. Now he felt nothing. And he hated it.
The doctor stepped back in and cast a puzzled glance at his patient. "Sir, now this isn't totally unheard of, but..." Richard waved a hand and cut him off "Machine issue. I know. Don't..." The doctor gave Richard a silencing glance and threw down a beige folder. "Not today, sir."
Richard didn't move, but his eyes drew their way down to the folder and locked themselves in place. With a shuddering hand, he turned it open. Within was a gridded list of statistics, yes-no checkboxes, and signatures. Richard pushed them away one by one until he found what he was looking for. A two by three black and white photograph of a young woman.
"Only just got around to testing, that one. I couldn't tell you why, they're not obligated to say. She's on the younger side of a matching, that's for sure, but I've definitely seen more drastic pairings."
Richard stared on in disbelief at the monochromatic woman before him. She had soft features, and a nose that was just a little small for her face. Richard tried to guess the color of her hair.
"Now of course we can arrange an official meeting through the genealogy and synthesis department. We'll need further contact information and it may take a while to process, but it shouldn't be too much of a hassle for anyone."
"It's a wild feeling, isn't it, sir?"
"Sure is, doc."
"Been a long time coming I suppose?"
"Something like that."
"Well I'm sure she feels the same"
"Maybe."
A few moments later, Richard ran out to his car and threw the beige folder into the passenger seat. He plopped down into the drivers seat and motioned to start the car, but not before fixing the folder to keep it in even order. He had resolved to bring the folder with him. He wanted to see where everything matched up. | 2015-11-30T13:37:18 | 2015-11-30T11:37:26 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] You are sitting in the longest traffic jam in human history. It has been going on for decades and grown a culture of its own. Describe your life in "The Jam" | I was born here. This is all I know. My folks say that when they joined Jam95 that they were upset and wanted it to end. They wanted to leave it! I don't believe them. Why would they want to leave? All of my friends are here. The government brings us everything we need. My mother is especially skilled at combining different rations to make something palatable, sometimes even delicious. Last months she managed to make an Indian-style flat-bread. How the hell a Swede from Danvers pulled that off is beyond me.
Last week we had a movement, the first I had seen in years. Word arrived from further down the road before we saw it. The air was electric with chatter and excitement. Over on the next hill people started jumping in their cars. My eyes had trouble comprehending what I was seeing. It was as if a whole forest's worth of trees got up and wandered over to the next meadow. Yet, there it was. One at a time they would inch forward, opening up a narrow space behind. We knew it would be hours before we had our turn, but the excitement was too much to bear.
We collected our belongings scattered around the Taurus. I collapsed my sleeping lean-to. Some kids are allowed to sleep inside every night, but only on the coldest and wettest did my folks allow me in. I picked up the fire pit and strapped it to the hood. Visibility wouldn't be an issue, we're not going far. Father says that the movements used to be more common and go much further.
Our time drew nearer. The movement rippled down the far hill into the valley, then slowly crawled up toward the Taurus. Closer and closer it slithered up the hill. My father carefully removed his keys from the glove box. Ceremoniously he stuck it in and cranked. With a soft purr the Taurus sprang to life. Thank God. Asking for a tow in a movement is a social catastrophe that is remembered for years. Pressing his ratty Oxfords into the pedal we accelerated forward, then with a quick move to the brakes we stopped. And with a sigh we realized that another movement was completed.
| From a door set into the thick plastic wall comes a crate. Chev grabs it and begins unpacking.
"Everything is canned again. Beans, soup. We still have tortillas from last night, so I guess we're going to have burritos."
"I'm tired of burritos," I say, "and I think the clan is, too."
"Well, we can always make soft tacos," Chev says.
Joe, watching us rifle through the crate from his wheelchair, laughs. He's old enough to remember when the new nuclear power chips in the streetlamps went bad. He was in a traffic jam with his family, thirty years ago now, when the chips began emitting dangerous radiation. The authorities acted fast, sealing off the road in a plastic bubble. It protected us from the radiation, but it also trapped all of us inside.
And I'm old enough to remember when Joe and the other elders still talked about when they were first trapped here and life before it. Then they agreed to never speak of it, because they felt it gave all of us the false hope of someday leaving.
Chev and I grab ahold of the crate and carry it to the kitchen tent. At one end is a wall of crates from previous meals, and at the other is our cooking space. As I fire up the stove, harsh sounds begin to rip through the air.
It's Priu's engine harmonica. She's one of the mechanics. The only thing I can tell you about the music it makes is that it has something to do with the cylinders and pipes and its power comes from gasoline, like my stove. I blame my ignorance on engines on the clear social divisions in our clan: mechanics and cooks.
The mechanics make art and machines with car parts, refusing to accept any of the new nuclear-powered technology that those outside of the bubble offer us. On some level all of us resent nuclear power, because its the devil responsible for our own unique brand of human suffering.
The cooks turn whatever food the outsiders give us into bulwarks against boredom. For many in the clan, eating our gourmet dinner is the highlight of their day.
So in this way, we go round-and-round, trying to help one another find meaning and joy in this strange existence.
Most of us, anyway. As I open a can of beans I spot my younger brother through an open tent flap. He's sitting motionless with his back against the plastic bubble. From this distance I can't tell if he's sleeping or if he's just staring into nothing.
A month ago, he tried to kill himself in this very kitchen. He thought that because gas is used in combustion engines, it would explode and kill him quickly. Luckily, I caught him before he was able to find out that when you soak yourself in fuel and light a match, you burn up, slow and painful.
I can't let him destroy himself or this community. He's just a teenager, and someday he'll become used to life inside, which is really no better than life on the outside, if you think about it. I know that so-called "normal" folks are doing the same as us, going round-and-round, trying to inject meaning into their lives. | 2015-12-01T11:12:00 | 2015-12-01T08:08:41 | 42 | 17 |
[WP] Your Xbox Live friend is God. Unfortunately he's not very good at video games. | **"You know, I really don't know why you want to play such a violent game all the time. Isn't there anything nicer you want to play?"**
"Come on, G-Man, it'll be fun."
**"Hmm... well, I suppose you do only have a little bit of time left to enjoy this kind of thing."**
"What was that?"
**"Oh... nothing. Ooh, let's do this room."**
"But, the ping's a lot higher than the other rooms."
**"Please?"**
"Fine, fine. I guess it's your universe, anyway."
**"Alright, let's go."**
"...Wow, God, you're getting dominated already?"
**"Yes, I suppose I am."**
"You... you do know you're *God*, right?"
**"What do you mean?"**
"Every week, you want us to go on some really weird server, and you always do really badly. You're supposed to be omnipotent, right? Couldn't you just flawlessly win every time?"
**"...Alright, see the person dominating me?"**
"Yeah...?"
**"Five days ago, his mother, and only surviving parent, passed away in her sleep. He's scared he won't be able to help his little sister come to terms with it, or be as good a parent as he should to her. He's playing this game to work out his frustration."**
"...Jesus."
**"Ahem... blasphemy."**
"Right, right..."
**"In any case... I thought he should have a small victory tonight. Small victories accumulate and make you feel better."**
"...Wow."
**"I'm glad you're impressed."**
"...Hang on. What about that 1v1 we did a month back?"
**"Ugh... that's because the sniper rifle is OP as fuck."** | I'd met Caesar while playing Call of Duty 4 back in the day. Day after day we would play together, and day after day Caesar would get absolutely destroyed in game. What I didn't notice, however, was that every time someone no-scoped, ninja defused, noob tubed, or any other humiliating thing against him, they would just disconnect.
It took me a while to put two and two together, so one day I confronted him about it. I asked him if he worked for Infinity Ward or Activision and was banning people or cutting their connection when they would embarrass him.
He laughed a good bit at that, but said no.
That's when he explained to me that he was in fact, a god. He was capable of controlling anything and everything in the physical world, but couldn't affect anything in the game world. So when someone made him mad in game, he just... disconnected them in the only way he was capable.
A first it scared me a little that he was taking out in game frustration on real world lives, but then it hit me... my Xbox buddy is a god. So we talked some more and he hooked me up with everything imaginable. A new house with the most incredible gaming setup anyone had ever seen, beautiful women, a great job, you name it, he provided it and life had been pretty great having Caesar as a friend.
We were playing a game of Search and Destroy yesterday. It was Caesar, myself, and my clan mates. I had a pretty great team, and Caesar has always wanted in, but I always told him our roster is full, and honestly, he was so bad that I didn't want him joining.
It was the fourth round in the game, and we were winning three to nothing, but Caesar dropped a doughnut and gotten zero kills.
"FUCK. Fucking faggot noob tubed me again!" he yelled.
"It's all right man, we're still gonna win this thing," I said, trying to calm him down.
"Yeah! Because of your clan! You know what? I want on it. I want to play competitive with you guys!"
"Uh... sorry Caesar, our roster is full."
"Bullshit," he shouted into his headset, "I know you guys lost xx420xN0xSc0pExx earlier today, you have a spot open!"
Shit. I couldn't believe he knew. This wasn't good.
Caesar continued, "I know what it is. You don't think I'm good enough do you! You think I'm shit like all these other fuckers on Xbox Live!"
And then Caesar said the one thing I had dreaded since the day he revealed that he was a god...
"You know what?? Fuck it. *1v1 me bro*" | 2016-02-25T21:59:47 | 2016-02-25T19:23:46 | 251 | 27 |
[WP] The aliens have arrived however they are not here for war. Instead after reading our broadcast of the United States Constitution they want to join as the 51 state and have brought a small planetoid into orbit to serve as the 51 state. | "How many are migrating to Cydonia?"
"Over a million, sir."
High in the sky, the fifty-first state floated in orbit of Earth. When extraterrestrials first made themselves known, many feared interplanetary war. What came afterward, was quite unexpected.
"That, plus the Cydonian's migrated population..."
"It will be hard to supply them, but I'm sure we will manage."
The President nodded, still staring up at the sky. Even then, bright lights and massive cities could be made out on the face of Cydonia. Verdant, lush forestry, stretches of desert, and vague mountains. There were many similarities to the Earth itself on the face of Cydonia, as the Cydonians went to great lengths to terraform the small planetoid, to make it as close to Earth as possible.
"Do you think the peace will last?"
"With a piece of America floating through the night sky?" the President asked, "The other countries wouldn't dare." | "Turn it up, please," the President said with a soft smile, his wispy, blonde hair whipping in the breeze. He was standing on the White house lawn.
"Yes, sir." The volume increased, filling the confusingly jagged streets of DC with the sound of a computerized, autotuned, deep-south voice.
*We the people, of the United States...*
"Oh, that delicious preamble. Have they sent a direct message to us?" the President asked.
"Yes, sir. They want to join us as the 51st state. Our satellite feed shows that they have a small planet, and they've colored the whole thing to look like the American flag. From what we can tell, many of the inhabitants are holding little wands with golden arches on the end."
"How magnificent," he responded, eyes closed and smirking. "What a beautiful sound. Let's tell them we'll allow it. Contact every corporate headquarters and CEO- we have a *lot* of building to do. We'll make it the biggest corporate conglomerate since I put a casino in every Hotel from here to Timbuktu. God damn, let's put a branch of Wal-Mart up there and call it Wal-Mars. Instant billions."
-------
"Glpshnk, please update everyone on the Earthan situation. How has your plan panned out?" the alien leader asked a table full of holographic council members.
"If I do say so myself, it was the most well-executed plan of the millennium. They let us move the gargantuan planet there without even asking its size. We avoided all intergalactic violations due to the human approval, and the entire solar system has completely imploded. Earth itself was ripped into pieces and sucked into the nearby star."
"Excellent. You'll receive that promotion early."
-------
*thanks for reading! for more, check out /r/resonatingfury!* | 2016-06-06T08:52:17 | 2016-06-06T08:43:22 | 152 | 84 |
[WP] The world is rapidly changing as the plague of our era is spreading fast. But it doesn't affect humans. It eats plastic. | The strain of bacteria was officially designated 'B-1999' while it was under development, and the name just kind of stuck. "BINS," as it is more popularly known, was introduced to the Pacific Garbage Patch in 2019 with great fanfare. As with all over-hyped marketing campaigns, its creators promised that this one would change the world.
No one knows where "ground zero" is; best guess is Sydney, but Hong Kong and Singapore were hit just as bad. Somewhere in the vast expanse of the ocean, a ship plowed through the garbage patch and got a six pack ring snagged on a propeller or something. That piece of garbage was dragged back into a harbor somewhere, and the bacteria spread. It feasted on fiberglass hulls of the boats before spreading to the linings of car windows and then plastic airplane seat cushions and armrests. By the time anyone started looking at the mysterious epidemic of broken pipes and trash bags, it had gone worldwide.
There was widespread panic. No one really understood just how many things in our lives were made out of plastic until they were gone. Just imagine doing laundry on a normal day. Your plastic hamper has broken down into a twisted web of putty. The gasket on your washing machine has vanished and the door no longer closes properly. BINS has spread to your bottle of washing detergent, leaving only a sticky blue puddle dripping off the side of the shelf. And not to mention that your spendex shorts look more like cobwebs. Now imagine doing *every single other chore* in the same way. It was a nightmare.
Eventually, though, we adapted. As humans always do. We’d had great lives before plastics became the primary component in everything, so we just went back. Plumbers bustled about, replacing PVC with good old fashion metal pipes. Liquids were sold in tin cans or glass bottles. “Paper or plastic?” was no longer a choice. And we went about our lives.
In some ways, it was a good thing. We grew up as a society and became more conscious of our choices. Bottles of water shipped from Fiji became infeasible, so we learned to be satisfied with our local tap water again. Flying fresh peaches from Brazil in the middle of winter wasn't a possibility, so we went back to fresh, locally sourced produce and good old fashioned canned goods. Even as the consumer society we'd built came crumbling down, people somehow became... I don't know. *Happier*, I guess. No longer slaves to our phones and computers (each of which contain plastic parts), and just satisfied to take a walk through the woods together. Removing plastic from our lives provided that final impetus to take a step back as a society and re-evaluate what was really important. And for the most part, we've made the right choice.
The government says it will be over in a few months. BINS will eat itself to death on a non-sustainable food source, and eventually die out. We’ll be able to start producing plastic again, and maybe eventually return to our old lives. But the question now is: do we really want to?
| Plastic, and plastic-like polymers. Chewed, eaten away at like a phone in a microwave. Turning black, bubbling, gooey and stretched like cheese on a pizza. Then a burst of pus would surface, spilling like a ruptured cyst. The material would collapse in on itself, imploding into strands of molten polymer. That came later.
Pinpointing a beginning: I met Anna in a cold January in New York City. She told me she was running from a bad past, and the traces of a suppressed accent sounded in her voice. When she changed, thin white scars caught the light on her back. If I ever traced them, Anna flinched. I'd volunteered at domestic shelters while at college and didn't ask questions.
At the time, I had it all. A flat in New York, a girlfriend who never wanted to discuss history, and a solid job at a newspaper that still sold paper copies. Foot in the door. Zach dropped a file on my desk. He was ruddy faced, losing his hair and thirty-five pounds ago he was considered in good shape.
"Factory dropped across State. Just fell into the ground. No structural problems until now, so go check it out."
"I'm on the real estate desk, Zach,"
"It's a building, isn't it?" Zach took his coffee and put a red finger on top of the file. "Check it out, Tom."
"Put a word in on the Sports desk, and I will," I replied.
Starting the ignition in my car, the air freshener fluttered by the rear view mirror. For the Giants, but I hadn't been to see a game since Dad moved. Anna's travel suitcase lay in the backseat, a spare pair of pumps in the passenger seat. She'd also left a crumpled foodbox from a vegan restaurant. A work conference in Chicago, or Seattle. She was a private person.
I didn't know it then, but that factory was the beginning. The black fluid spread for a mile and a half. It had manufactured early kid's toys. The colourful ones, made of a soft enough plastic to chew and maul without injury. Press wasn't welcome. It was completely roped off, raining miserably. I checked in at a motel down the road and, after seeing a man watching my car, took Anna's suitcase inside with me.
I Skyped her from the bedroom. She grinned, dressed in one of my white t-shirts, hair tied up in a curling ponytail.
"I might be tied up here a while," I told her. "They're still figuring out what happened, and I want to be here for it."
"Is Zach still making promises about sports?" It was a running joke between us.
"Yeah, but this time I'm sure. Listen, I've got your suitcase here."
"Don't open that," Anna joked, but her face was tight. "Dirty clothes, you know."
She had a little black mark on her cheek that I didn't remember there before. Like a beauty spot, but it seemed to move like a bug.
"I'm going to open it," I joked. I reached for the zip.
"No!"
"I'm going to do it,"
"Please, Tom, don't..."
The black spot grew, spreading molten in her cheek. At first she didn't notice, then her eyes turned wide in horror. A trembling hand reached up to touch it, prodding at the exposed areas of her skin. Red strands stretched out, her teeth shining through the leaking pus. The suitcase was full of cash, bills and bills in neat bundles. Anna dropped the connection, choking screams rising in her throat.
I couldn't have known that she was running from something more serious than a bad past. The cash in the suitcase, the subdued accent, and more than that... The plastic implants that had completely changed the shape of her face. Not the person I'd thought, but the plague became personal.
| 2016-08-22T13:19:50 | 2016-08-22T12:27:19 | 188 | 23 |
[WP] Your 11 year old nephew just ate 2 of your LSD gummy bears 45 minutes ago and you have to make sure he makes it through sane | "OK Hudson, you might be a little old to believe in magic but the gummy bears you just ate have magical qualities."
"What do they do?"
"They allow the dreamworld to escape into the real world. They're supposed to be used by trained sorcerers but I think you're ready to handle it. You will need some hints though to help you through this. First rule: Nothing from the dreamworld can hurt you. None of it is real."
"So why do you look so scared"
"Well... The dreamworld can be a scary place. You can't get hurt but if you stray too far you can get confused and it might be harder to distinguish what's part of the dreamworld and what's part of the real world. For that you'll need step 2. Do you know what an anchor is for?
" It keeps ships in place"
"Perfect. Now we need to create anchors to keep you in place. I want you to grab a piece of paper and write your name and my name and what you did and write some of your favourite things. Keep that list in your pocket and if you feel you need a reminder of what's real just take it out and read it."
"What kind of things should I write?"
"Do you have a crush on anyone at school?"
"There's this one girl..."
"She pretty?"
"She's amazing"
"Good. Write her name there too. "
"I'm starting to feel a little wobbly. It feels like my legs are spaghetti"
"That's totally normal. Different people's body react differently to the entrance of the dreamworld."
"I feel hot. I think I'm getting dizzy"
"Shit. I totally forgot you'll need to drink at least 3 glasses of water to keep hydrated."
"I'm scared"
"Don't be. I'll be here the whole time. The best part about the dreamworld is that you're in control and it's mostly happy."
"Mostly?"
"Yes. No one can be happy every single second but the dreams aren't here to make you sad. They just want to have fun in this world before they're sent back to the dreamworld. Not all dreams are of people. Theyll be fairies and puppies and colors you've never seen before. Don't fight your thoughts. This world is beautiful and the dreams can remind us of that. The easiest way to make sure of that is an activity. What do you think about going out and playing catch with your old uncle?
| "Uncle Terry why does my skin feel funny?" Timmy asked staring at his hands.
*Shit.*
"And why are the walls melting?" Timmy was staring wide eyed at the wall.
"It's okay buddy. Those bears were magical! Like the candy from that book you like."
"Like in Harry Potter?"
"Yeah just like in Harry Potter. But because you aren't a wizard it's having some pretty gnarly side effects."
"I'M NOT A WIZARD?" Timmy screamed.
"Nope, nope, sorry, you ARE a wizard! And this is just you seeing into the realm of magic."
"Watch out Uncle Terry the floor is lava!"
"Oh no!" Terry said dramatically and jumped onto the couch next to Timmy.
"The couch is safe Timmy, the magic realm can't get you if you stay on the couch. Try to close your eyes and imagine happy things, like puppies."
Timmy shut his eyes for a second and thought about puppies. Cute, adorable, fluffy puppies running free in a field of wild flowers.
"Come run with us Timmy! Tee hee!" Timmy had never heard a dog say "tee hee" but he just assumed they were also magical creatures! Timmy leapt off the couch and began to run around the living room chasing invisible puppies.
"Dodged a bullet on that one," Terry said happily to himself as he watched Timmy run around with a huge smile on his face.
"Wait, what's happening?" Timmy asked horrified.
Dark storm clouds rolled over the field of wild flowers. Lightning forked from the clouds piercing the ground sending shockwaves through the field.
"THE PUPPIES!!" Timmy screamed falling to the floor on his hands and knees trying desperately to put the puppies into a basket.
"Quick get the puppies to the couch! It's safe there!"
"Help me get the puppies!" Timmy sobbed as he reached out and picked up another invisible pup.
Terry knelt next to Timmy and scooped up a handful of puppies and put them in the wicker basket.
"That's all of them! Hurry to the couch!"
Terry tossed Timmy up onto the couch and threw a blanket over his head.
"This is the magic cloak of protection, nothing can harm you or the puppies if you're under it!"
"Th-thanks Uncle Terry. Magic is pretty scary," Timmy mumbled.
"Yeah it is. You just stay under there for a while I'm going to get you some water."
As Terry returned from the kitchen with a cup of water the front door opened.
"James! You're home early!"
"Yeah traffic sucked we decided to not go to the show," James said.
"Okay bro, before Cindy comes in, there's a little problem," Terry whispered.
"What problem?" Cindy asked pushing past James into her house.
"Oh I just have to leave early is all. Have a wonderful night!" Terry said in a rush and sped out of the door nearly sprinting to his car.
He slammed the car door and could hear Cindy's piercing scream through the window.
*Well, guess I won't be babysitting for a while.*
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
| 2017-01-09T06:12:54 | 2017-01-09T05:38:47 | 2,286 | 1,506 |
[WP] The Grim Reaper is your overprotective dad, Hades is the cool uncle, and Cerberus is the beloved family pet. What happens when your boyfriend comes over to meet the family? | No pun intended, but the dinner table was deathly quiet save Cerberus' non-stop munching. I couldn't tell which head the noise was coming from, but at this moment, I really didn't care.
Uncle Des had barely touched his food and - still grinning, kept looking from Michael to me, then dad. He knew the explosion was coming. He just didn't know when.
"So, Michael", Dad began. I sighed with relief. For an immortal, the last few minutes had seemed like an eternity. "What do you do?"
"He's into c...", Dad shot an index in my direction. I shut up immediately.
Michael smiled, "I'm into charity work".
"Charity work as in...you're unemployed?" Uncle Des chipped in.
I shot him a dirty look because I knew exactly what he was doing. In one night, I'd come out to my conservative, very traditional father and brought home my lover for dinner. Finding out my boyfriend had limited career options would flip Dad over the edge.
Michael smiled again, "Not exactly-"
Suddenly, the dinner table started shaking. Cerberus' left and middle heads began a low pitched growl as the right head began to whimper. Uncle Des took a whiff of the air and muttered, "Fuck."
Michael raised a hand to speak, "Umm...". Dad's index shot up again.
"What's going on Des?" Dad asked as the shaking got more intense and Uncle Des strode towards the door, sparks beginning to crackle around his hands.
"He's here."
"Him?!"
"Yep." Cerberus bounded next to Uncle Des, the growling getting louder. Dad walked across the room towards him as Michael looked on wide eyed.
"What did you do now Des?" Dad groaned, as Dark Scythe appeared in his hand. Dark Scythe only appeared when there was trouble. Serious trouble.
"Guess we're about to find out." Uncle Des smirked. "Either way, this doesn't end well".
"Umm...dad?" I tried to interject.
"Not now. Don't make this night any worse than it already is!"
Instant mute, I turned into.
Uncle Des grinned at me and opened the door. A bright light shone through our dimly lit house, not just blinding, but overpowering. I shielded my eyes as I tried to look out to the person standing on our front lawn.
"What do you want fuck face?!" Uncle Des bellowed.
The voice was silent, but loud. "I'm here for my son."
"Nobody here has your stinking son! Child Protection's probably got him the way you treat him. Letting him meddle with mortals till they killed him, that's bad parenting."
"Hi Dad". Uncle Des and Dad spun around to look at Michael who was standing in the doorway with a sheepish look on his face. I knew. I was already shaking my head because I knew.
"Dad?" Uncle Des whispered.
"That's what I was trying to tell you earlier. I'm God's son."
"Kill me now." Dad groaned. | I’m from a little town located several miles below the surface of the earth—it’s called Hell and although it’s small, it’s growing. Our family home is in the town square since my father, Grim, and his brother Hades were founders. We get travelers passing through every now and then; like this one Italian guy who wrote a book about us. But for the most part, it’s just longtime residents. Everyone works for Bank of America.
The dating scene could be better. Everyone seems to have issues and be really into BDSM. We drip candlewax on each other, whip each others’ butts, and tie each other down. It’s unbelievably popular. My father hates that stuff and he knows young people do it, but he never talks about it. He always sabotages my relationships—that’s his way of advocating abstinence. So I was very nervous when I brought my boyfriend home from my out-of-state college. To be honest, he was actually my fiancé at that point but nobody else knew.
“His name’s Mahatma,” I said, introducing him to my dad. We were in the family room, with beige carpet and blue armchairs. There was a still-life on the wall showing a bunch of fruit and a dead pheasant. I always asked Dad to take it down, or at least put it in the basement, but it was a gift from one of his friends who was no longer with us, so he kept it prominently displayed.
Mahatma clutched his glass of ice-water nervously. He stood, and reached out for a handshake.
“Is that the hand you jack off with?” my dad asked, not moving. “You’re gonna be doin a lot of jacking off, I’ll tell you that right now, if you stay in a relationship with my daughter.”
“Dad!” I said, turning bright red. Mahatma quivered. He looked like he was going to cry.
“How can you say things like that Dad?” I said, “You’re not that kind of person.”
“Oh how would you know?” Dad said, sniffing. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me. There’s a lot you don’t know about our town. Sometimes I feel like you only pay attention to me when you need money.” He looked hurt.
“That’s not true Dad,” I said softly. Deep down, I knew he had a point. I wasn’t the best daughter. I wasn’t even a good daughter. I couldn’t help it. Or maybe I could—I just wasn’t ready to put in the time and the work to learn more about him and his town. It just seemed kind of backward and boring.
Mahatma put his hand in his pocket and sat back down.
“Oh no no no,” dad said. “I’m sorry. I’m being very rude. Let’s start over.” He reached out his bony hand to shake. Mahatma uncomfortably brought out his hand and gave a quick shake. He gave me a weird look.
“So how’d you guys meet?” my dad asked.
“It was at a protest,” Mahatma said.
“For the death penalty,” I added.
“Oh,” dad said, pausing. “Are you for it or against it?”
“Against it Dad,” I said. “Obviously.” Mahatma smiled uncomfortably.
Dad let out a long, low whistle. “I think I’m gonna go lie down,” he said. “It was nice meeting you Mahatma.”
Mahatma nodded, his smile so tense that it almost broke his face. I grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. My dad walked downstairs.
“See?” I said to Mahatma, “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”
He rolled his eyes at me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I’m really sorry. Let me make it up to you. I’ll buy you lunch.” I checked my purse. I was out of money.
I stood up to go talk to my dad.
----
>>/r/trrh | 2017-03-08T19:17:42 | 2017-03-08T17:04:47 | 56 | 16 |
[WP] The Elves, Dwarves, and Goblins laughed at humans for not having magic. The humans laughed at the Elves, Dwarves, and Goblins for not having giant robots. | The assault came out of nowhere and caught each and every nation on Earth by surprise. Within half a day the invaders had conquered more than 50% of the territory held by each nation. Every nation?
No! The smallest of all of them, the land of Humanity stood proud and defiant, their borders still intact, throwing back waves after waves of encroaching alien attackers.
Every single race, Goblins, Elfs, Dwarves, Halflings, Orcs and Gnomes sent diplomatic parties to the human capital with pleas for aid, with instructions to grant every boon the humans asked for, as long as they agreed to save their doomed neighboors.
"Please, our magic fails as soon as these Nortok, as they apparently call themselves, bring out these doom-shaped devices, simmering with energy we can't understand. Our defensive force is nothing without our nature mages providing them with magical enhancements! Help us! Tell us how you are keeping your borders safe!", pleaded the elven ambassador.
"Aye, me lads 'n lassies are dying in droves while our earthshapers fail to create defensive barriers. How are your walls still holding?", added the dwarven ambassador.
Each group stated something to similar effect, while the human councilors watched and listened silently. Finally, their headsman rose from his seat and addressed the congregation of ambassadors.
"For ages, you and your people have laughed about us and our inability to do magic. You halflings cheated our traders with illusion magic, while dwarven construction companies outbid human ones, simply because we couldn't just wave a hand and raise a wall.
It seems to me like this is poetic justice, that there should be a foe that your magic can't defeat, forcing you to come to us, begging and groveling for help."
Another member of the council harrumphed and muttered: "Charles, this is not the speech we agreed upon."
The headsman, Charles, coughed and continued: "Anyways, let it be said that we humans are a generous folk and that we forgive you your past transgressions. We shall help you with our forces under one condition: After this threat is defeated, we will build a new city at a still to be determined location where each of our people will live together. There we will hold council as equals and decide upon our future together."
"Puny human, dis is all well 'n gud, but how will u kill dem attackers? Magics no gud and you are puny and small!", interrupted the leader of the orc delegation, standing at his full height, nearly twice as tall as every human in attendance, at at least 3 times as massive.
"Simple", interjected a small figure in military uniform that had just entered the room. "We shall beat them with the power of technology, just as they beat you with technology that surpresses your magic. Even now our transport air carriers are on the way to your nations to drop of their precious cargo. As soon as they reach your airspace hundreds and thousands of our elite fighting force will drop on their heads, wearing our new YX-22 power armours or piloting the mighty Vanquisher robots."
Immediately, the assembled ambassadors bombarded the female with questions, but she just smiled and pressed a button on a tiny remote in her left hand. The room turned dark and white squares descended from the ceiling, while a device in the middle of the ceiling lid up brightly. On each and every one of the squares, scenes out of the other nations homelands were projected, with pictures of humans in metallic armour or giant humanoid hunks of metal massacring the invaders.
"Does that answer your questions, Ladies and Gentlemen?", asked the General with a smile. | "Wait, lemme fink' this one fru' ay," The words dribble out of Nockknar, the Goblin Treasureking, like saliva from the maw of a dying mongrel. "Aktually, bloody hell, I don't fink I wanna. Can't do magic?" Nockknar points towards the hooded human in front of him, a wicked smirk (covered with solidified drool) emerging on his face.
"That's right shite ain't it?"
A delicate laugh blossoms next to him. Folen, an Elvish Ranger-General, adorned with medals made of flowers sits next to Nockknar, (a rare sight on its own - An Elf with a Goblin) crosses his legs and leans forward. The spider-silk shaded hair on his shoulders effortlessly glides down his back, like velvet, as he makes himself comfortable.
"I mean, what should we expect friends? From lesser folk. Lesser..." Folen pretends to stumble on his words, even going far enough to make an obnoxiously aggravating face - as if he were concentrating. "Creatures."
The hooded human, who is standing, leaning on a wall, patiently waits. He lowers his hood and shows his face. Plain, normal; every other word you could use to describe bland normality.
"Bastard ain't even got the luck to look any good ay,'" Nockknar remarks, "Imagine ya life bein' like, just shit hey. Ya look like a dogs dick, ya can't do magic; I wouldn't be surprised if this lil' codfish ain't even been halfway round the bend with a woman... we should kill him,"
A laugh; a choke; a Dwarf half-way through his meed. "Lad," Rumblebrew says, bubbles in his beard and rosy cheeks destroying any stealth to his joy, "Ye khant just say that to him. Ye just khant."
"Shite, the dwarf is drunk as hell, he can't even understand me no more," Nockknar says, before chugging his way through his own glass. "What so hard bout the way I speak? You got cheese up in ya head?" A trickle of giggles gurgles from his belly.
"Ay, maybe cheese, maybe crackers, definitely booze though I'd say," Rumblebrew joins in with Nockknars laughter, before turning to face the human. The unnamed man is staring at them, a strange device in his hand.
It's a solid square. No writing, no markings, no nothing. In the centre is a huge red button. Slowly, the human raises one finger, opens his mouth, raises his eyes brows, and...
Presses the button.
Silence.
Followed by more silence.
Then a lot of laughing.
"Ya got me!" Nockknar manages to wheeze out between gut-wrenching laughter, his arms flailing, knocking his drink over in the process.
"What even was that?" Folens face screws into an amalgamation of superiority and smugness.
"Wasn't magic," Rumblebrew says, exploding into his devilish laughter.
Suddenly, behind each of them, a portal opens. One green, for Folen, an elvish gateway. One red, for Rumblebrew, a dwarvish transporter. And lastly, yellow, Nockknars, a Goblin theif's treasure portal.
"Sire, we need your assistance at once," Speaks an Elf from the portal. "Our homes burn. Beasts with no blood are destroying our loved ones, ravaging our lands,"
"Hahaha," Slips from the humans lips.
"Rumblebrew, get your arse into gear, we got machinations goin' rogue in here - We're losin everything,"
"Hahahahahahaha," grows the ever looming laughter.
"IT'S AWL FUCKED NOCKKNAR, EVERYONE IS EITHA DEAD - OR BOUT TO BE. IT DESTROYED OUR GOLD!"
"Ahhh-ha-hahahaha!"
The three scurry to their feet and turn, the laughter of this human, this 'lesser creature', burning a hole into their souls.
"Hey," the human yells as each walks through their gateway. "Don't worry Rumblebrew, my machines," Rumblebrew turns, his face pale white, watching this strangers face grow happier with every passing second.
"They'll find out what's in your head soon enough."
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Check out /r/Rhysyjay for other neat stuff. | 2017-07-17T07:34:17 | 2017-07-17T06:54:09 | 106 | 63 |
[WP] In the future, to pass college you no longer must pass written finals. Instead, you are simply dropped into a real life scenario related to your major, and left to fend for yourself with your new found knowledge.
*My first post on WP, sorry if it's a repeat and/or against any rule(s)*
Edit: wow, sincerely thank you all so much! was not expecting my first post on WP to go front page! | The stench of gunpowder hung in the air. I could hear the artillery fire cascading into a nearby town. I stood up, groggy and confused.
I looked down at myself. I recognized the uniform immediately from my history class. A red swastika covered my left arm.
"Why am I here?" I asked aloud.
A man accosted me from behind. I spun around, gripping my pistol.
"Easy there," the man said, whose voice I now recognized as my history advisor. I loosened my grip.
"You were the smartest student I had. I know you're capable. You have all the knowledge you need. Now stop the war."
| I stood silently in the large safe at the back of the now smoke-filled bank. Everything was going as rehearsed. I watched the guys empty the shelves, filling their plain, unbranded bags with stacks of money. On cue, another guy came around the corner carrying deposit boxes in his arms. One of the boxes was stuck open, prevented from closing all the way by its now loose contents. Diamonds, jewelry, and presumably valuable paperwork fell to the ground as he hurriedly dumped the loot into an empty bag. Suddenly a loud pop rang through the safe, echoing back and forth off the steel walls. I still flinched, even though I knew it was coming. The man with an armful of metal boxes and stolen treasure fell to the floor, now bleeding from the chest, revealing a man behind him holding a warm gun.
"Cut!" yelled the director.
I yanked my headphones down around my neck and lowered the boom, finally relaxing my arms. The director approached me.
"How'd it sound?"
"Pretty good, but I think we'd be safe with at least one more take." I replied.
"Reset!" the director shouted.
In reality, I had forgotten to hit record on the audio recorder that hung from my belt. To be honest, I didn't even want to run sound. I specifically requested cinematographer. I only took one sound class the entire four years I was in school. It didn't seem fair. But "Fuck it," I thought, "no one's going to see this film anyway."
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This is my first time participating in /r/WritingPrompts, hope you enjoy my contribution! | 2017-08-10T05:16:53 | 2017-08-10T05:09:53 | 741 | 43 |
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