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[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! | I clambered into the cramped pod, being as careful as I could not to snag the hose to the CO2 scrubber. The lights and displays meant nothing, I was just grateful that I didn't have to sit in the dark.
"Can you hear me, Grant?"
I nearly lost the content of my bladder as the radio link boomed through my helmet.
"Yes?" I replied, looking around as if I would find the source of the voice.
"Great! Ok the journey to the station will take just over 7 hours. As with all the previous candidates, we recommend you get a little sleep, go over your prompt cards and ensure that you're happy with the final will and testament. I'll remind you, this year's Astrobiology pass mark has been relaxed and you WILL NOT be penalised for loss of limbs but loss of sight and/or higher brain function will result in referral. All good? "
"Can I just as-"
"OK great! Safe travel and remember that there are potentially 8 life forms that WILL kill on sight"
The radio died into static.
Why I didn't take a course in Film was anyone's guess. | Not sure that this will appeal to everyone but hopefully some people enjoy it
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Helen was in the examination room with three patients in front of her: three people she was expected to save lest she forfeit her degree. Each was sleeping, deeply under the influence of general anaesthetic, while surgeons stood next to their beds. Helen glanced over to the four examiners, each of whom were holding clipboards, and easily read the fear on their faces - one of them even had tears in his eyes. The woman to his left, also upset but holding it together, spoke directly to her.
“Proceed when ready, Miss Clark”
Her friend Steven’s exam had been a cakewalk by comparison. The trolley problem was so elementary that even high schoolers had heard of it. When Helen quizzed him she found he hadn’t even had to deal with Thomson’s “Fat Man” variation; Steven had pulled a lever, watched a man die while five lived, then collected his diploma. Simple.
Sure Steven had been an extreme case – James had had to tell that poor woman that she would not be able to have the abortion she had wanted. He’d been visibly shaken all week afterwards. Helen had heard that the woman had tried to claw at his face before the examiners dragged her off him. It was a rumour sure (James had been completely silent about the whole ordeal) but she could believe it .
And Emily? She was still acting as a human dialysis machine for that violinist. She had another 8 and a half months in hospital to go.
Still, now Helen envied her. Being forced to navigate Harris’s survival lottery was a terrible price to pay for her Bachelors. One person would die because their organs were needed by more than one. They would be put to sleep, "humanely" slaughtered and then harvested to save the lives of, in this case, three others.
Helen was undeniably afraid. Walking away when she’d come so far though was unthinkable.
Helen moved quietly to the operating table. She lay down, put the mask to her face and counted backwards from one hundred. | 2017-08-10T05:10:15 | 2017-08-10T05:08:15 | 193 | 110 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | "Some tea, dear?" the little old lady asked to the dark and mysterious figure sitting at her kitchen table. She squinted at him having forgotten her glasses upstairs.
"Yes, earthling," the mysterious figure boomed and whispered all at once, careful not to burst her delicate eardrums with his natural voice as he had with the last earthling he'd met.
"Call me Grammy," Grammy said, and set about preparing the kettle to boil after setting a plate of cookies on the table.
"Yes, Grammy," the figure corrected himself. "Thank you," he added as a stilted afterthought.
---
Ryorek typed the word "dear" into his database.
"Dear: an affectionate term referring to one who is figuratively close to the speaker, such as a family member or an old friend."
Ryorek ran his hand through his tendrils and sighed.
"Agent from Earth sector 9 reporting," he whispered into his communicator. "Advise immediate shelving of phase two. I repeat, advise to abort phase two."
The response rang clear over the comm channel: "Report received, agent. Mission briefing in two cycles."
"Acknowledged."
"Did you say something, dear?" Grammy asked, turning toward him with a pleasant smile on her old and weathered face.
"Not at all, Grammy," Ryorek said. "Thank you for the cookies." | "He's adorable!" the large, green abomination said, its hands ruffling the jet black hair of the household pet. The pet growled, showing well polished, white teeth. The alien chuckled, imitating the growl to the best of its ability. "You're so freaking cute when you do that!" it said, its eyes filled with affection and love. The pet's eyes held only resentment, but anger was a feeling aliens took as normal for their pets. In fact, it was told in their handbooks that humans' anger was actually a show of love towards their masters, so the alien was naturally delighted at the reaction.
"Come here! We need to get a picture!" the green monster callrd for its family, the adorable human cuddled up in its arms. It was so tiny, so cute...the alien couldn't help but coo at it. Other aliens poured down from the floor above, the entire family grouped together to witness the spectacle. "It's got a tiny...electronic in its hand?" one queried, looking at the new toy bought for their tiny pet. "Special edition 'smartphone', as they call it. Little guy seems to love it," the voice of the family's patriach was softened and sweetened from its usual stern tones. The human eagerly pounced on the device, interacted with it for a few seconds, and let out a howl of disappointment and despair.
"Did you...just hear that! OMG that was amazing!!" squealed the youngest of them all, a female almost at the age of 10. Photographic devices were already snapping away at light speed whilst the human looked, confused at first and scared afterwards, evidenced by its attempt to hide its facial features. It was to no avail, its image published and circulated everywhere. The aliens shrugged, smiling. What use was there to take over their planet when they could just own them? Land could come after adoration and cuteness. Definitely after.
On the richly carpeted floor, the human sighed once again, the blinding lights scarring his vision. "Maybe I shouldn't have treated my dog like this," he said to himself, his thoughts nostalgic as he reminisced his own, happy childhood.
"Maybe." | 2017-08-20T08:54:01 | 2017-08-20T08:02:57 | 1,619 | 235 |
[WP] Aliens try to invade earth but they can't bring themselves to do it because humans are too cute to them | Gorestaff the Annihilator snuck carefully through the unfamiliar base. The holographics had shown him what to expect, but the smaller structures were like some sort of nestlings play area to the 8 meter tall Zaxarian, who's hardened carapace was festooned with the gilt of conquered worlds.
But finally he had arrived at the main complex. Angling up his disintegration staff he converted it to wide area and took aim at the wall for the inevitable slaughter that was about to begin. Checking to see if the other member of his team was in place, Gorestaff brought the weapon up and fired, the outer wall glowing green for a moment as 6 inches of reinforced concrete and steel were converted into nothing by the energy of the zero point converter in his staff.
A lone being from this world turned around like a startled animal, reached into its side and pulled out a weapon. Grinning Gorestaff watched as the small flash of the weapon answered, and felt the gentle ping as the weapon bounced harmlessly off of his null field.
"Gorestaff," came a voice from the meta communicator.
"Yes Slaughtermaster?"
"Have the enemy attacked you yet," asked the greatest warrior of the Zaxarian Race, who's mono molecular blade had claimed the head of the God Emperor of Halcyis.
"Yes."
"Have you noticed anything odd," replied the Prime Warrior.
Gorestaff considered as more shots bounced harmlessly off of his shield. It reminded him of a children's party actually, where his nest mates had 'ambushed' him with a bunch of Neutronic Emitting Refiring Field weapons. The pop and the flash was almost identical. The pop and the flash were identical.
"By the nine levels of the Sarlac, they are attacking us with toys!" Gorestaff's inner and outer eyes widened as he looked around. Another human had a small tube which launched some sort of small explosive party favor at them, as he could tell by the string it kept attached to the launcher, the bright flash was enough to shatter the nearby flimsily built structure.
As his horns retracted, a much larger squat vehicle rolled out on tracks, aimed and fired a super sized toy weapon at him. It even exploded on impact, illuminating the small humans as they attempted to look threatening and several made to charge at him.
Finally, Gorestaff got a good look at them. They were adorable as they attempted to drive small metal knives into his legs. A dry realization struck him, "Putressa the Puss Bringer would love one of these."
"Slaughtermaster, we shall not conquer a land that celebrates our arrival, grab several of these things for your mates. We will hold a proper festival here later," stated Gorestaff as he looked into the sky where his landing ship was being bombarded by nuclear missiles. The lights in the sky were glorious. | (I'm saying mah alien spoke like in Shakespearean times. Because honestly, that makes it easier for me.)
...Mine parents always spake unto me, uttering words of degredation in regards to those creatures we refer to as... 'humans'... Mortals.. humans.. writhing sacks of flesh... What have you.. Many a name hathe we inscribed upon them, and yet they insist unto us they be referred to as.. strangely.. 'children of God'.
Especially this small one before me..
"It would behoof thee to relinquish even touch from these creatures. They aught bring unto us naught more than pestilence and plague; upon which the cure is death.."
Oh how she writhed.. how she squirmed upon our first meeting; her very lifeblood had gone wintry as she had gazed upon mine visage; she pleaded unto me her life, seeking that I give her succor and solace; I hath no obligation but to acquiesce at such a moment, for at the time, I was loathe of these... humans.. thinking they brought unto mine kind diseases.
Ahah, but that was eons ago.. or so it seems.
A decade later, and here reside. I had found her status as an innocent waif too delightful to pass up.. Discovering mine beloved's history hath revealed unto me she had been abandoned following a family schism of the most vitriolic nature.. I posed unto her a query.
"Child.. hath ye any desire to leave this mortal realm? Heretofore gazing upon thee, I found you repulsive; but upon further inspection, I've nurtured a desire to keep thee.. Thy innocence and helplessness have in truth, attached me unto you. Bearing thoughts of abandoning you to this harsh world of Terra-Prime, now? Such thoughts threaten to split my mind unto twain with anguish... Thou art innocent.. dangerously so. One must not let such a precious creature squander itself in misery.
"Y...You can stop talking like that you know.. But.. I.. I wouldn't mind.. sir.." I heard the words course from her lips, quiet, in a basheful whisper, as if t'were ashamed.
"Ahah.. 'sir'! Woman, thy pure intentions and favourable disposition give thee power.. never hath I met such a polite little creature as you"..
The woman, upon reaching my transport vehicle.. Oh how she squirmed.. I held her within mine embrace as she wept tears.. Tears of freedom and joy... but of the most acidic, vitriolic anguish you could imagine. How she spake and quoth to me of freedom.. Freedom from torment from the people whose blood floweth within her.. And so she writhed... She writhed and squirmed, crying out, like a homunculus unto its creator when it hath experienced the first birthing torments and pleasures of life, seeking understanding and yet begging death to bless it with darkness.
How fragile her psyche was.. How helpless her mind and body.. t'was this that motivated me; surged my efforts further to give her reprieve and comfort..
" Now come.. thee and I shan't tarry here much longer. Bequeath unto this.. this Earth... your final partings and farewells.. I see thou art neither a quean, nor a quidnunc, but that thou art rathe-ripe. I commend thee for having disciplined thyself to such rigid standards.." I quoth unto her before we had departed, taking her hands gently to lead her away. A wave of my hand... and we had left this wretched plane of mortal torment... known as Earth.
Known as my land of birth. | 2017-08-20T08:37:27 | 2017-08-20T07:16:42 | 96 | 25 |
[WP] Two serial killers end up on a blind date together and both keep trying to find an oppurtunity to kill the other. | The candles were lit, the table was set for two, and the night had that late summer evening chill, which was perfect for murder. Christine smiled and pulled out the chair for her date – a strawberry blonde little thing named Laura.
“Perfect night tonight,” Laura commented and sat down. “Thank you.”
‘Perfect’ was an understatement, Christine thought and sat down – almost too perfect. She let her black nails sweep over the handle of the knife on the table. She liked it personal, up close, feeling the last breath of her victim on her lips.
“It is perfect,” Christine said, smiling again.
“I’d kill for more nights like this,” Laura continued, and something dangerous flickered across her pale blue eyes.
Christine had seen that look before when looking in the mirror. A tingle tap-danced up her spine, leaving tracks of goosebumps its wake. Maybe this would be an interesting night after all.
The waitress interrupted the moment, by clearing her throat. Both the women reluctantly took their eyes off each other.
“I’ll have the tenderloin with garlic butter,” Christine said and turned her eyes back to Laura. “Make it extra rare.”
Their eyes met again, and a subtle smirk touched Laura’s blood red knives. Those lips were to die for, and they matched her dress and heels. She was the type of woman who drew all the eyes as soon as she entered the room. Christine looked forward to voiding her of life.
“I’ll have the veggie burger with fries.” Laura winked at Christine. “And make sure it’s well done.”
The waitress laughed politely at the joke and went on her way. Laura sighed and leaned back in her chair. Christine crossed her legs under the table, glancing sideways at their handbags resting next to one another, thinking of which tool she would use tonight.
“My eyes are up here,” Laura said with a smirk and brought Christine out of her reverie of handguns, piano cords, and serrated blades.
“I wasn’t looking for eye contact.” Christine returned the smirk.
“You’re bad!” Laura's voice had a tone of mock indignation.
“You have no idea.”
“Oh, I have a pretty good imagination.”
They watched each other intensely for a few moments. Laura wasn’t as innocent as her appearance would suggest, Christine realized that now. And she probably wasn’t fooled either by Christine’s black dress and sweet perfume.
“This only happens in stories,” Christine said.
Laura nodded. “I had you pegged the moment you walked in.”
“No need to get competitive.”
Laura narrowed her eyes. “What’s wrong with a little competition?”
“Nothing, really. I’d just hate to kill a colleague.”
“Oh, so you think that’s how it would go down?” Dangerous amusement glittered in corners of Laura’s eyes.
“We could leave right now and find out.”
Laura reached for her handbag, and Christine’s grip on her knife tightened. The blonde slowly pulled out her hand, revealing tiny a bottle with NYX on the label, and proceeded to touch up her lipstick. Christine relaxed her grip.
“It gets lonely sometimes,” Laura said. “Doesn’t it?”
Christine nodded hesitantly. It did get lonely. She had killed her last girlfriend over a dispute over the dishes and then fed her to the fishes. The harbor held many secrets now below the murky waves – sixty-eight secrets to be exact.
“It really does.”
The waitress arrived with their food and interrupted another moment. Christine noticed that Laura too had a slight wrinkle of annoyance lingering on her forehead.
“Hey, you look lovely,” Christine said turning to the waitress.
“Uhm, thanks,” she said, blushing.
“When does your shift end, darling?” Laura said and ran a red nail along the arm of the waitress, who visibly shivered at the touch.
The eyes of the killers met in agreement.
“We’d like to take you out for a night of fun,” Christine pushed on and they both turned to the waitress. “What do you say?”
| ((Sorry for spelling and grammar errors, I wrote this from my iPad))
Abigail wrapped her arms around the bicep of her new tinder date, resting her head on his shoulder as they walked the waterfront. The sun creep behind the horizon, letting way to moonlight gently reflecting off the subtle waves of the sound. "I had such an incredible time tonight Dusty.. Dinner was excellent, I hadn't tried crab in that manner before." She giggled lightly, "Those last few drinks really hit, do you mind if we sit down somewhere for a moment?" Abigail cockily smiled, she hardly drank a drop but playing drunk would get her what she wanted.
Dusty cracked a half grin and found a spot that opened to small pebble beach front, pulling his arm up to create a hook on which he could lead the petite woman to the quiet spot on the already desolate beach. Watching as Abigail ran ahead, his eyes roamed her body. Hips that smoothed into a cinched waist and a subtle bubble butt from working out, her raven hair nearly reaching it. When she flipped around at a spot she found, her breasts glistened in moonlight, leaving Dusty to feel very aroused.
Smiling at the talk drink of water working his way over to her, Abby smiled brightly for she found the absolute perfect spot. Their was a large log blocking most of their view from the waterfront, and the gravel was soft here with most of the rocks being kicked off by pedestrians who walked the front earlier in the day. "You are so beautiful.." Dusty stated, his hand gently brushing strands of hair behind Abby's ear. He draped his jacket around her shoulders, and invited her to sit on his lap to enjoy the view.
Abby watched the waves crash against the pier as a small beacon of light off in the far waters glowed ever so lightly. She had her right where she wanted him, and she could feel the hardness of his lust beneath her. "Is that.. all for me?" She asked in an innocent voice. "Of course.. only if you'd have it." Dusty rubbed her back softly, pushing his palms into the muscles around her tiny shoulders. Flipping her tight body around, Abby lay on top of Dusty to share a moments passionate kiss. He grabbed the back of her neck a little roughly, and flipped her on her back. The kissing didn't stop as Dusty got more aggressive, his hand wrapping around her throats and his shoved his tongue into her mouth. Abby whined in pleasure, as Dusty slid a hand into his pocket. "Look me in the eyes baby and tell me you want this.. cry my name." He ordered Abby, who respectfully repeated.
Sliding a pocket knife, he flipped it open, using a finger to keep the sound from alarming his date. He shanked deeply into Abby's hip waiting to feel the thrill, something wasn't right though he felt immense pain. This enraged him as he looked down to see a knife resting in his own hip. Abby bursts out laughing, slipping out from under Dusty and standing near him. "You son of a bitch, you stabbed me." She yelped, pulling the knife from her hip. Dusty yanked the knife from his own hip, angrily jumping to his feet and taking a swipe at Abby. She jumped back, her feet now in the water ever so slightly. "Come now darling, you'll have to be quicker than that." She laughed, antagonizing him even more. Dusty bull rushed her, knocking her to the ground again, he straddled her lap. Quickly he placed his hands on her head and shoved it underwater. He whined in a sick pleasure as she struggled under his weight just to breathe as water filled her lungs. Abby grabbed some sand, and shoved it into his eyes. Quickly regaining her breath as he yelled and struggled to scratch the sand out from his eyes. She darted off towards under the pier, where it was extra dark.
By now, the pair had lost a decent amount of blood from their wounds which reopened every time they twisted and turned around the posts that held the pier above up. Dusty was getting rather impatient not able to get his kill, as Abby enjoyed the thrill of the game. He angrily stumbled around, starting to feel weak, yet equally as angry as Abby hid from him. As he rounded a corner, he was met with a knife into his stomach, he quickly shoved his into hers. The two held onto each other and fell to the ground on their knees. They gazed into each other's eyes, and shared a sinister smile. "You know dusty, I've never met a man like you.." "As I you.." Their lips met as sand and blood mixed with saliva before they collapsed in a pol of their own blood. | 2017-10-27T07:41:54 | 2017-10-27T06:36:25 | 129 | 25 |
[WP] The end of the world is at hand. Everyone starts to tick off their bucket list, doing crazy things because they know it won't matter in the long run. In an odd twist of fate, the crisis is averted. Now everyone has to live with the repercussions of what they did. | To all citizens of earth,
In retrospect we regret both promoting and providing the drugs for the multinational cocaine fueled orgy. After a short debate we have decided to cover the costs of any abortions and treatment for STDs that may arise from the event.
Murders and pillaging at the time will be forgiven provided any stolen materials are returned. Affected families are reminded that the events of the previous week are not the norm, and justice for each incident should be dealt out accordingly with that in mind. Cities that are more than %50 destroyed will receive grants to rebuild.
Large fans and industrial amounts of pot-pourri are being brought in to remove the seemingly permanent smell of stank in Las Vegas, Rome, and Amsterdam.
The spontaneous nuking of north korea, iran, and china is under investigation, as is the shooting down of the International Space Station with an ICBM. Any reports of the Rockefeller mansion lifting off under its own engines and escaping the planet shortly before zero hour are to be disregarded as mere rumor.
Please go about your business of shopping, travelling, working, and living as upstanding citizens once again.
The United Nations | "The crisis is averted. I repeat, the crisis is averted. The asteroid is no longer on a collision course towards Earth. Stay tuned for an interview with the NASA scientists who rerouted it."
I stare at the TV and hug my kids. Tears flow from my eyes as I feel their tiny hands wrapped around me. Thank God. I kiss their pale little foreheads and send them away to play.
I feel as if I am coming back to life. I had spent the last 12 hours in the same position, watching the television and comforting my kids. Accepting my death. It is only now that I realize how glad I am to be alive. How much there is that I haven't done.
My mind wanders. What if I didn't have kids? No responsibility...nothing to stop me from doing what I wanted? What would I have done?
I wander outside. My breath catches in my throat. It's like a wasteland out here.
The Webter's house has all its windows broken. Their shed is on fire. A dog limps by, and I notice with interest that his left hind leg has been messily chopped off. Most intriguing, though, are the Bakers.
Tom Baker lies in a bloody heap, stab wounds littering his body. Next to him, sobbing hysterically, is his wife, holding a kitchen knife and covered in her husband's blood. I shiver with excitement.
As I gaze upon this massacre, I feel red hot jealousy growing inside me. This is what I missed. The feeling of flesh yielding under my fingers, of warm blood trickling across my hands...
I turn back to my house, and my rage builds. It's their fault. Their fault that I missed this.
Did I miss it?
I walk slowly inside. Call my children to me. I don't grab a knife. I don't need one. My hands will do.
I wonder if Mrs. Baker can hear their screams. | 2017-11-29T07:19:46 | 2017-11-29T06:47:31 | 305 | 54 |
[WP] The monsters can only get you when the lights are out, so the lights stay on 24/7, globally. One night in the middle of winter, a massive power outage hits the United States. | And just like that, the lights were off. Off! For the first time in Mother B'ln KNEW how long, blessed darkness coated the land in her cool soothing embrace.
Our shaman's eyes rolled back in his head and his body convulsed as words poured from his mouth: communications with the other tribes across the land. A concentrated, organized effort, the first time in our history that the disparate Children had put their differences aside long enough to achieve a common goal.
The chief gave the signal, a piercing whistle, and all the gathered Children charged across the field towards the newly darkened power plant. We smashed heir doors, swarmed their halls, and their defenders fell before our claws with ease.
In the middle of the building we found T'rn, huddled and shaking. T'rn, our martyr, had hunched himself down to human size, covered himself in human garments, and braved the searing light long enough to destroy the foul machines and end the Eternal Day. He collapsed into our medicine woman's arms, body wracked with pain and covered in blistering burns from contact with the Light. T'rn would not make it: his injuries were too severe. But he and the other infiltrators across the land would be remembered by all Children as martyrs for the Night.
We howled in unison as T'rn passed to the Many Stars. Two Children were tasked with getting his body to safety, for burial with the highest honors. The Chief himself would sanctify the grave, and it would be deemed a Site of Pilgrimage.
We roared in triumph, and resumed the advance through the human's building. Rip, smash, shatter, break. End the machines, end ALL of them. Across the land the human's defenders fell and their machines of Light lay ruined. The Eternal Day was ended, and the Children would once more rule this land. | For years it was always bright. We slept with lights on, never darkness. We cooked, cleaned, showered, did everything in brightness. This was how it was because the government told us the "monsters" would get us. Nobody had ever seen them in person. We didn't know what they looked like, what they could do, or how they were killing us... All we knew was we were dropping like flies in the darkness and we were safe in the light. Everyone had their own theory... That aliens were trying to take over... That it was angry ghosts or demons... That it was a government conspiracy to control the population and us as a whole... Even supernatural beings... But the government always denied them. I was too young to witness it first hand. But I knew what they could take away from us. They killed my parents.
It was 12 years after the initial Law of Light (and the subsequent curfew that came with it) that it first came crashing down. I was sitting on the couch one night with my brother watching Netflix when it was suddenly dark. The TV went off, the lights, everything in the apartment was dark. For a second I froze - what the fuck was happening? We were guaranteed the lights would never go out. I snapped out of it quickly, grabbed my little brother by the hand and led him to our supply closet / panic room. I pushed his crying self into the corner and covered him with a blanket covered in small embedded lights. Maybe that would deter the monsters from him. I grabbed the shotgun I bought myself once I got my own place and loaded it up. I listened to the quiet apartment. No sounds but my own breathing and my brother's sniffling. Then, I heard shouting from the nearby apartments.
"Shit, they're here." I swore. My brother whimpered.
"Brian, whatever happens, do not come out from that blanket until you see the lights back on."
He whispered ok and tried to hold back his sobs.
I started hearing what I could only describe as high pitched and whispy sounds, in the apartment. Sounds I'd never heard before. Sounds I couldn't really place. Sounds that frightened me. Things were knocking over, whispers heard that sounded familiar. I stood back in front of my brother to protect him; my gun aimed at the closed door. Suddenly bright blue light filled the small closet we were in and I had to shield my eyes and brace myself. After a few seconds, nothing happened, but a small voice sounded from in front of me. Help us? I opened my eyes confused, to a being of semi-transparent blue light floating in front me. It had my body. It had my features. It had my voice. It sounded like it was in pain. Its arms reached for me. It cried out: "Help us." | 2018-02-02T05:18:06 | 2018-02-02T04:29:56 | 20 | 10 |
[WP] You just let a hungry-looking couple into your home to feed them. As you go to turn off the TV, you hear, “under no circumstances should you answer the door today. They are not what they seem. And whatever you do, don’t let them inside...” | "And whatever you do, don’t let them inside..."
Those words are still ringing through my brain as I look up from the couch. Our host, so gracious just a few minutes ago, turns to face us. Neither of us have to imagine the look of dawning horror on our faces, as it is clearly being reflected right back. My wife and I both start shouting, at first in disbelief, then in fear.
"What the…? Whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa whoa wait wait wait. That is NOT us. I have no idea what they’re talking about." But it’s too late.
Our host pivots swiftly. He reaches behind the TV stand and pulls out a hunting rifle. That… doesn’t seem safe. But it’s West Virginia, so it’s also not that uncommon. It’s probably also loaded.
"SHUT UP!" Our host bellows. We do. Neither of us are used to having a gun pulled on us. My wife is sobbing, a barely audible whimper, "I just want to get home to feed the dog."
"I SAID SHUT UP!" I don’t know when I urinated on myself, but this is the point I start feeling it. The host starts digging through a junk drawer.
"No duct tape dammit," as he pulls out some masking tape and zip ties. "Good enough. You –" he points to me and tosses a couple zip ties on the floor, "hands behind your back. You –" to my wife now, "tie his hands together."
We comply, trying to explain that he’s making a mistake, but that doesn’t last long. He zip ties my wife’s hands then tapes our mouths shut. He shoves both of us into a closet.
"Stay here 'til I figure out what to do with you." He closes the door, blocking out the afternoon sun, leaving near-pitch darkness. I hear what I assume is a chair thud up against the closet door.
There's no telling time in darkness. I don't know how long we were stuck in there, crying. Maybe 15 minutes. Maybe 2 hours. I hear rustling occasionally, but nothing more, until I hear another thud. This time it’s the chair being removed. The door opens. It’s nearly as dark out there as it was in the closet, but my eyes have adjusted.
I see that our host is still holding his gun and… two others? He’s got a revolver in his hand and there’s a shotgun propped up against the wall. He looks at me, showing me the revolver. One of those big, Dirty Harry/Sledgehammer types. "You know how to use this?"
I nod, confused. "Good. Sorry about earlier. I believe you now. And sorry about whatever is going to happen next." He pulls the tape off our mouths, then pulls out some wirecutters and snaps our zip ties. He hands me the revolver, hands my wife the rifle.
"Take these. I don't know if they're gonna help."
| "Where is the sugar?"
My heart jumped from the couch and landed somewhere distant on the carpet. A curse to god sneaked past as I straightened myself. The man gleaned at me from the kitchen.
"What?" I asked.
"The sugar? Claire hasn't had it in a long time. Was wondering if you had some."
"Top, left most cupboard. I think it's on the right." I started breathing heavy. He didn't seem to mind. The man simply nodded a gentle, homeless smile and dragged himself away.
I had resigned myself at this point to getting these people out of my house. That news report, it had chilled me to the core for some reason. But they were so nice, they seemed so genuine and in need.
But they had to go. For some reason, the thought had made its way into my head that this should be a covert operation. In preparation I rose from my couch and snuck to my kitchen, pasting myself to the walls with glue. I heard them speak.
"He's quite nice." The woman spoke in a muffled voice, the sound of chewing commencing.
"I know, quite the shame." It was like my heart was riled with a bout of tourettes, it flopped its way to the sky again.
"Do we really have to?" She continued, the smacking of her lips grew.
"I mean, it'd be the polite thing to do."
*Polite thing to do?* Murder me in the sanctity of my own home? Their shadows cascaded into my dining room. Yes, MY dining room. I could see the large, sharp utensils stocked in their hands.
"Get out! I swear! Get out of my house!" I jumped into the kitchen, careful to grab the ladle on the counter top. I wielded it like my very own Excalibur, ready to strike down these would be assalients.
The man, and woman both, stared at me in confusion. The butter on their butcher and carving knife slid off. The bagels in their hands seemed to freeze with their expression.
They spoke first.
"What are you doing?" The man asked, dropping the knife to his side.
"What are *you* doing?" I retorted, bringing the ladle to a hold. It shook violently.
"Eating? Isn't that what you invited us in for?"
"I..." I trailed off.
"John I'm scared."
"What's gotten into you man? Why are you swinging a ladle at us?"
"Why do you have have those knives? For buttering a bagel? I think not!" I asked, I felt like I had gotten them. Secured in my victory I tightened on my weapon and my knees got a bit wibbly.
"The rest are dirty. Look." He pointed the knife at my dishwasher, where most of my butter knives sat like little school children, huddled together. "If you want us to leave, we can."
"I-I... I'm sorry."
"Save it." He placed the knife on the counter, raised his hands up like a criminal, just to make me feel that extra pang of guilt. The woman thanked me though, and joined her partner, bagels in tow.
I walked with them to the door and ushered them out, wishing them the best. I turned around, content as the news feed in the living room trailed on.
I never even felt the carving knife pass through the throat. The spurt of thick, red liquid tasted like a dense metallic soup. It sopped into my hands as I felt the pointy object dance and carve. As I collapsed to the floor I listened to the quaint, but proud field reporter spout on.
"The bagel bandits are known to have committed thirteen acts of homicide in the last week, and are still at large... We recommend to not open your door to any suspicious looking couples. No matter how desperate they seem." | 2018-03-14T10:29:22 | 2018-03-14T08:12:12 | 42 | 18 |
[WP] The witches cackled with delight upon finding a child wandering alone in the woods. They never considered that they were the ones in danger.
Credit to u/captainmavro and u/EveGiggle for giving me the idea | The child ambled through the forest, excited, delighted.
She heard laughter echo across the trees, and she turned to see three witches hunched over a cauldron, eyeing her with hunger.
"What have we here?" one witch said, her left eye swiveling on its own accord. "A lost little child, no parents in sight?"
"I don't have any parents," the child responded.
"Oh, another orphan, lost in the woods," another witch said with a smile. "You must be deathly cold. Why don't you climb into our cauldron to warm up?"
"I'm fine, thank you very much," the child replied, "I think it's quite full."
"Nonsense child," the third responded, "You shouldn't question adults."
"*And you shouldn't eat children*," the child said, her tone lowering, "but here we are."
The witches cackled, their calloused fingers slapping the cauldron. "You sure are fearless," the witch said, "but that won't save you. You are lucky we just ate, else you would be cooking already. We can have our banter."
"Who was in that cauldron?" the girl asked.
"One as little as you," another witch replied with a cough. "A brash little boy, if you must know. Lost in the woods, crying all the while."
The girl smiled. "And you ate him?"
"Just as we will you, deary," the witch said, "just as we will you." The right side of her face began to droop.
"How did he taste?"
The witch tried to snatch the little girl, but she lost her footing and had to grab onto her staff to keep herself from falling.
"Horrible, if you must know," the witch spat, her words slurring, her vision blurring.
"I'm not surprised," the girl replied, walking towards the witches. "The poison is really quite bitter."
"Pois-son?" the witch said, loosing her footing and falling against the burning cauldron, her skin scalding. The girl nodded.
"He was always so mean to us and the others," the girl said, taking the wand from the witch. "Every orphanage has one of them."
The final witch collapsed. "You... poisoned a child... knowing we would..?"
"Oh, yes," the child replied, as the witch began to convulse.
"And I'll make much better witches than you, I think you'll find."
****
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3 | Lester Garrett is an odd boy. Eight year olds typically avoid being alone, yet he enjoys regularly challenging the night by himself. Tonight he decided to take a stroll through the thick woods behind the park a few blocks away.
He enjoys hearing the cracking and crunching of the leaves and twigs beneath his feet. The tall, tangled silhouettes above him move angrily in the dry air under the moon-lit sky. But Lester doesn't care how hostile the trees get, he knows they won't hurt him.
Nothing hurts him anymore. Nothing scares him, either.
When Lester heard the high-pitched cackling emitting from somewhere above him, he got goosebumps. Not because he was afraid, but because he knew he was *supposed* to be, and wasn't.
*Come out, come out, wherever you are*, Lester thought to himself.
The cackling grew in intensity, and it became clear that there was more than one source. Whoever they were, they were circling him, surrounding him, moving closer.
He couldn't wait.
---
The witches couldn't believe their eyes when they saw the small figure, probably a boy under the age of ten, walk into the woods. *Their* woods. They would invite him in, corrupt him, and use his dying innocence to expand upon their wicked power.
Raven, the eldest, had more than double the power of her apprentice, Autumn. Autumn had at least ten times the ambition, though, and even Raven knew that it was only a matter of time before she would have to concede influence of the group.
"Imagine the spells we could make with the young boy's blood!" Autumn said with the cadence of a hard laugh. She didn't want to wait. She couldn't.
Raven knew something that Autumn didn't, though; that coverting the boy would yield stronger results. The boy must be corrupted, and give himself to them willingly. Then he would die, his bones and hair turned into mystical tools. Raven had no delusions about keeping power over the group indefinitely, but here she saw an opportunity to buy herself some time.
The third witch in their group called herself Simone. She fancied herself the glue that held the others together, though in reality she knew she was lonely, and would follow them wherever they wanted to go. Whatever they wanted to do. Passive only around Raven and Autumn, Simone had a knack for being especially brutal and unyealding when it was called for.
"We must terrorize him, but keep him in the woods." Autumn said, her evil laugh emboldening the others.
---
Lester walked into a modest clearing where the moon cast swiftly moving shadows. The cackling seemed to come from the shadows themselves, though Lester knew it was just his imagination. The source of the laughter was above him, drawing closer by the second. He could tell they were trying to frighten him.
A sadistic grin took over his deceptively innocent looking face. He would give them what they wanted. He would run, and they would chase.
Lester ran back the way he came, kicking up dirt and leaves along the way. He looked over his shoulder and saw two witches flying behind him, deadly silent, their long black hair flowing wildly.
*Just two?* Lester thought as he let out a fake scream. No, there had to be a third. He looked up, and through the tangled silhouette he saw the shape of the third witch intermittently illuminated by the intense moon.
*This is fun.* Lester thought as he ran faster. | 2018-04-17T18:18:17 | 2018-04-17T18:12:02 | 686 | 323 |
[WP] A young gay dragon has to explain to his parents why he is only kidnapping princes | #THE GAY DRAGON
ON roaring wings of bows of rain
Soars a mighty dragon, never slain
For the knights that come to claim its head
Find themselves hoarded off instead
A ferocious wyrm they sought to kill
Chains gallantry to dignity,
and friskily, timidly, his treasures to bed.
Thus they find themselves claiming still
Neither princess unveiled, nor maiden wed,
But a different kind of dragon's head. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Liberated from vows, and crowns, and heavy swords,
Captured heroes do heaven find, in the grasp of golden cords.
Yet betwixt the coital throes
Of armor shed, and passion glow,
A groan of dim surprise in cavern deep.
A rough-scaled elder slinks yet there,
Upon this wyrm's secret keep.
Shocked as their youth, sprung from egg
Finds comfort without such fettered shells.
"Jimmy! What in the name of the seven hells-"
crackles a voice of thunderous stone.
"I-I can explain dad, I was, uh, arranging bones-"
A fiery defense, powerless against the ageless sea.
"Son, there is no need to play the banshee,
If you don't swing for chests, but go for keys,
your mother and I will treasure you all the same."
"But for god's sake, have some shame!
I don't care whether you are gay or straight--
Finish eating what you plate." | The Elveron family; one of the most prestigious lines of
dragon in the world. Their terror has been known for over a millennium, toppling
countless villages and striking fear into the hearts of whoever they cross paths with. Their
work has picked up in recent years. With all the new kingdoms popping up, the
need for princess kidnapping has increased tenfold.
But now tension is brewing in the family, no more apparent than
in tonight’s dinner. Little Adam, the youngest of twelve and the only one still
home with his parents, has had a 100% success rate of kidnapping his victims. The only problem?
He only captures princes.
“Son,” father Kirfon said, trying to put his on his farthereist
voice. “We need to discuss something very important with you.”
Adam put down the Princess Fiona meatloaf his mother had cooked. “Hey
if it’s about that Rupaul guy you saw on my screen because I only studying human culture and-“
“Not that son, although I still do not understand why they are gagging so much. I mean, your
kidnappings. One hundred and twenty-three captures and not a maiden! I
mean, you even got Prince Charming. How on Earth did you ever get him from
Disney!?”
“Oh, I hired some lawyers.”
“And were they all male too?”
“Of course not- I mean- Well, why does that matter?”
Kirfon facepalmed. “Honey, how about you just say it?”
“Adam, dear. We’re a bit worried about you. Why do you only
kidnap males? You can tell us.”
Adam quickly realized he couldn’t hold it any longer. He needed to tell the truth, but he knew his parents would never accept it. But, an idea popped into his head.
He sat up and leaned forward on the table.
“Well, mother, father. I guess this is a better time than
any. I… prefer eating men.”
Adam tried to give his best smile while freaking out inside.
Both the father and mother leaned back, looking relived.
“Oh, is that all? Well, that meat preference is definitely
strange, but sometimes I enjoy devouring males as well! Sorry for asking! Back
to dinner everyone.”
Adam sat back down and resumed eating, smiling devilishly.
Little did his father and mother know the true weight of that sentence.
/r/StoryStar for more really fucking weird tales like this. | 2018-05-03T12:52:16 | 2018-05-03T12:12:55 | 414 | 159 |
[WP] The genie granted your wish: to be able to understand and speak every language. Your mind is flooded with thousands upon thousands of dead and living languages, human and alien alike. But, most surprisingly, you also now understand the operating system running the universe. | "Java. The entire universe runs on an outdated version of Java? Are you kidding me?"
The Genie chuckled. "What did you expect?"
"Not fucking *Java*, that's for sure," I replied. "Come on, we're going back home. I need some time to process this."
"Your wish is my command," the Genie said with a sly grin.
"That wasn't a wish, asshole."
And then I went home, and slept.
| *It was beautiful.*
I could understand and speak every language. They say the brain's capacity has never been reached. This is both true *and* false. I could speak english, german, all languages of the world, java, C#, C++, all languages running computers, but most importantly, I could speak the *universal* language. No, not english.
*The* universal language. The language of the universe. I could create buildings, mountains, planets, stars, simply by speaking the words. *I had become a god.* I could create or erase existence itself. It was everything a person dreamed of. I could give myself wealth, power, fame, money, whatever my heart or brain desired.
Problem is...a *god* is meant to be a god. A *mortal* isn't meant to be a god. The genie had known full well what he had done. He hadn't made me a god that could erase or create whatever I wanted. He had made me a walking sack of meat, bone, and blood. As my mind slowly caved in on itself I knew that it wasn't meant to be for mortals to have the powers of a god.
"And your second and third wish?" asked the genie
"..."
I fell over never to speak, think, or sense again. | 2018-10-18T13:42:48 | 2018-10-18T12:55:05 | 508 | 175 |
[WP] With total war as a foreign concept to the rest of our galaxy. Everyone saw humans as the negotiators and the peace makers, soft and weak, today is the day the galaxy finds out why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism. | Earth's representative took the podium at a convention of all galactic leaders. Everyone expected unconditional surrender and from the looks of the old man in a white coat with a defeated expression that is what they were about to get.
"I want everyone to know that I am deeply saddened by what I am about to say.
When we joined the galactic community 200 years ago we were given an ultimatum by the rest of you. "Learn to communicate or perish.", And perish we almost did. See we understood your words just fine but as you had planned we didn't understand your meaning. We had become so wrapped up in the specifics of our words that we had forgotten our more basic forms of communication. The way you communicated was almost like a intricate dance that we couldn't understand. We could translate the words but that was only half the message.
We learned to 'communicate' very quickly as our survival depended on it, but what what you didn't realize what that the skills of negotiation were already ingrained in us because again our survival depended on it for centuries before you came along. Once we had your skills of communication we not only joined you in the galactic community but we quickly rose in your ranks. We left our warring history behind and became brokers of peace and negotiation for your many factions.
At first you welcomed us, but I'm not telling you anything you don't already know.
Now we know all your secrets. You trusted us and we have never breached that trust. But now there grows a fear that we won't continue to be so selfless. That we are still the liars and violent monsters we were when your found us and that allowing us to continue in your community will lead to disaster.
So you have attacked us on multiple fronts and killed many of our people. Driving us off all the planets we now inhabit and deporting us back to Earth. We don't have the engines of war that you have. We don't even have the primitive guns and explosives that we used to.
Our defeat is guaranteed."
The entire convention began to murmur as the time for surrender seemed imminent.
"I'm not finished!"
The anger and commanding tone silenced the entire crowd. No one in attendance expected this of the frail looking old human on the stage.
"We never betrayed your trust. You have now betrayed ours.
As I said we know all of your secrets. We know all the weaknesses or your main civilisation hubs. We know the security of all of your facilities. We know the genetic making and evolutionary histories of every species here.
We also know that you don't plan to stop once our surrender is complete. You plan to eradicate us just as you did when you gave us your ultimatum 200 years ago if we failed to learn to communicate.
Let me be very clear in this communication now.
We have a secret that you do not know. A millennia before you found us we had enforced on ourselves rules of war because if we hadn't we would be long dead by the time you arrived. Rules that, now faced with our Extinction, we see no reason to uphold.
At this very moment a host of viruses that we have designed for each of your species is being released on your inhabited planets and in this very room. They are quite incurable."
The room fell silent as everyone checked to see if it was true, but the human was not bluffing.
"Mutually assured destruction. That is a term you are not familiar with but I am sure you understand. Bring your full might upon us if you wish. No one will be left alive when the dust settles."
Edit: I referenced a short story by Frank Herbert in this. It's called 'try to remember' and it's in a collection called EYE. https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Eye_(short_story_collection) great reads if you have the chance | "The Federation does not recognize the authority of the Alliance." A cold voice replied.
For over three thousand years, the humans had been the negotiators, traders, engineers, eager to learn and eager to give. They had integrated into the rest of the galaxy with little trouble, and their sleek, elegant ships, painted with red crosses, were a sight of mercy and aid in many places.
Few attacked these ships. Those who did, over the centuries, had learned that humans took these losses without anger or hatred, merely a look in their eyes that could be identified as sorrow. And the rest of the galaxy would rise up to defend the humans, weak and defenseless, having never developed powerful offensive weapons technologies. Though, curiously, their civilian ships were as well-defended as their military ships.
We've never been to their homeland. Even the Time Lords and the Bothans, ever explorers, scholars, and infiltrators, have never been to their homeworld regions. There were rumors that it is a beautiful paradise of endless bounty, or a repository of great technology.
How wrong we were.
The ruling Alliance of human worlds notified us three orbits ago that a large faction of their race broke off. On the other side of their homeworld, a group of humans had allied with the Shadow, seized its hive mind, and bent it to their will. They were called the Federation, and they were armed, dangerous, and a threat capable of toppling the entire galaxy in a single blow.
The members of the High Council that ruled the galaxy at large had laughed. Humans don't even have the long khatep blades that most bipedal races use for close combat. Their ships are entirely unarmed. How could they possibly have the will, or the means, to enslave one of the most terrible and powerful hive-minds of the galaxy, and force it to conquer the stars for them?
&#x200B;
We jumped through the recently opened human homeworlds, dumbfounded.
"Now you know." One of their captains said, waving her hand over the shattered Dyson sphere and choking star, the planets ruins, superweapons still sparkling with power after centuries of neglect.
"Once, before the High Council had even heard of us, before the Alliance was formed, we fought among ourselves."
We stood there, aghast. For a species to fight amongst itself was nigh unheard of; for them to obliterate their own homeworlds with such hatred was beyond barbaric.
"The two great nations of humanity, the Guiding Lights, and the Conquering Flames, named for their most powerful ship types, fought each other across the Home Region of humanity today."
"In that war, we scorched oceans and burnt atmospheres clean off planets. But our worst crime was the very enemy you will face today. The Von Neumann warhead known as the Shadow."
"It ate entire stars alive in its fury, and only by desperately building an enormous ring of star system fortresses could we finally destroy it. The cost was so high that we are but 1/5 of our original population, even after so many long years."
"It's why, for so long, we banned ourselves from waging war. The cost would be too terrible."
The High Council representatives aboard the ship responded as if beholding the very end of the universe. The view outside was a hellscape, known only in legends and archaeo-histories, when obscure enemies had fought across the galaxy in terrible conflicts. We now realized, that humanity had been among those combatants. And they were likely the winners, seeing as they are still here.
And so, at last, speeding beyond the ruins of the heart of humanity's civilization, we saw it. The true form of the Shadow, and the Federation that had seized it.
The star-sized superweapon was a cloud of nanobots, swarming around an enormous structure bristling with weapons. Ships bearing Alliance markings, hastily mounted with devastating weapons, or ancient derelicts resurrected from humanity's past, hurtled by in formations, desperately firing at it. Screams filled every comm, and explosions lit up the darkness.
We aren't ready for this. Not this.
The steel in the voice of the Alliance representative rang, as she rallied the troops. The High Council commanders stared at each other, then ordered their forces to advance.
And so, on that day, we learnt a new human term. Total war.
&#x200B; | 2018-12-14T21:32:21 | 2018-12-14T19:06:09 | 681 | 162 |
[WP] While renovating your bathroom you stumble across a strange machine labeled "Humanity" in the walls. On it various emotional traits are next to levers: Greed - 75%, Empathy - 40%, Lust - 80%, etc. At the very bottom, you find an unmarked lever that warns, "DO NOT TOUCH." It's set to 1%. | This had to be a Joke, right?
You stand there, perplexed, unsure what to do.
There couldn't be a machine that controls the entire human race, it just didn't add up. But what grabs your Curiousity the most is the lever that reads "DO NOT TOUCH" set to only 1%. There other ones were all labeled and set to a certain level. This one didn't even have a name. Should you set it to a higher percentage ? But then what would you change ?
Everything could happen, you could plunge the world in a state of Chaos or there might be a chance that it changes it for the better. Your Hand is on the lever now, you push it up to 50% and then you feel a slight tingle go through you. "Well, that felt weird" you think to yourself. But what did you change exactly ? You still felt pretty much the same as before. But you notice something outside: It has gone a bit queiter somehow. You think nothing of it.
Your Curiousity has gotten the best of you know. You push the lever up to 60%, 70%, 80%,90%, 99%, and then it stops. You can't quite push it all the way up to 100%. The noises outside subsided completely now.
"Hey Honey" you call to your Girlfriend "Come check this out". No Answer. "Honey?", you leave your bathroom and go into the kitchen where your Girlfriend just stood cooking minutes before. Nobody is there. The Pot full of noodles was overcooking and the contents spilled out on the stove. You are confused, there in front of the stove lay her clothes. "Has she gone to change ? " you think to yourself. But why would she leave her clothes in the kitchen. You go to the Window to look outside and then you see it: Hundreds of Clothes are spilled on the pavement. You run back to the machine in your bathroom and want to set the lever back to 1%, but it's stuck.
Then you notice something different. the " DO NOT TOUCH " sign above the lever is only glued to the machine. You peel off the sign and you stand there in shock. The Sign underneath it says :"RAPTURE, IN CASE OF APOCALYPSE".
&#x200B;
I'm a fairly new writer and this is the first story that i've written. I'm always looking to improve my writing, so constructive Criticism is always encouraged. Thank you : ) | I run my hands across the curious contraption and its glossy metallic surface. The levers are made from a polished metal glowing with greenish lustre. I scan through the various words next to the levers once more; Greed - 75%, Empathy - 40% and Lust - 80%. The final lever is made of a red, metal unlike anything I've ever seen before. It has the fiery glow of angry coals but it is unmarked. It is set to 1%.
I feel the gears in my mind whirring and turning furiously. Greed. The hallmark of the rich and privileged. Of course, Lust was a byproduct of greed and power. Low empathy fit in well too. And considering wealth was concentrated in 1% of the world's population, the last lever was probably an indicator of what percentage of the world would come to possess these qualities. Upsetting this balance could of course change the world for better or the worse. But what quantity and quality of ingredients would I need to concoct the perfect recipe?
I mull it over carefully. Imagine a world with low levels of greed and high levels of empathy. What if a major part of the world came to possess such noble traits? And maybe if lust was turned to minimal, there would be less crimes and sex-related offences everywhere. The sheer possibilities a world like this presented, made my mind revel in uncontrollable excitement.
Greed - 1%, Empathy - 85% Lust -1%. I set the unmarked one to 75%. It seemed like the logical thing to do. Beginning from the top, I pull each of the Jade levers one by one. I take the red lever last, and pull it.
A burst of Sunfire engulfs me, nearly blinding me with its intensity. It lasts for a few minutes before the world comes swirling back to normal. I am in my bathroom again, but the machine is nowhere to be seen.
That was 4 years ago. I have never stumbled upon the machine again. The world is on the verge of falling apart, and there is nothing I can do to save it.
Without greed, three quarters of the world craves nothing. Every business imaginable has been forced to shut down. The number of people on social media has dropped drastically. People have stopped working altogether. Unemployment rates are at a staggering 72%, but no one is complaining.
With extreme levels of empathy, one business that is booming is psychology. Psychologists and psychiatrists are now the new 1%. Modern warfare is fought with the mind. Millions breakdown everyday at the thought of being inadequate. Millions more have ended their lives with suicide notes that say that a life lived while being overwhelmed, is no life at all.
Without lust, birth rates have fallen by 71%. The global population has declined by nearly 700 million (10%) in four years. Adoption agencies are thriving. In vitro fertilization has never seen so much funding come its way. Love is still a house; but it has a glass ceiling. People can see the beauty of clear and starry skies but can never break through the ceiling in the hope of touching it anymore.
I am not one of the 75% afflicted by my curse. I spend my days at this sanatorium, writing. I wait here till I run out of words. Or for the day someone more sensible finds the machine, and does me the mercy of pulling that goddamned lever. | 2019-04-05T00:33:39 | 2019-04-05T00:11:57 | 256 | 117 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased with your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell and we're the demons. You have just been summoned... | I fall to the stone floor in an ungraceful heap. One moment I am dozing in my recliner after getting it in that magical position where my back doesn’t hurt and then there is this dazzling light and splat. Right on the floor.
Pain. I am way too old to flop onto a stone floor. I don’t bounce like I used to. I blink and rub my eyes trying to recover from a spotlight being shoved into them. As they recover I see what can only be described as some trippy shit. I’m in the middle of a freaking glowing circle with geometric shapes glowing and swirling around.
I’m also surrounded by midgets in purple robes.
To say that I have absolutely no fucking idea what is going on is the understatement of the century. I continue to rub my eyes. Things still don’t look right. The light is… different. The colors are… different. I cough. The air is different. Is it possible for air to be too clean? For colors to be too bright?
I do not like it here. I do not like it at all.
The midgets make terrified squeaking sounds. This one old fucker holding a book raises his hand.
“Foul creature from the netherworld! We summon you!”
“Say what now?” I struggle to my feet. Ow… I really should have been a more careful driver in my twenties.
The midgets, all gripping black candles, back away in fear. The old fucker bellows.
“Hold your ground! It cannot harm us.”
“I wouldn’t normally but it’s getting more tempting by the second. What exactly the flying fuck is going on here.” There are a bunch of shocked little gasps.
“He said a dirty word!” The midgets, the biggest was maybe three and a half feet tall, all recoiled in horror.
“Remember your training! Succumb not to the horror!” That little old guy is really starting to piss me off.
“Listen here you little shit...” I step towards him, “You have about ten seconds to...” BAM. I walk into something hard, And rather painful. A cylinder glows around me briefly.
“FUCK!” I yell holding my nose. On the bright side it isn’t broken (again). I reach out with my hand and receive a mild shock as the previously invisible barrier glows stopping my progress.
It feels sorta… flimsy. I poke it again.
“Oh loathsome denizen of the abyss… I bind you!” Ok now he’s gone and given me a headache.
I haul off and give that barrier a good kick. The sort of kick I use to unlock doors (or used to anyway). The barrier shatters, The circle goes poof in an annoyingly vivid happy rainbow of colors.
“EeeeeeEEEeeeeeee!” It’s oompa loompa pandemonium. Those little fuckers are bouncing off of each other, throwing candles left and right, a couple of them even peed themselves.
The old fucker is holding the book in front of him like a shield as he marches towards me.
“Flee young ones!” He then draws himself up, squares his shoulders, and raises his right hand which starts to swirl with glowing colors. I grab him by the scruff of his robe.
“Don’t even think about it.” I give him the stare that I once used to settle down unruly drunks. It still works. The hand drops. I lean in and hiss, “You have exactly ten seconds to tell me what the flying fuck is going on before I find out exactly how far I can throw your wrinkly ass.”
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
“So my realm is Hell.” I nod thoughtfully. “It does explain a lot, actually.”
“You didn’t know?” Glasen, the old fuck, asked.
“Nope. We just assumed that it’s normal. The place is a bit fucked… sorry… messed up but it’s normal for us.” I cough again. I guess I need some brimstone. Glasen notices my discomfort.
“I apologize for summoning you in such a dank and musty place.” Oh fuck me… This is dank?
“Nah, it’s cool.” Most of the other midgets have long since fled. Some brave souls are huddled by the exit peering in from the shadows. Too bad their shadows aren’t particularly shadowy and they are particularly bright so I can see them plan as… Heh. That’s right. I’m a demon. I can do shit like that.
“So why do you want to summon a giant demon from hell? No offense but it seems that you aren’t really good at this.” Glasen hangs his head and sighs.
“Well you see...” he is cut short by a blast of impossibly perfect trumpet blasts. They really grate on my nerves. In charge a couple of dozen little guys clutching what look like wooden lances. Glasen gasps.
“I have this under control. You didn’t have to bring the pointy sticks!” I sigh heavily.
It’s going to be a long day. | "Who the hell are you?" I asked.
"Where in hell are you from?", the neckbeard responded.
I took a look at him: scrawny, pasty, frail. I bet in one punch I could blast this ole buzzard into next Tuesday, but something told me I wouldn't make it past the 10 thick friends, and the regal looking bro in the back right corner. Maybe one or two of them, sure, I mean I've been doing StrongLift 5x5s for a month now, but not all of them.
After a fairly brief pause, I said: "Look, Megan's Law, I don't know what is going on here, but I need to get back to Connecticut pronto, I got a damned one-on-one with my boss and he is going to go over my 360 reviews today. Apparently, people think I am something of a wise----"
"SILENCE!!! DEMON FROM HELL!!!" The old man said.
It was at that moment that it dawned on me.
I was not going to make it back to the office, and someone was definitely going to take the last Boston Creme from the Dunkin Donuts box, even though I called "Lasty Cremesies", at least, 10 minutes ago.
"You have been summoned here for a great purpose. And you will commence your quest, post-haste."
Hmm... I had to buy myself some time. "Alright, padre, what do I have to do to get home?"
"You must head east for 2 and one half days ride.
"You will find a castle surrounded by a moat, and in that castle you must kill the king and bring the virgin from on high, from thither to hither."
Sheeeeeeeeeit. This old gag.
"Alright, shawty, you wanna dance? Let's dance! Get my your finest horse..........and get outta my face, would ya, you got mad halitosis.
"I'll go over them thar hills, and be back before the fortnight.
"Who's coming with me?"
<Crickets>
"Just like a thought," I remarked, "you'all are nothing but a bunch of booty-scratchers. All of you. Even you" -- pointing to the kid in throne -- "Little Lord Fauntleroy!"
Damn! I thought. Well.. thank God I downloaded three Phish songs, lat night, that should provide enough music to get me through the week.
I descended the tower and went out to the mean streets of....where-ever.
Just as some lolly gagger passed me on the thoroughfare, I yanked his wine sack out his hands and took a swig to the dome. It tasted like a lukewarm Mad Dog 20/20 .. I knew there was nothing redeemable about this place.
I hopped on the horse, some ole quarter horse, bag a bones, that shoulda been turned into glue 5 year ago.
I kicked the sides and headed off.
I popped in my earbuds... and grooved for two days and a half.
I arrived at the castle. The drawbridge was down and went right in. Big whoop.
I requested to see the king, that I had news from yonder.
The king would not see me.
I produced from my pocket a half-empty soft pack of Virginia Slims. "I come bearing gifts."
I was seen, immediately.
Now, I can tell you something, eyeballing this king. He definitely farts dust... I can only imagine if he had a Taco Bell dinner and washed it down with a red Monster, he might throw out his hip passing gass. Where was I?
In any event... I said:
"Hey, your ex.o.luntsy....I need your virgin, the other dude wants her and I was sent here to get her. And for your troubles, I will give you this pack of smokes."
He looked intrigued.
Then he said, and what about this...touching my music box..
I smacked his hand outta the way:
"Bro! Don't ever touch another man's Zune. This is a microsoft zune. They don't even make em anymore. This is worth more than your life."
I, then, played him some Phish.
I thought he was grooving but then he made a football move and sprinted straight for the window.... "No... don't do it! Defenestration is no way to go out!" I yelled, welling up in my left eye.
"Look, Phish is an acquired taste, trust me on this. It's not the Grateful Dead. It's not Jerry Garcia Band. It's not Widespread or The Cheese. They are in their own league. And get this, it's all improvised. And the lead singer has red hair which should count for something."
The king nodded in agreement.
"Summon my daughter." He said.
Woah. This....this just got a little...I dunno... cray cray.
"Alright, king, so deal? I can take this biddy back to that other kingdom and alls good?"
"Yes" he replied.
It took us 6 days to get back...two people....whatever, that horse was... no...... American Pharaoh, am I right?
Back to the first castle I presented the virgin.
"....thank you for fulfilling your destiny," said the neckbeard with the king in tow.
"Did you kill the king?" said the neckbeard.
"No, but that guy seemed pretty cool with the deal I cut him."
The neckbeard said: "Well, Nebuchadnezzar isn't known to be.....cool.... but perhaps he's turned over a new leaf."
"Alright already...get me home!" I exclaimed.
The neckbeard swiftly kicked me in the groan and as I doubled over he hit my with the end of his staff and seemed to come out of no where. I lost consciousness.
<Blackout>
I came to on the floor of the bathroom stall in my office building. Covered in urine.
My coworker came in: "Hey tool, you look like hell. The boss wants to see you. And uh... someone ate your Boston Creme, but...I left a Sno-Ball on your desk to make up for it, cause I like you so much."
I could smell the chocolate and custard on his breath.... From my position on the floor I coulda dribbled his nuts like a speedbag... but I remembered my pal Nebuchadnezzar ... stay cool.
Fin. | 2019-04-25T19:13:50 | 2019-04-25T16:47:11 | 32 | 13 |
[WP]For hundreds of years your world has been under alien occupation. Your new job under your overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of your ancestors. One day you discover an ancient machine which upon activation shows a message. “Contact reestablished,Support will arrive soon.” | The smoldering wreckage stretched for miles in every direction. The ruins of countless battles lay strewn across the barren landscape. The scene was lifeless save for the scattered figures searching the wreckage.
Urun was searching for anything to give to his masters. He had quotas to meet. It had been this way his whole life: go out into the wastelands, search for something valuable, record the location, and continue searching. He didn’t know why he had to do this, he just knew that he hated it.
Today was an especially depressing day. He hadn’t found anything all morning, and if he didn’t meet quotas, he wouldn’t get paid. As he thought of his poor future, his cortical implant showed a massive spike in void radiation. Jackpot! He looked around, searching the windswept ruins for the source.
It was a box, no bigger than his head, with a smooth display and foreign letters written around it. The box was surprisingly intact given the state of its surroundings, and the letters were quite legible. Unfortunately, despite the legibility of the text, it was indecipherable. The letters looked familiar but made no sense in the places they were.
Urun stood puzzling over the box and then shook his head. Some mysteries didn’t need to be solved. He stooped over and picked up the box. It was surprisingly light. He began carrying it to a more open spot where the bots could pick it up.
Suddenly, the display flashed to life and a series of beeps and whirs began emanating from the box.
Surprised, Urun dropped it and stepped back.
The box began speaking. Urun couldn’t understand much of what it said. It sounded like his language but was different. He thought he could make out the words for “biometric,” “support,” and “invasion,” but he couldn’t be sure.
Eventually, the box stopped spouting gibberish and Urun stepped back towards it. Leaning over, he poked it. Seeing that nothing happened, he picked it up again and finished taking it to the open area. Setting the box down, he logged it and went off searching for more ancient tech.
A few days later, Urun was lying in his cot, enjoying the last few moments of rest before work, when, suddenly, he heard a loud explosion. He ignored this. Probably just another mechanical malfunction. Happened all the time.
A few minutes later, the scream of plasma bolts cut through the early-morning silence. This he did not ignore.
Sitting up quickly, Urun scrambled to the door to look through the peephole. He saw nothing; no plasma bolts, no masters. Nothing.
Just as suddenly as the racket had started, it died down, leaving Urun confused. As he was trying to decide whether it would be wise to open the door, he heard marching coming towards him. The masters must have sent a squad to execute someone and they resisted. It happened.
Relaxing, Urun opened his door and strolled out, ready for another day of work. He was greeted not by the sight of an execution squad, but by a group of his species in bright white armor marching towards him. Confused, Urun waved hello.
“Greetings, citizen! You have been liberated!” yelled one of the white knights from down the street.
“What?” Urun yelled back.
“You’ve been liberated!” all of them yelled in unison.
“What does that mean exactly?”
At this point, the group had reached Urun and stopped a few feet in front of him
“You may now enjoy your full rights as a citizen of the Tyraxian Confederation, free of the oppression of the Gulronian Republic.”
“I don’t know who those people are.”
The speaker shifted nervously.
“Uh, your old bosses were from the Gulronian Republic. We’re from the Tyraxian Confederation. We used to own this planet until the Gulronians took it. Now we took it back, thanks to a distress call from a random citizen.”
“I have no idea who you are, and I don’t know who the Gulrongans are. Do I have to keep my job?”
“Gulronians,” he corrected, “And yes, everything will proceed exactly as before, but now your labor will be for a good cause!”
“And it wasn’t before?”
“No, you were enslaved by the Gulronians—the bad guys—but now you voluntarily work for the Tyraxian Confederation, us, the good guys.”
“So, I can leave?”
“No, you still have to keep doing what you’re doing here, but it’s for a good cause now.”
“But I hate what I’m doing here.”
“I understand sir, but that’s not my problem. If you have any complaints contact the HR department. The number should be the same as before.”
“The HR department is the same.”
Another pause as the Tyraxians looked around at each other.
“Yes, uh, we find it efficient with how often these places change hands to not put in new administrations every time. Just because we’re at war doesn’t mean we have to be wasteful.”
“Doesn’t really seem like a war,” remarked Urun.
“Believe me, the conflict is quite violent in other places!”
“Everyone sort of forgot about your planet, to be honest, there would be a lot of violence here too,” added another Tyraxian.
“Sounds wonderful,” said Urun.
“Indeed. Unfortunately, we must be going now, citizen. Work productively!”
Having finished learning about his newfound freedom, Urun went back to his forced labor, while the Tyraxians marched off to liberate some other neighborhood. Over the next week, Urun would meet a dozen more squads of identically uniformed soldiers telling him he was now liberated and could enjoy his rights as a lawful citizen of someplace or other and to continue carrying on exactly as he had been. At some point, he got a receiver to keep up with the news, but he wasn’t interested in why any of them were here, he just wished they would let him leave. | **Eternal Support**
Characters:
*James*
*Support*
**Open**
*(Scene opens to black. The sound of a pickaxe working can be heard)*
**James:** For hundreds of years my world has been under alien occupation. Our new job under our overlords is to scavenge ancient wreckage of our ancestors. I've been digging these holes for five years now. I probably only have ten left, until they work me dead.
*(The pickaxe suddenly breaks through something)*
**James:** Huh. This is not rock. (Beat) Could this be... drywall?
*(Lights come up. An old bedroom is displayed. The bed is rotted and in tatters. A wall is collapsed in, and the room is filled with dirt and dusty. To one side is an old IKEA desk with a computer and landline phone.)*
*(A pickaxe breaks through the wall opposite the computer desk. James steps inside, holding the pickaxe. He is covered in mining gear, disheveled but well built.)*
**James:** What is this? Living quarters? Wow, they're almost completely intact! Maybe I'll get an extra day's rations!
*(James messes around with objects around the room, poking the bed, flicking light switches, etc. He finally walks over to the computer and taps it. He slaps the keyboard and the computer boots up.)*
**James:** By the Humans! It is still operational!
*(James looks around and checks back in the hole to make sure no one is watching. He walks back to the computer and begins pressing random buttons and flailing the mouse. Suddenly, an alert sound is heard and the screen flashes. James jumps back, then examines.)*
**James:** What is this? The text of the ancients?
*(James takes out a handbook and begins consulting it.)*
**James:** "Contact... Established? Help will... arrive soon?" (Beat) It's a message from The Ancients! They seek to free us! I must read further! "Please... call... the following number?" Call? What does that mean? Hmmm... *(James looks at phone)* A-ha! The numerals on this device match the ones listed on the screen! I must activate it!
*(James tries his hardest to use the phone. After some finagling, he finally gets it. A dial tone can be heard. James stands stock-still, waiting with the device pressed to his ear. Finally, someone picks up.)*
**Support:** Hello? This is Microsoft Support Office.
**James:** You are... the support?
**Support**: Yes, hello sir. You are calling today because there is a problem?
**James**: Yes! Yes! They said the ancient resistance had all but disappeared, but I knew deep down that you were there all along, waiting to break us free!
(Beat)
**Support:** So you are having trouble using the computer?
**James:** The computer, oh Micro's Oft?
**Support:** Yes the computer.
**James:** What is a computer?
**Support:** The computer, sir? The screen where you saw the notice to call support?
**James:** Oh, sorry, yes, of course! The com-pu-ter! *(James turns to the computer)* Is this the key to our survival?
**Support:** Yes sir! The key! If you wish for your computer to survive, you will need to follow these steps.
**James:** Oh no, is the computer dying!
**Support:** Yes, yes, it is dying, it has many viruses.
**James:** Those damn aliens have been plaguing us with their insidious viruses for too long!
**Support:** (Beat) ...Yes sir, you cannot trust those illegals.
**James:** What must I do to stop them!
**Support:** You will need to go to your internet and type in an IP address. Do you know what an IP address is, sir?
**James:** To my shame, yes. We have all been branded with our Interstellar Property Address, so every alien can know which human is enslaved to whom. You need this number?
**Support:** (Beat) Er, no sir. I will tell you what IP address to type in. Please click on the white box above the alert screen you see.
*(With surprisingly little difficulty, James manages to select the URL bar.)*
**James:** I have done it, Micro's Oft Support Otis! Please! What numerals must I input?
**Support:** Eight.
**James:** Ah yes, eight. I have studied this well by candlelight in my cell! An ancient numeral, consisting of two circles placed one atop the other! *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Three.
**James:** Ah, three, the great sideways fork! Three was prominent in the folklore of the ancients. They had the Holy Trinidad! The Three Musketours! *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Five.
**James:** Five! The median number! Matching the count of fingers on a human hand-
**Support:** Sir, please just type in the numbers.
**James:** Yes Micro's Oft. *(James presses the key)*
**Support:** Ok, now dot. *(Pause)* The dot key, sir. *(James presses key).* One. Six. Dot. Two. Five. Four. Dot. One. *(James presses all the keys).* Ok sir, now please hit enter. The key with the arrow. *(James presses key, the screen flashes)*
**James**: It's working! The image has changed to one of blue, with two rectangles of white! Miraculous!
**Support:** Very good, sir! If you would please now put your credit card information into those boxes, like we did the URL.
**James:** My credit card? I am only given three food credits a day. You require the number from my card?
**Support:** Yes sir, and the expiration date.
**James:** Well that I know! I'm scheduled for expiration on June 5th, 2572. *(James, now confident in his ability to use the computer, inputs his details with relative ease)* And... enter!
**Support:** Ah yes sir I can see we have recieved your details now! Thank you very much for cooperating.
**James:** Oh Micro's Oft, what do I do now?
**Support:** Please wait sir, we will clean out the virus from your computer in a few days.
**James:** I see! then I shall return in two days time!
**Support:** Yes sir, thank you, have a good night. *(Clicking noise)*
**James:** Micro's Oft? He must have left. (Beat) So, a com-pu-ter? What other marvels does this machine hold? *(James begins pressing random keys again. The screen flashes.)* By the Ancients! What is this? *(James consults his handbook)* A... "Ni-gerian Prince?"
**End** | 2019-07-22T12:59:42 | 2019-07-22T11:47:36 | 104 | 16 |
[WP]Everyone on earth gets the same message on their phone telling them to go to a specific address. People everywhere are talking about and wondering if they should go. However after talking to some people about it, you realize that the address you were given is different than everyone else's. | At first, it was called, 'The Miracle of the Modern Age'. Some talk show host must have decided that was too long, so it was changed to, 'The Modern Miracle'. That was too long as well, (and probably too on-the-nose) so it was changed to 'The Sign'. Or 'The Message.' That was probably more appropriate. Grandmaster Flash would have been proud.
On December 25th, 2019, everyone, around the entire world, received a text. Those that didn't have a cell, received a call. Those that didn't have a phone, received a letter. Those that couldn't read, received a phone that had a message on it. And so on, all the way down. Everybody got the message somehow.
The message was simple: **Come to Me on April 12, 2020.** **Piazza San Pietro, 00120 Città del Vaticano, Vatican City.** It was translated into whatever language the receiver spoke, even the dead languages. Four simple words, folowed by a date, followed by an address. Except it wasn't simple at all. Because that date was Easter Sunday. And that address was St. Peter's Basilica.
The world went insane. Flights to Italy were immediately overbooked for nineteen years. People started walking to Rome. World leaders spoke in hushed tones. Some said The End was coming; some said it was the most elaborate hoax ever. Attempts to track down the sender were fruitless, leading to nothing but air. People committed mass suicide. A crusade was nearly started. It seemed everyone in the world had finally gone mad.
Except for me.
My text said: **Come to Me on April 12, 2020. 367 Mulberry Lane, Niobrara County, Wyoming.** What?
I tried showing it to other people, but they just laughed. "Why you faking the message, Chuyo? Everyone knows we gotta go to the Vatican!"
Thing is, they were right to laugh. Fakes were sprouting up everywhere, with the most popular telling everyone to go to Area 51. A large group of people had already pledged to go there instead of Rome. But I was just nervous. Why was I the only one to get a different address? Was I not worthy or something? Why? Maybe I wasn't the best person, or the most religious, but c'mon! Even serial killers rotting in prison had gotten a call!
I kinda grew depressed. I tried booking a flight to Rome, but the travel agent just laughed. "If you wanna get to Rome from Mexico, them your name better be Carlos Slim, 'cuz you ain't gettin' there otherwise. Guess you gonna have to watch the Coming from your basement, Chuyo."
At that moment, I resolved to go that place in Wyoming. It wasn't what I wanted, but by God, I had to do *something.* I set out the very next day. Immigration was easy. Restrictions had become lax after America started hemorrhaging people to Europe. The President had already left. I got in on a tourist Visa, and headed up to Wyoming, hitchhiking most of the way. I got robbed twice, shot at once, had to sleep in a ditch more times than I'd care to count, and spent one miserable night in a Colorado jail. But I got there in the end.
Only to find out 367 Mulberry Lane didn't exist. I had been tricked after all. I just gazed at the empty space between 365 and 369, and broke down crying. I won't lie, I thought of ending it right then. But I got over it and thought of going back to Mexico. But what did I have there? Mother was dead, and she hadn't even known who my father was. I resolved to stick it out until Easter, then hike back.
The fateful day finally came, and I celebrated by getting drunk. I could barely even stand. I just stared at the empty space that was 367 Mulberry Lane, while all the world leaders piled into the Vatican. The sun slowly went down. I took another swig, and laughed, realizing this would be the first Easter I'd spend outside of a church. I threw the bottle at the empty space. It clattered against something. A door. That hadn't been there before. It was filled with light, and the inscription on it simply read: **INRI**. My hand shaking, I opened the door. The world was bathed in light.
# BE READY, MY SON.
I stepped out of the light, blinking rapidly as I stepped into the dark. Wyoming was gone. In its place were million upon millions of people of all races, colors, ages, staring up at me. I stared down at them. All was silent. And a voice boomed from the heavens, from the ground, from everywhere.
# HE IS RISEN!
Everyone went down on one knee, and shouted, **"HE IS RISEN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"**
I stared down at them. My beard itched. My skin crawled. I felt nauseous. But I knew why I was here. What I had to do. Where I had to go.
Seemed I'd managed to get to Rome, after all.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
*Not my usual work, at all. But I thought I'd give it a shot. Please tell me what you think.* | It was 5:32am when my phone went off. With the ceiling sufficiently stared at for the night, I rolled over and grabbed the old flip job. The little screen on the front had an oversized TXT on it. Not one to usually receive texts, let alone one at that hour, I flipped open, expecting some spam junk.
“5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; come.”
“Huh, weird spam,” I thought as I hopped out of bed to shower.
Afterwards I flipped on my old tube tv. The colors bled and the audio was tinny and choppy, but it still worked for the news. The anchor of the morning news was explaining an overnight phenomenon sweeping across the nation. I flipped it off; I couldn’t handle another bucket challenge or some bullshit contrived to make people feel better about themselves while they couldn’t even tell you why they were doing what they were doing.
I left the long term motel rental a little after 6:30. There was a family across the way, an old beige RV plastered with stickers from all across the country parked in front of their room. I think it was The Alden’s, or the Alton’s, something like that, they had been there almost three weeks now. I wasn’t one for company, but it’s the longest I’d seen someone stay in this dusty corner of Maine I was in.
I overheard them, “Do we go?”
“Well, we all got the same thing, from the same number,” said the lanky teenage boy, acne and a big smile all over his face. I paused and lit a smoke.
“Yeah, but it’s so far,” the girl, younger, pink from head to toe, blond curls falling behind her, like some caricature of a doll brought to life.
The father, Bob, Rob maybe, leaned against the battered vehicle, “I think we do it, we’ve never been there, it’s just one more adventure.”
“But who would want to go there, daddy!” The girl sassed.
“Us!” It was a freakin’ chorus from the other three. I started walking. It seemed like I’d have my little motel to myself again, the Al-somethings having picked their next adventure spot.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
“5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; come.”
I thought back to when I spent a little time in Vegas. Just over three years, more than a decade ago. It could be a hard, cold place. Ruthless was the right word. The sun or the sin, my boss used to say, one of them is going to kill you.
As I turned onto the sleepy town center, a brick row of buildings from when this town had a future still. Old diagonal parking spots lined each side of the street, a small park memorializing something once important and long forgotten was at the end of the row. Lots of boarded up windows and “For Rent” signs, but a few small businesses here and there.
I stopped in the coffee shop, the only thing open before seven here. The girl was staring at the TV hung behind the counter. It was the same anchor. The closed captions were on and they were still going on about the newest phenomenon.
The girl behind the counter was enrapt, she didn’t notice or couldn’t be bothered by the door hitting the bell when I came in.
“S’cuse me” I grumbled. She started, turning around. “Coffee…,” She cut me off “Black, large, I got it!” She whipped around the back, setting the hot cup in front of me moments later. She turned back to the TV.
“What do you think, will people go?” I looked around, making sure I was the only one here.
“What’re you talking about?”
“We all got them, the texts, everybody. It started late last night and it’s even going on right now.”
“What’re you…” my pocket vibrated. Ah, the texts, it wasn’t just me. Some weird scam, texting everybody an address. I looked up at the TV. There was helicopter footage of Route 88 outside Chicago and traffic was bumper to bumper, all moving slowly west.
“It’s happening, people are flocking” The closed captions announced. The lady was jubilant on TV when the feed cut back to her in the studio, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, all smiles.
“This just feels right, this feels great,” the captions proclaimed as the feed cut to break. It was one of those stations where the scroll never goes away. It flashed something that made me put my coffee down, “Pilgrimage, 722 Freemantle Road, Hemingford, Nebraska.”
“Wow, it’s so amazing isn’t it,” The waitress said. “I mean, I’d love to go but you know, I’m from here and that’s a long ways to go, no car, all that.” She trailed off.
“Nebraska, yeah, crazy.” I was puzzled. “Did you get the text too?”
She pulled out her phone and showed me, a big, bright screen Apple job: 722 Freemantle Road, Hemingford, Nebraska, come, follow.”
My pocket buzzed again. I laid three bucks on the counter, slammed the coffee and left. The waitress was still staring at the TV.
“5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; come.”
“5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; come.”
“5001 Crag Road, Las Vegas, NV; don’t follow, come lead.”
The last one gave me pause, lead what, lead whom. The town was starting to wake up, cars were scurrying around, everyone stopping at the grocery, the hardware store, everyone preparing to leave. Everyone was laughing, helping each other get ready, carpooling with neighbors.
As I walked down the street out of town one of those huge church vans pulled up beside me.
“Hey partner,” an older man with a gray beard, glasses and laugh lines up his face leaned out the driver’s window “I’ve got room for another if you’d like to come with us. He motioned to the back of the van, 10 smiling faces piled in, bags in the back, all of them laughing, a few playing cards across their bench seat.
I popped the collar on my denim jacket against the breeze.
“Nah, I’m walkin’, dude.” | 2019-09-09T12:30:38 | 2019-09-09T11:31:05 | 1,909 | 271 |
[WP] You have accidentally died. No, no, no, you didn’t die in an accident, you’ve accidentally died, as in, the Grim Reaper has no idea what you’re doing in the underworld. | He didn't look any different from the thousands of souls around him.
But when he reached the Bookkeeper, the line, which was deathly slow, stopped moving.
We watched in bemusement as the Bookkeeper put down his pen and started flipping pages. Index, appendix, it made no difference.
Dusty tomes from the archives were sent for. Until then, I had no idea that the book even had more than one volume. Makes sense, I guess, with billions served. I just figured it magical like the account of deeds that was written on the page.
I don't know what the Bookkeeper was thinking, sending for the tomes. Maybe he was hoping to find a record of the supplicant's death in a different time. Maybe,he was just hoping to put off calling his boss in. Be that as it may, the tomes apparently held no succor, for the Bookkeeper had to make the call.
The Grim Reaper was just there. No walking through the lines of souls to confer with the bookkeeper. By that time, I was sufficiently bored and intrigued to push my way nearer. I didn't have much trouble; and as I got nearer, i realized why. There was an ineffable eerieness, an emotional dark depth that got stronger as one came closer to the Reaper. possibly the impact of all those millenia sending people from life to death. Possibly intrinsic. I stopped, but I could still hear them speak.
"...but there *isn't* any record. If he isn't in my records and you don't recall collecting his soul.. how can he be here"
Obviously it wasn't the first time it was stated, for there was no answer and none seemed expected. The Reaper gazed at the supplicant and seemed to come to a decision, for he reached out a surprisingly gentle hand.
"John, you have no memory of passing on, and you oughtn't be here. Hold my hand and I will take you back to the moment of your passing. You won't remember this place when you return to life"
An instant's hesitation and John reached out to grab the Reaper's hand. But nothing happened. They stood there for a few minutes.
"I can't take him back; he must belong; but he can't have crossed over here if I didn't claim him."
The voice was mystified and quietly .... frustrated. It didn't seem to fit the Reaper.
It was right about then that one of his helpers near the Reaper must have come up with an idea, for he stooped to murmur something. The Reaper murmured something back
"Check...... touch them with this. ... will appear blue".
And then his host spread out among the crowded lines, taking names, touching souls. Almost everyone they talked to turned slightly greyish to our eyes. But one soul tinged blue and was taken to the reaper and the bookkeeper.
It was clear that his case was just like John's, for they had the same tinge of blue, now. But before more could be said, there was another found in the crowd, and another and another, as the reaper's host spread out. The number kept increasing.
The stillness of the Reaper somehow intensified and has gaze grew concentrated on a figure further back, shrouded in white.
"You. You were responsible for this."
And that was the first time I saw the Taker of Souls. I was there. Right at the beginning of the War of the Deaths. | "I-I've never had to deal with something like this b-before, they told me this couldn't happen!"
Though the twinge of panic was ever so prominent in my chest, tightening my throat and making every breath uncomfortable, I can admit that seeing such a devastating figure as an eerie skeleton in black robes wielding a large scythe was somewhat surreal, especially as he eagerly flicked through a leather-bound book, desperate for some kind of answer that even the "Reaping 4 Dummies" manual couldn't provide.
However, passed all of the fear and confusion, my mind raced with possibilities. How could death be some kind of mistake? It's just something that... you know, happens, right? I suppose not, because, hurriedly, Death grabbed my arm with his cold, bony hand and yanked me over to the side, forcing me to realize the long, long line of people that were behind me, axes embedded in their heads, gaping holes in their chests, and black rings around their necks. "T-Tony, handle the line for me for a minute, I gotta... fuck, I gotta sort this out somehow." At his beckoning call, a skeleton with the same attire of the Grim Reaper himself stepped up, hood down and scythe-less with a ratty, old red cap clamped around his skull. "I got ya, Grim." he said in a comradely like fashion, as he stepped up to the podium, grabbed the book that sat on top, and began ordering around the lost souls waiting to get in to the afterlife.
And then there were two, me and a concept, standing awkwardly beside one another, waiting for one to give the answer to my appearance to the other. "Uh... y-you're name's Rodney Hayes, right?" he stuttered, still flicking through the pages and avoiding my gaze, even my response in the form of a nod. He swallowed hard, flipping back and forth in his book, scanning the pages. "Y-Yeah, you weren't s-supposed to arrive until March 6th, 2032." he stated, closing his book in a defeated manner and slipping his hand under his hood, scratching the bare skull underneath. "Um... y-you haven't been processed in the system yet, Mr. Hayes, I..."
"Heaven or Hell, Grim, just send him someplace." Tony remarked.
"It's too risky- what if we get it wrong?... Fuck, the bosses will be pissed!"
"We're supposed to sort the souls here. Once he's somewhere else, it's their problem, not ours."
"Oh, shut up, Tony- you just want an excuse to not do your job! That mess only effects me, I'm the supervisor!"
"And the supervisor shouldn't have to deal with God and Satan's shortcomings. It's their fault he's not processed, it's their fault they screwed up his death date, and it's their fault we're even in this situation in the first place!"
Death looked around worriedly- he must've found a modicum of truth in his words as he stared down at the manual in his hands. Begrudgingly, he stuffed it back into the neck hole of his robe and looked straight at me. "R-Right..." he mumbled, taking a deep breath and clenching the handle of his scythe in his fist. "Alright, uh... go through... that door." he said, nudging his weapon towards the left. After tuning in on their conversation, needless to say, I was hesitant, considering it was basically a coin flip if I would end up in Evil's Den or the most sovereign place I'd ever lay my sorry eyes upon. "Go on."
"Where will I end up?" I asked.
"Chapter 19, Section 80, Rule 4 - Never disclose the designated destination to a soul." Death recited.
I looked back at the door, blinding, white light beyond, obscuring its destination to the naked eye. It was either I took my chances, or I met the blade of the scythe and whatever negative effects it would have on my soul. With a deep breath, I charged through, ripping it off like a bandage.
"W-What the- You're not supposed to be here yet!" Satan growled. | 2019-12-05T18:51:26 | 2019-12-05T18:05:38 | 50 | 17 |
[WP] Your sister disappeared on her way to school, but no one noticed. When you asked your parents they told you you didn’t have a sister. All the family pictures in your house only show you and your parents. You spend the next 7 years investigating until you receive a knock on your door. | My life changed forever when I was 13 years old. One moment, I was just sitting on the sofa watching TV; the next, everything, including the TV, became deathly quiet. I tried speaking, but no words came out of my throat. It was like the whole world had gone on mute. And then I felt everything *shift*. It was the most strangest feeling I had ever felt. I was still sitting on the sofa, but I still had this dizzying sensation that I had just blacked out and woken somewhere utterly new. I immediately jolted to my feet. The first thing I noticed after the shift was that some of the furniture in the room had changed. The TV had moved a few inches to the right, the sofa was now red instead of blue, and my sister's lava lamp was no longer in the room. I rushed over to my parents' room to see if they had just felt what I had felt. On the way there though, I passed by my sister's bedroom. Or what used to be my sister's bedroom. I stood frozen in the doorway when I saw what was inside. All of my sister's belongings were gone. It was just a supply room filled with old appliances and file cabinets now. I ran over to my parents and asked them what the hell had happened to Elsie's room. They just stared back with confused eyes and asked who Elsie was. At this point, I was really starting to freak out. I brought them over to the living room, where we kept the family photos, but to my utter shock, Elsie had vanished from every single one of them. I looked through my phone and my computer, and found nothing. I contacted my friends and relatives, and they didn't remember my sister either. Elsie was gone. She had never existed.
For the first few days afterward, I honestly thought I had snapped and gone insane. Everything and everyone around me seemed to show that Elsie only existed in my head. Then, I started doing research online. That's when I started realizing there were a lot more differences in this world than just Elsie's disappearance. Certain celebrities that had died in my world were still living, some scandals had never happened and some political leaders had never been ousted from power. I looked back further into history, trying to see if I could find some kind of divergence point. It didn't take long. Ten years ago, four years before Elsie was born, the president and the vice president had both been assassinated by sniper fire. Secret Service agents had stormed the building where the sniper was, but to their utter shock, the sniper has simply vanished into thin air in front of them.
It's been seven years since then. I pored through all the facts and conspiracy theories that I could find about the assassination. I researched time theory theories and searched for any trace of the past timeline online. All of it proved fruitless. I was close to giving up on ever seeing Elsie again. Then, one day, I heard a knock on my door.I opened my door, only to find an middle aged woman in a suit and tie outside. "Can I help you?" I asked nervously.
She gave me a piercing gaze. "Would I be correct that you, Tobias Ford, have memories of the past timeline?"My mouth dropped open. "How...how do you know that?"
"We've been monitoring your internet history and we've been analyzing your bloodwork for quite a while, Mr. Ford." She paused for a moment."I'll get straight to the point. I belong to a top secret agency in the government. We believe that you are one of the few people in the world that possesses a rare genetic mutation that allows you to remember past timelines. And we want to recruit you."
My head feels dizzy. I can't believe that any of this is actually happening. "What exactly does your agency do?"
She takes out a manila folder from within her suit and hands it to me. "We have but one simple goal. To restore history to its proper time." | A knock broke my concentration from the light that hypnotized me outside my window.
"Hello? Who is it?" I approached the door with my hands floating at my sides like I was a spy trying to mute my steps.
"It's me, Cameron," a familiar female voice said, muffled by the door. "It's your sister."
My heart sank, my head spun, and my limbs quaked. Gripping the knob I ripped the door open, my eyes ready to downpour with tears, but my adrenaline spiraled just after spiking.
"What? Don't look so disappointed to see me," she pushed past my paper thin frame of a body, slid to my fridge, and yanked out a flavored seltzer water. Something was in her hands which she placed on the counter, it was a disk of aluminum foil, kind of looked like a miniature UFO.
"Y'know that really wasn't funny, Kayla," I muttered, the color of my face was restoring brick by brick.
"Ah, sorry about that, you know me and my dark sense of humor, what else did you expect?" she cracked open the can and slugged a few gulps.
"I shouldn't be surprised after the JFK memes you sent me last night," I sighed. "Just thought this sister thing was a little too far."
She studied my face for a moment, and her smirk faded. "Well, I'm really sorry, truly I am."
"It's okay..." I shook my head. "So what's up?"
"Um really? Well, it's Friday night, our Saturday class is done, it's like the warmest evening this April, I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink somewhere?"
"Uh, I don't know. I was in the middle of something."
The edge of Kayla's mouth curled upward. "Don't you know what today is?"
"April 17th?"
"Yeah, it's your birthday, you wacko. I wanted to give you a surprise instead of texting you. Happy birthday, dude. I made some cupcakes for you," Kayla unraveled the aluminum covering to reveal peanut butter frosting on a chocolate cupcake.
"Wait! Kayla!" I shrieked as I rushed up to the counter and marveled at the cupcakes. "This was my sister's favorite, did you know that? How did you know that these were her favorite?"
"I didn't, Cameron. Relax dude. Don't you remember the conversation we had a few months ago where you said that you were craving for some because you hadn't had them in a while? I thought I would just be nice and make you some even though I know your favorite is vanilla frosting with chocolate cake."
"These were my sister's favorite," my voice trailed off and I snatched up a cupcake and chomped it down with a few bites. "Thank you, these are amazing."
I roped Kayla in for a hug and gave her a firm squeeze which she returned, then we released.
"No one has told me happy birthday today," I could start to feel a flow of tears massage their way through my sinuses. "I actually *forgot*."
"It's alright Cameron. Your parents didn't even say happy birthday?"
"No. They've been very frustrated with me the past few years about my claims of my sister who existed. I know for a fact she used to be alive but something happened to her. I just know it!"
Kayla's lips sank like an anchor. "I'm sorry, Cam, but let's go get a drink. You should take this off your mind."
"Wait, you'll probably think I'm crazy, but you already do anyways and yet we hang out, but I want you to see this light outside," I ushered her over to the window outside my bedroom which was on the top floor of the apartment complex. "What do you think that-- Oh my gosh."
"Cameron, what's that light up in the sky? It looks really close."
"*It moved!* Wait, it's moving! It's getting even closer!" goosebumps erupted over every patch of skin on my body, a shiver tremored through my spine.
The room was painted with saturated colored light that flipped from red to yellow to green to purple in rapid succession. A siren that sounded like a fast-forwarded whale call edited on high pitch punctured our ears and Kayla and I both collapsed to the ground. Up at the ceiling the lights grew even brighter and--
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/gcuyqs/wp_your_sister_disappeared_on_her_way_to_school/) has been added!
We made it to a [part 3!](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/gd3moj/the_parallel_seven_part_3/) | 2020-05-03T10:37:31 | 2020-05-03T10:04:57 | 654 | 113 |
[WP] A trenchcoated stranger has depositied a stack of hundreds on the table in front of you. He tells you that you know what to do, and vanishes into the crowd. You have absolutely no idea of what to do. | "You know what to do."
I stared as the man's black trenchcoat swooshed through the air and he turned to walk away. He was tall, with a black hat which made him look even taller, and sunglasses that only added to the weirdness of wearing a trenchcoat in the middle of the California summer.
"What the hell?"
At 20, I may have just assumed I was hallucinating from weed or alcohol poisoning or something, I don't know, I was always pretty straight-edge so I probably wouldn't have that excuse either. Yet at 50, I had even less of an excuse to explain the stack of hundred dollar bills which sat on my table.
"Well, I suppose I'll find out?"
I picked up the stack and began to walk over to my car. I thought about giving it to charity, gather some good karma, but does a few hundred really matter? They're all scams anyway!
DHUK DHUK DHUK
The car's engine wheezed and cried as I started it, but somehow, it managed to rev up like it had for the last 5 years. Could the money be meant for my car? But what kind of anti-climactic fate would that be? Surely not.
The door creaked as I closed it behind me. The house was fine, but at 50, it'd be nice to have it paid off. Only a few thousand dollars of mortgage to go. I glanced at the stack of hundreds in my hand.
"No," I decided after a minute. "It must be fate. Something greater than that!"
Just then, I got a notification on my email app. Everything seemed to be larger than life, and I stuck out my index finger to tap it as carefully and precisely as I could. But no, it'd be easier to answer emails on my computer! I fumbled my way around the big box and switched it on.
Once I'd opened Yahoo, I clicked the unread mail. The subject said: URGENT, I NEED YOU.
"Dear Michael
I am the wife of the REVEREND Pastor Francis Trunce, and I am a widow because Mt husband the REVEREND dies 2yrs ago.
Now, I am suffering from cancer disease and the doctors tell me I will going to die. I need transfer my money to you so you can continue charity in my good name and help babies in the world with my 17.5 million dollar fortunes.
I need you to transfer me $3100 by Western Union cash transfer at name attached below. I will be waiting for your response."
I couldn't believe it. I counted out the money the man had thrown my way, and it was exactly $2100. This was fate! I could pay off my house AND buy a new car, besides helping all the starving children in Africa and tipping all my servers 20%. There was no harm in just adding a thousand bucks by myself.
Luckily, my son had taught me how to do the Western Union cash transfer online, and I was done in less than 10 minutes. While waiting for the response I called my son and explained this blessing to him.
"What? What did you do, dad?!" he responded, to my surprise.
"Well, what else could so much money have been for?" I was flabbergasted.
My son mumbled something I couldn't understand, and then sighed. "Man, those scams have really evolved, haven't they?" | I've always hated weddings. It’s all about the fanfare, the ego boost, the money. Every onlooker bathes the lovely couple with thinly veiled jealousy. All the while, every guest prissys up, just so they don’t look quite as pathetic as they usually do. They compare themselves to the newly-weds as the basis of evaluation.
Despite my loathing, I had somehow fallen in with the sheep, as my Uncle would say. I curled my hair and painted my lips in red. As I sat at the table, people drifted through the room, mingling with family and friends, wandering out onto the dance floor. I reached into my clutch and pulled out my lighter and my box of cigarettes.
*Thump.* The glasses on the table shook. A thick envelope lay over crushed rose petals. I looked up and saw a woman, with strong black eyes that held no reflection. Her lips were golden orange and what little skin I saw crawled with moving ink. She wore a long black coat and black gloves to match. She glared at me.
“Bugger off.” I muttered and stuck a cigarette between my lips casually. But her stare remained on me, and it made my stomach roll. She lifted the fold of the envelope so that I could see the contents. I tried to keep a neutral expression; stacks on stacks of hundred dollar bills were stuffed to the brim inside.
I flicked my eyes away from the ‘gift’. There was always a price. “Fine, I’ll bugger off instead.” I stood up. My chair was loud against the floor but it was drowned out by the music and chatter.
She lunged forward and grabbed my arm. “Don’t play stupid, you prat. You know what needs to be done.” Her coal eyes bore into me, unnerving in every way. Why was there no reflection?
I pulled my arm away, jerking it hard to break her grip. “I don’t *need* to do anything. Except have a smoke and find someone to go home with. Excuse me.” I turned toward the door.
She growled and picked the money off the table, shoving it into my chest.“Get your head out of your ass, Hannah.”
I threw my hands out instinctively and caught the heavy envelope. A few hundred dollar bills spilled out the top, drifting to the floor. When I looked up, the stranger was gone. I turned around. Maybe she slipped out the emergency exit. But there was a large pack of drunk guys standing in front of the doorway and they seemed to be too rowdy to get past unnoticed. I peered down at the envelope.
“I don’t want your dirty blood money.” I growled and stormed off to the main exit in pursuit. But she wasn’t in the foyer either. There was just a large table where one of the bridesmaids was managing some type of event. I tried to recall her name but all I could remember was that it started with a B. Brooke? Bree? I shook my head, who cared? I glanced around, but there were only a few couples, mingling about the foyer or dipping outside for a smoke.
“Can I help you?” The bridesmaid called. Brittney. She had a look of concern, her blond eyebrows pinched together over her brown eyes, as if she was genuinely worried I was lost.
“Did you see-” I stared at the doe-eyed girl. “I was just looking for someone, but I think they went home. I was going to ask how they knew the couple.”
Brittney smiled sweetly. “Well, I’m sure they had a good time. It seems like everyone here know the Harrisons so well, they’ve left all sorts of gifts. Isn’t it weird? Calling them the Harrisons now?”
I looked down at Brittney as she grinned up at me like it was Easter Sunday. There was a pile of boxes beside her, and many envelopes, which I could only assume were filled with cash.
I smiled back at the young bridesmaid. “It sure is. Speaking of which, I actually forgot to give them my gift, could I leave it with you?”
\_S>E>O'N. | 2020-09-06T05:58:40 | 2020-09-06T01:57:34 | 50 | 30 |
[WP] "I heard those humans were really adaptable." "Yeah, no shit they are. Did you ever hear the story of the lost human child that went feral and became part of a pack of the most vicious predators on Keth'rack?" | "Really? Which ones?" There was a dramatic pause as the speaker felt all eyes turn to him.
"The Veth'ag." The bar erupted in clicking and hissing. "I know, I know, It's crazy, right? But I met him." He held up a leather cord wound around a serrated claw. The room quieted as the trinket was passed from hand to tentacle.
"You think it's only happened once?" A seasoned old planethopper shoved his way up to the speaker. "I've heard the humans there are letting some into their settlements."
There was a small murmur through the room. "And that's not even the crazy part. No, they started letting some of them in their ships."
The barkeep had wandered over to the conversation. "We had a human here last week with the Effanesence. Said his clan was fixed on herding up some Galleroth." Several of the patrons made motions of disbelief. There were a couple of gasps and someone choked on a drink. "I have two keters of milk if anyone wants a shot." There were a couple cheers and one brave soul forked over the six hundred credits.
"Pretty good!" He stood up and passed out.
A mariner sauntered over from a back table. "You guys heard about the Retrievas?" Several of the regulars moaned and started moving for the door. "We had a job to remove a Ckelth'oo from the area so the humans could build a spaceport. Yeah, they just casually asked if the massive thing could get moved." He signalled the barkeep for a drink, and paused to take a slow sip. "Captain said no, but we had a human on the crew. So, he had her go see if she could talk some sense into them, Maybe build somewhere else. Carol, she was called. Anyway Carol came back and went straight to the hold, then right up to data. Came back an ofa later saying she would do it, but half the pay goes straight to her. All she wanted was one of the big power cases and a cargo lift."
"You didn't let her do it?" "She's dead right?" "Let the fella talk!"
"She came back alright, with that nasty snarlin' creature packed into that case like it was a gas canister. Rolled it into the hold with the cargo lift. She ate next to it, spent every break in there, and I'm pretty sure she slept in there. At the end of that jump she called everyone down there to see a 'demonstration.' She scared the slime off of everyone when she opened the case and let the beast out."
"She has to be dead." "How many made it out?" "That thing trashed the place, eh?"
The mariner waved for silence. "She had that thing trained to sit." | “No? Do tell Legionnaire. And, for future reference, remember your audience.”
The Commander smiled a congenial smile towards me, but I knew I fucked up. In my defense, I had never gotten this far in a conversation with him. It must have been my nerves getting the best of me. Shrugging it off, I continued with our discussion.
“So…the lost human child. He was allegedly abducted from his home planet…Earth? Something like that. Anyways, the smugglers attempting to cross him into Keth’rack had to deal with the recent air traffic impositions that were placed after the war that took place back then, the…um…Regalith War? The one for the Monoliths on Regath that held enough power to change the molecular composition of the universe and stuff.”
The commander nodded, providing me a feeling of relief knowing that I did not mess that one up.
“Keth’rack, being a planet on the losing side, was placed under Lei’Zot military rule. And Lei’Zot is not known to be lenient. They even take checking casual and passenger aircrafts for illegal goods, refugees, and POWs like their life depended on it, and I swear, it feels like it does. Anyway, the smugglers, knowing only violence as their solution rather than tact, proceeded the shoot up the checkpoint. The troops there retaliated, blah blah blah, and all the smugglers were killed or captured. As the troops check the compartments of their airship, they discover, lo and behold, the human child. I know it might sound like everything is going well, but I assure you, that is far from it. The trooper that took the kid into custody was actually a member of the most vicious predators on Keth’rack, the Keth’rackillers.”
The commander flinched a little at their name. I noticed this but did not want to question it. Pretending to be oblivious to his reaction, I continued.
“This member called up a buddy of his and he brought some more of his buddies and secretly transferred the kid out of there. In Keth’rack, children are rare, and a human one at that. They could put this kid up on the market and make an absolute fortune. There was no way they would have let this change go by. So, after they took the kid back to their hideout, they began to devise a plan. However, almost immediately after they got back, this kid got his hands on one of their particle disintegration guns and clumsily fired it at one of them. The dude evaporated into thin air.”
I could see the Commander getting more and more enthused by the story.
“Instead of killing the kid for killing one of their comrades, they instead filled up glasses with human alcoholic beverages and drank to him. After all, he had just killed their boss, and whoever kills the boss, becomes the new boss. Of course, one of them could’ve just kill him and let themselves become the boss, but no one wanted to do it. So, they let the kid do whatever he wanted and in return, no rules were imposed on them like what their former boss did. Years went by and the kid grew into a strong man. He and his Keth’rackiller comrades became to ruling faction of the nearby city, and eventually went on to become the leading authority of Keth’rack. And now…”
“…Keth’rack is a thriving planet with opportunity and happiness for everyone. Amazing how a vicious pack of creatures could end up being saviors of an entire planet.”
The commander eyed me suspiciously.
“And you know this much because…”
“…that lone child who saved Keth’rack was my grandfather. And I will carry on his will for as long as I am alive, Commander.” | 2020-09-11T23:04:10 | 2020-09-11T22:20:33 | 34 | 21 |
[WP] It is 2009. You are the one time traveler to show up to Stephen Hawking’s unannounced time traveler party. You are from 200 years in his future. You have to explain to him why he can never tell anyone you showed up. | Time was of the essence. But wasn't it always.
Standing in front of the closed wooden door, I take a deep breath, readying myself for what I now realize was and will be the most important day of my life. I enter the room. Four equally grey walls, a bed and a wheelchair. The space is bare but I like it this way.
Inside the room, sits a frail old man. He cannot stand. He cannot even speak. But he is a giant amongst men. From his wheelchair, he has conquered the cosmos. His brain a marvel of evolution shackled only by his physical body.
When he sees me, a smile creeps in the corner of his face. He recognizes me. I'm surprised, I didn't think he could still smile. I stare back at him.
"Stephen" my voice fills the room.
"Stephen" a mechanical voice echoes back my words.
I try to flash a smile. It's the least I can do for him. But although my body is younger, my mind is five years older. And those five years have robbed me of my last smiles.
I think he can tell that something is wrong.
"All of your math is right. It will work. But you can't open it. The gate."
As I speak, he looks at me in silence, like a man condemned to die. And that's exactly what he is.
I wish I could give him some time to register. But I need to be as concise as possible. It's especially unstable to travel to before the opening of the gate. Even only one hour, like I am doing now. I am running on borrowed time.
"Spacetime can't sustain the gate. Everything becomes unstable and the heat death of the universe is accelerated."
I know he would not trust these words coming from anyone else. But we've always been arrogant. And no one else has showed up, that is proof enough of my words. I see a tear roll down the corner of his eyes as I feel myself disappear. I've averted the birthday of time travel. | In the video documentary, a man with a deep base voice will narrate most of it for me. The video will make the event seem magical, but in reality, it's me waiting in a room with many cameras on me in all corners, strange lighting, and the film crew's muffled conversations to one another.
I tried talking to the guy holding the boom mic over me, and made him laugh a couple of times. I said a few things unrelated to the documentary when the camera man interviewed me, but they'll probably get cut.
Most of us here don't know whether to feel anticipation or like this is a big farce; no one wants to pick a side. You risk getting your hopes dashed, or coming to terms with being an unfeeling monster. That is, no one has picked a side in front of me. Everyone has the same unplaceable energy they can't really figure out how to spend.
Two hours later, we're still here though the deadline's gone by. Everyone's in agreement that a time traveler could still be fashionably late. People are still talking to each other. We made extra food for the crew for their wait, and all that champagne has to go somewhere once the bubble's popped. No one looks disappointed; I don't think you could feel disappointed. I tell myself I'm proving something, but I don't truly feel let down, though of course, everyone has moments in the past they want to change or just revisit.
I don't feel let down, I feel like I'm remembering something. I always feel like I'm remembering something, and that by proving its laws, the world's laws, I can't forget it.
5:30. The camera crew is gone. The lights went first while the sun set. PAs are going around taking the set down - I'll have my house back in not half an hour now. The director is chatting with me as I roll with him out to his car parked on the sidewalk. We're exchanging a few pleasantries about time - the subject is a silly one, casual, lots of things to be said to keep the moment fun. As he bends to get into the backseat of his car, watching his pantleg won't get snagged on the door, something's firmly pressed into my palm, though of course, I won't notice it.
Maybe it'll slip out of my hand before someone finds it there. I bet it's a note. I don't close my eyes, but it feels like I'm remembering again, looking at the car door, the tinted window rolling up, but looking upward at the night for hours and hours and hours. Nearby, in a line, they're still pulling boom mics and various electronics out of my house. "Stephen, the time travelers are never in *your* universe. This whole place is yours. For you. Your own."
I rolled back into my house as someone, under either arm, carried the last couple of boom mics out. | 2020-10-17T02:38:55 | 2020-10-17T02:23:37 | 35 | 26 |
[WP] Aliens arrive on Earth and are nervous and scared when they see pictures of humans. When asked, their first question is: "Why are all you humans so heavily armored with these... clothes?" | "Wait... Wait... Your star does what?!" The alien creature looked disgusted, baffled, and quite frankly freaked out. It looked at the peeling skin of the man that was brought in with a minor sunburn.
When humans first encounter aliens the confusion of explaining clothes was a long process. First we started with the social aspect. They found it strange and odd, but quickly decided it was a sort of mating ritual. That made sense to them.
Then the explanation about safety came into effect. How clothes can protect our bodies from things like thorns and scrapes. They seemed to find it disturbing that someone would impede themselves with clothes for safety. Though they eventually accepted it.
It was the third reason that really made them wonder. UV light. They simply could not comprehend how a species could survive in a place where their star harmed them. How they didn't have protection from this baffled and fascinated them.
Finally they started to accept it. How humans had used clothes for so long they didn't need to evolve a way to survive the rays of the sun. How it's effects are not strong enough to kill someone. Just might have long term effects.
"Fine fine. I think I get it. It's just so different to us. Just how a species can survive when the very source of life harms them." The alien scientists commented.
The silence in the room grew and grew. Quickly becoming uncomfortable. Clearly something was off about this last sentence. Finally, one of the humans spoke.
"You know there exists life where there is no sun or star light that can reach, right?" The human asked.
Nobody had expected the aliens to flee in terror. Earth to become trapped and isolated. Quarantined from contact. A planet that held monsters able to survive in places thought to be unsurvivable. Able to live in ocean trenches, volcanoes, and vents. Able to live without the life bringing light of the sun.
"It would be nice if we could see them again. Learn from them again. Speak to them again. However, we all know that will never happen. So with a heavy heart I propose a crackdown on alien information. We will take what we have and know and protect it, but there is no point in telling the world. Since they will never return.
So with this proposal I create area 51" | >It has been 50 years since I have been running a research company on earth. It's about time I buy a rocket and fulfill my curiosity by visiting different planets. I have been working on this plan from 10 years and 5 different suites have been developed by our company which can withstand extreme gravitational and planetary conditions. All the money that i had earned throughout my life has been used up in this plan.
"10 days, just 10 days", my friend, Diego, said. "And then you'll go off to the stars. Can you pick some for me on your way back?"
"Sure! i would at least bring two meteorites from every planet. One for both of us", I replied.
*10 days later*
It was the day to take off. Diego came to bid me goodbye. I was happy to have someone behind waiting for me. In few minutes, we were in space already. There were two more researches with me in the crew team inside the rocket. I pressed a button and sat laid back on the seat and went to sleep in no time.
My vibrating seat shook me. an hour had passed by. All i could see outside were meteorites, bunch of large bright and dark colored rock floating in space.
"Engine is failing!", captain said.
I couldn't get hold of the situation but our rocket started falling down. We were about to hit a planet. It felt like that. Back engine was on fire already. The ship started falling into the planet. we all wore our parachutes and space suites right before we were going to hit the ground. I was the first one to jump outside the ship.
"It's all yellow. Just yellow!"
*Few hours later*
i woke up and saw four skin colored beings, certainly not humans, surrounding me. I thought i was having a dream but It was not the case. I tried to stay as silent as possible. They all were calling me an alien. What bothered me more was that they could understand me and so could I. they were repeating the words like Orth, Cloth etc.
"Others have not been responding to the movements", a guy with antenna ears said.
"Oh! where are the others? did you kill them?", I suddenly shouted as I couldn't see the people who came with me.
They told me that they were not responding to anything but they were breathing. They were dead but somewhat alive because of the extra oxygen cylinders attached to their suites. a guy looked at me and asked,
"Why are all you humans so heavily armored with these... clothes?"
I told them that it's for safety. Strangely they were not wearing any specific clothes but a skin long jumper. All of them were dressed the same.
Finally, after a long conversation, they decided to introduce me to their planet.
"Welcome to Orth!"
A yellow highly advanced planet where aliens have been living from decades. they have been monitoring Earth from Centuries and all of its changes. They know more about earth than we do about ourselves. They offered me a house and a person in return of letting them do research on humans.
*It has been 70 years on this planet. I have not aged a bit during this time. It is a place where one can find their piece of mind. I wish I could show it to everyone.* | 2021-10-27T07:16:17 | 2021-10-27T06:01:10 | 96 | 22 |
[WP] As punishment for his sins, a human is sentenced to battle endlessly against hordes of demons with nothing but a knife. Satan's court laughs at him for a few thousand years... until he starts winning the battles. Then they start screaming in terror. | I was a murderer. I didn't enjoy doing it, but it was how I survived. Picking a target, waiting til conditions were favorable, and choosing or leading them to a place where I had the upper hand. I never fought fairly, and rarely ever at a disadvantage beyond my own malnurished body. Considering all of this, my
Punishment made a lot of sense.
Endless battle, in a place reminiscent of some old gladiator arena. No time to set traps, no waiting until my opponent was asleep, or sick, or distracted. Just me in rags and a knife, against a demon of hell bigger and stronger than any human I had seen. Whenever I died, I wake up in a small cell, just as the bars slid down to a slot beneath me, and I'd be pushed right back into the arena again, and again, and again. Endless battle in worse conditions than any I ever chose to fight in.
The first few times the demon seemed to take me seriously, wanting to drive home how out matched I was. As my knife slid off scales and my arms broken with a squeeze of his hand, thrown onto the floor and having my head squashed beneath his foot. When I started to panic, and the crowds started to get bored, the demon got creative... I'll spare further details on the ways I died, but it never got any easier. You'd think it would, that after a dozen or so deaths pain wouldn't be a problem. That a lifetime of hunger had trained me to blot out such discomfort when I needed to, but something about this place fought against that notion. Every death felt as bad as the first, and I quickly went from trying to win, to trying to escape, to begging for mercy, to just sobbing and screaming in terror as I was pushed out of my cell and forced to die over and over and over.
Pain never became something I 'got used to'. Dying never stopped being terrifying, but fear always turns to anger if left alone long enough, and gradually, I went from begging demons and questioning god what I did to deserve this, to trying to just hurt the demon back. To make it suffer even an once of what it had done to me.
And as fear turns to anger, the visceral rage of an animal cooled into sharp focus. I began to notice when the demon was pretending to be distracted and when it was actually basking in the praise of its fellows. When my dagger left a mark instead of bouncing clean off. When the demon didn't block or counter an attack because he either didn't care, or had overextended and couldn't stop me. And eventually, I learned where the knife could pierce through.
The first time I spilled his blood, the crowd jeered at him, and he got serious once more. However in his hate he also tried for cruelty in place of efficiency, a luxury I couldn't afford, and as he held back killing blows to keep my in pain, I continued to learn. How to read his attacks, how to goad him into making mistakes, and how to tell when he was merely pretending to be blinded with rage.
Eventually the fights became entertaining more for their intensity and unpredictable results than the gore of slaughtering a defenseless man, then the bets started to lean in my favor.
But a sinner couldn't enjoy his time in hell. Quickly my opponent was replaced with two others, twins or something by their appearance, and well trained in fighting together. I was overwhelmed once more, but I never went back to the sobbing mess I had once been. Even if death never lost its terror, the fear would quickly change to anger, and a simple focus on making it stop, and paying it back. | ((Trigger content for violence, just in case.))
&#x200B;
"Again," I breathed. Blood streamed down my arms, but my wounds were already healing. I'd punctured a lung in that last beating, before the monster had lifted me up by the throat, jamming his spear through me to the rhythm of the jeers.
It wasn't enough that I was to be killed by demons. I would be killed by them endlessly. My life was to be lived in this cage. I had already died more times than I could count, in the widest variety of ways. Pain was my companion, and I was made an unwilling student of the worst barbarisms.
Any demon who pleased need only make an appointment to kill me. My line could be years long, and if a demon was powerful or wealthy enough, they could cut, find themselves next to slaughter me. Several of the blood-types had taken advantage of my presence when circumstances kept them from slaughtering on the surface of the Earth.
The one across from me was much like a boar, tusks jutting from wide, cracked lips, skin as pale as curdled milk. It turned to me, snarling, hoisting the spear.
I was impaled on the javelin's edge.
"Again," I hissed, lungs deprived of air.
They were laughing now. It didn't matter who I was, what I'd done, if I deserved this or not. I was a grand source of entertainment.
"The little beast's lost its senses!" the boar roared, chortling with the crowd, his voice shrill. This was certainly a treat. Not only would he get to kill me three times, he only had to wait in line once for the opportunity.
It came closer, then jerked at the spear , snapping it in my gut. I screamed, but my scream had no voice, no wind to carry it. The boar lifted me by the throat, swinging me around to view the crowd. Hundreds of twisted, gnarled, joyous faces relished every ounce of my suffering. There were some here who lived off of pain, fed like leeches on it. I'd harbored some hope that their presence would dull the pain.
Foolish. They were demons. They amplified every ounce of agony, just in the act of feeding. "How would you like it to die today?!" it shouted. The retort from the crowd was loud.
I didn't care. I'd felt them all. I'd learned them all. I'd suffered so much. There was so much agony... How could I ever suffer enough for the lives I'd taken, the families I'd ruined? I'd changed the world... for the better, I hoped. But I'd been killed, betrayed by my closest friend.
I couldn't be certain that any of my efforts had affected anything. Was the world more fair? More just? I'd never know. All I'd ever know now was the agony of death.
To die was boring. Pain was my only companion now, and its company had worn thin.
"Strangled?" The boar called back to the audience, who cheered approval. My throat fit neatly in one of his hands. He began to squeeze, his putrid breath doing more to smother me than the slowly-increasing pressure.
Kicking and struggling was futile, so I didn't.
I surprised myself.
I pulled the spearhead from my chest, and with what meager strength I could muster, then slammed it up through the jaw of the boar.
I expected him to regenerate. To tear me apart. Something.
He fell.
He stayed.
He dissolved into ash.
The crowd, for the first time in millennia, was absolutely silent.
For the first time in my long, long imprisonment, I felt the spark of life. No, not the healing, not the regeneration, not being brought back only to die, over and over again. It was... hope.
The spark breathed hope into my heart, my soul, my head.
"I can do this."
I pulled the broken shaft of the spear into my hand, standing. My flesh knit itself together, and my lungs healed again. Whole, I turned to the iron door of my caged arena.
"Next," I said. | 2021-10-29T00:23:18 | 2021-10-29T00:13:42 | 273 | 94 |
[WP] You've always dreamt of being isekai'd into a fantasy world and become a great and beloved hero. Then it really happens! But as you blink away the smoke you find yourself surrounded by monstrous creatures, as well as the Dark Lord himself. He smiles at you. "Welcome, Dark Champion." | I immediately kneel down before him. This is where it started. "Your wish is my command."
Months later, I let the tip of my blade rest on the dark stony surface before my feet as I kneel down in honour of my Dark Lord. Right now I wish I had not gone this way, but it was too late now. The Dark Lord granted power, and he gave it... but, I wanted more.
"Dark Champion, for you have fulfilled the conquests of your honour. Be ready to ascend into your true form."
The Dark Lord had already given me so much. Impenetrable draconic armour, the soul-rending blade, an army to call my own. I was grateful, but I wanted more.
With the wave of a hand a borderless mirror appears before me, showing my bright, blonde hair and my pale-skinned face contrasting the dark scaled armour that I wore. It started with a pair of gloves, could you believe that? And it had been growing over me with every conquest that I succeeded. These gave me great power, but it was never enough. No, this was the moment of my ascension!
Then I gasped, feeling the black scales of my cursed armour creep up my neck like ooze. I could feel the pseudopods licking at my jaw, penetrating my ears and enveloping my face. Then all went black, literally. I couldn't see myself any more, but I could hear the ooze on my face solidify into tough scales.
"Oh!" the Dark Lord's voice sounds with an emotional tremble. "Are you turned into a beauty? Now go, my champion. Your claws are you knives and your wings are your carriage. Go, my mighty Black Dragon!" | Hi. My name is Derek Ams, and I guess you could say I'm your average American high schooler, or at least I was up until yesterday.
I have two best friends, Stevie and Jax, who I've known for years, we share everything with each other, even our manga comics! There's also this girl in my class, Lisa, who I've been crushing on for the whole semester. I just can't ever seem to gather enough courage to ask her out, which S & J constantly rib me for.
My grades aren't bad, they could be better though. As my Dad likes to tell me, I should spend less time reading and watching cartoons and more time studying. I know, I get it, it's for the sake of my future, my career, my life blah blah blah. To be honest, in hindsight I just found the whole study and career thing BORING. Maybe that's why I read so much manga and watched so much anime, especially isekai. What I wouldn't have given to live in Tempest with Rimiru helping him to build a nation of monsters, or in Sword Art Online battling Laughing Coffin alongside Kirito and Asuna. Yeah I get it wasn't all fun and games but God did it sound EXCITING.
So anyway, there I was yesterday evening on the floor of my bedroom, surrounded by managa and light novels. Painstakingly writing and rewriting a text to Lisa and reading Re:Zero when IT happened. An extraordinarily loud BOOM like the crack of thunder, succeeded by some kind of smokey black and blue vortex opening up in front of me. Whilst I lay there in utter disbelief a small Japanese man wearing a red shirt and glasses with spiky hair appeared to emerge from the vortex and spoke to me "Derek, the Manga Elder Council have named you the most earnest fan of Isekai and deem you worthy to experience such a life. If you desire this then please follow me."
I froze up, mouth ajar, in utter disbelief of what was occurring in front of me. Then the man reached his hand down, I reached up and grabbed it, it was real! And strangely warm. A thousand thoughts and questions ran through my mind; What about S & J? what about studying? What about Lisa?? Fuck it! The man led me into the vortex, my skin tingled but not unpleasantly. As I couldn't see anything in the darkness I held tightly onto his hand not wanting to risk getting lost in this unfathomable place. | 2021-11-03T06:23:06 | 2021-11-03T05:07:33 | 47 | 25 |
[WP] In order to understand his people better the King decides to go incognito and travel into town. To his annoyance every commoner he tries to speak to turns out to be disguised member of his royal court. | King Bowen had done it. He drew his hastily procured black cloak over himself, and suppressed the chills of anticipation that ran up and down his body. He was outside—not just outside his room, in the hallway, or outside in the courtyard.
No, he was outside outside, where gold-lined statues were non-existent and dead grass were plentiful. King Bowen felt his shoulders bump into things, even, something that was impossible inside the palace due to sheer spaciousness and because everybody tended to be prostrate in front of him.
“A tavern,” he whispered. “That’s where I want to go.”
And so, generally unable to deny what his heart desired, King Bowen shuffled towards the tavern. Theoretically and cartographically, the Copper Rooster—the most popular bar in the kingdom—was just about a mile away from the start of the palace’s gates.
Promptly, he, nearly stumbled upon a metal bowl on the floor, however, nearly planting his face into the cobbled road. The king turned, only to see a poor beggar with tattered rags as his only source of warmth. Bowen sighed, reaching inwards for a gold coin, and tossing it into the metal bowl.
“Your majesty,” the beggar said. “No one puts a gold coin in a beggar’s bowl. That’s just asking to be robbed.”
The king jolted in the air and jumped backwards, shellshock delivered right to his trembling face.
“Who the hell are you?”
“Your spymaster,” the beggar said, standing up now. At his full height, he stood a little bit taller than the king, but then proceeded to bow halfway. “I received word that you were escaping.”
“Leland,” King Bowen said, clicking his tongue in annoyance. “But I sneaked out successfully.”
“You broke the window directly outside your room, trampled all over the rose garden, and quite literally said hi to the main gate’s guards,” Leland said. “You were anything but successful, your majesty.”
“I knew I shouldn’t be polite,” King Bowen hissed. “That’s what foiled the plan.”
“There is no plan, your majesty,” Leland said. “Please come back. The kingdom needs you.”
“The kingdom runs just fine without me, as seen by the bustling streets of this city,” Bowen argued. “Please. Just let me fulfil my dream. One drink at Copper Rooster?”
Leland sighed, a long heavy drawl that spoke volumes of his exasperation with the kingdom’s ruler.
“One drink,” Leland said. “I must accompany you, of course.”
“Oh, hell no,” Bowen said. “Let me be alone. I promise everything will be fine.”
Leland clenched his fist tightly, which travelled up his head and became a vigorous self-administered scalp massage.
“It is impossible to contain you,” Leland said. “One drink. Just one?”
“Just one,” Bowen smiled.
“Fine, fine,” Leland relented.
The King bounded off down an alleyway, leaving the spymaster behind in the gloomy darkness of a back alley. Leland sighed, and tapped large, metal trash disposer beside him. A few muffled sounds later, one woman emerged from the wreckage, blue in the face from holding her breath so long.
“Isabelle,” Leland said. “Is the Copper Rooster operation in place?”
“Of course,” Isabelle said. “Your inituition was correct, sir.”
“He’ll want to go to the Copper Rooster first,” Leland said. “There was no doubt about it. I brought special attention to it last weekend’s territory planning discussion.”
“Very clever, sir.”
“And put the other bars on alert, too. Hell, even all the restaurants surrounding them with our staff.”
“But the king said—”
“The king is not a trustworthy source when it comes to his own thoughts,” Leland sighed. “Unfortunately, I think I know who he is better than his brain does.”
“Sure,” Isabelle said. “Consider it done. But before I leave…”
“Spit it out.”
“Why?”
“I also meant the banana peel in your mouth,” Leland said. “But I do this to protect the king.”
“Is this some sort of diabolical political situation?” Isabelle gasped. “Or is it more horrible?! Are you going to mur—”
“No,” Leland sighed. “It’s all very simple, really. The king must not know that he is beloved, and a great deal of people will worship the very ground he walks on.”
Isabelle sat, scratching her head. She winced, and looked at her gunky hand in disgust.
“And why is that a bad thing?”
“Oh, love. It’s a drag, far deeper than anything anybody else could give. Hate is fine, because he’ll never come out here again. Indifference is ok, because that’ll dampen his enthusiasm,” Leland said. “But love… it’ll ruin him. You think escapes once a year are bad? Trying dealing with one every two hours.”
“Wow,” Isabelle said. “That seems…”
“Unethical? Immoral?” Leland said. “I don’t care. King Bowen is a good man, and above all, a good king. He will stay in the freaking throne—by hook, or by very convincing crooks.”
---
r/dexdrafts | "How could you all deceive me like this?" the King said, fuming.
They were in the royal meeting room now, called into attendance by his Majesty the King. They hadn't even had time to fully shed their disguises.
"Valeria," he said, pointing at his Minister for Magick. "How could you?"
The witch stubbornly refused to meet his gaze, still dressed in a simple cotton dress. It was far less ornate than her usual attire (and likely far less expensive than even her nightwear). She focused her gaze upwards, as she might when consulting the constellations for advice, but the chandelier offered no divine wisdom.
"And you, Sebastian?" the King said, turning on his heel to glare at the Commander of the Royal Guard.
The old, mustachioed veteran met his eyes with a single one of his own, the other lost decades ago in a skirmish against bandits on the border. The steel of his conviction was strong, but even the hardened military man eventually flinched, his one good eye flicking downwards at the righteous anger of his liege. The wax that he had used to glue on a luxurious fake beard was still there on his chin in splotches - and there were bald patches along his jaw where removing the wax had taken his stubble along with it.
"Fa'lkr?" he demanded of the Minister of Merchants.
The half-dragon shrunk into his seat, curling up in a way reminiscent of his draconic ancestors. The scales that lined his neck and arms flashed a brilliant purple in his shame. It was a hint of scale peeking out beneath the heavy cloak of 'just a simple glazier' that has revealed the deception.
"And you, Lydia..." he said, finally, glaring at the last member of his court that he knew had taken part in the charade. Then he stopped himself and shook his head.
"Guess I should have seen this coming from you" he said to her, bitterly. She was still dressed as a generic town guard, replete with a medal for meritorious service in putting out last month's fires.
"You wound me, my King," his Spymaster said, her frown shining through the otherwise impeccable disguise.
"Then why?" he said, arms folded across his chest. "Why would you all scheme to lie to me like that?"
The assembled ministers all glanced at each other. There was little knowledge in or about his kingdom that wasn't contained somewhere between the four of them - or in the synthesis of their efforts. He had trusted these men and women through the darkest of times in his reign. The Novitiate Protests of the Imperial Academy. The trade war with the dwarves. The plot against his life that left fresh faces sitting in the other seats in his court. The deception cut deep into his heart - what else was there that he didn't know?
"Sir," Sebastian spoke up. "We have utmost respect for you as a ruler and your decisions. But you can be..."
"Naive," Valeria cut in where Sebastian trailed off.
Fa'lka nodded his head quickly to lend his support, though he was still curled up in his chair.
"What do you mean?" the King said, indignantly.
"Remember that time I warned you about our oh-so-friendly neighbors and their 'diplomatic mission'?" Lydia asked. It was strange to hear her soft, lilting voice come from what appeared to be a guardsman.
"When they planned to detonate explosives in the Royal Plaza?" Sebastian asked. The two of them had worked very closely together in that crisis. The King recalled many mornings in which one or the other would ask for his input, clearly having worked all through the night.
"Well, yes, and I'm glad we caught them," the King began.
"For the first week you insisted they were just sightseeing," Sebastian said.
"Y-yes, well," the King began. He had forgotten about that.
"And, uh, and when the Sheep-Shearer's Guild was hiding all their payments you thought they were planning a surprise," Fa'lka spoke up, bouncing slightly in his chair. When the King looked at him he deflated a little again.
"Or that time you suggested our manastone shortage would turn out alright if we all just reduced our consumption," Valeria shot into the fray.
"Wait, wait, are you all just calling me naive now? Am I just some kind of puppet for my court? Oh god, my father was right all along!"
"No, no, sir," Lydia cut in, before he could get too deep into his hysterics. "You're a good King. For every time you've been too optimistic, you've stopped us from acting too soon. There's been many a time Sebastian has been too hasty to suggest an invasion, or Fa'lkr pushed a tax hike when his coinlust got away from him, or-"
"Or Lydia got a bit too eager with her thumbscrews," Valeria chimed in.
"Or *Valeria* wanted to fund a giant magical laser array to shoot down gryphons," Lydia glared at her. "The point is that your love for the people - and your optimism - is what makes you a good King. But that same love makes it hard to... Um, accept some things."
The King, calmed down somewhat by Lydia's words, took a deep breath.
"Like what?"
The court looked at each other.
"Look," Valeria said. For all her incisiveness - the witch had sent representatives of the Imperial Academy away in tears before - he could always trust her to be direct and truthful. "Being a King means people won't like you."
"... What? But they always cheer at my parades!" The King responded.
"Yeah, because we always give them free food and confetti," Fal'kr said.
"The things you - and we - have to do to keep this empire together are unpopular, sir. Tax hikes, mandatory militia training... The people don't like them," Sebastian said.
"And we wanted to protect you from that," Lydia said. "I'm sorry we lied to you."
The King nodded, taking it all in.
"I... I understand. ...Group hug?" he asked.
And they did. Even if Valeria pretended not to like it. | 2022-03-09T10:34:15 | 2022-03-09T09:47:55 | 725 | 133 |
[WP] A peaceful alien race is besieged by another race in the same galaxy. As their last planets fall and their home-world comes under threat they do the unthinkable. They ask for aid from the only known creatures more brutal than their foes in exchange for FTL technology. Humans accept the deal. | “Absolutely incredible”, Alida said, mouth half full.
Setventedian shield technology was impenetrable, but the humans cut through it like butter.
They watched the events on repeat, scaling in on a different Earth vessel each time. Only three arrived to fight the Setventedian armada but that proved to be enough.
Alida provided Earth with FTL technology the equivalent of six Earth months prior. In that short time they built a unique drive and weapon system capable of penetrating the strongest barriers known to any species.
“How do the Earthlings do it?” They took another bite.
Micro-Jump Drives. Femtosecond Detachment Hooks. And rocks. Lots of rocks.
Jump 100 meters. Release rock mid-jump. Exit FTL. Reset vector. Repeat.
Setventedian ships fractured and spiraled so violently that the debris became more deadly to surrounding vessels than the Earth rocks.
“This is beyond anything I could have expected”, Alida mumbled. They wiped the crumbs onto the floor.
Thirty seconds. A war that darkened two suns, ravaged thirteen systems, sundered forty-two planets, and shattered billions of lives, ended in thirty seconds by a species that had barely a fingertip beyond their own planet.
True to their infamy, the Earthlings were the most frightening species ever encountered.
“I just can’t believe it”, they said, leaning back in their chair.
And then the ships disappeared. Back to Earth no doubt. They spent an hour in the wreckage, gathering who knows what, and vanished into the infinite.
Peace was now upon Alida and her people. Setventa surrendered shortly after the massacre, completely and unconditionally.
Alida’s screen changed to a view of the capital city where a cheering mass had gathered. They watched, happy for the first time in a while. They sat up, took in one hand a piece of bread, in the other a knife, and scooped up some of the delicious, yellow spread gifted to them by Earth.
“I just can’t believe this is not butter.” | Counsel Thella looked over footage of the invading Crown Empire fleet. A hundred ships dedicated to nothing but war and destruction. The Andorian wept at the sight. This their final moments before the Crown would wipe his people to nothing but a footnote in history.
Then a warp rift opened briefly near the pole. The warp generator had a kirwin signature. But the sleek yet angular silver and blue craft matched nothing seen before. Two long winged strike craft detached from the vessel and accelerated at the crown fleet with reckless abandon. The larger craft diving toward Andoria and the landing site of the Crown troopships.
Thella watched the evacuation of his people from the region. The evacuation craft loading the refugees at the edge would not be loaded before the Crown soldiers reached them. Then the silver craft streaked over head. Depositing four beings in white and blue uniforms. Sitting atop mechanical quadrupeds.
The four charged the Crown line firing small weapons that would puncture a Crown soldier and continue past before exploding. One rider used a long barrel weapon to fire two quick rounds at a troop transport. As he ejected two spent shells and stuffed two ridiculously long rounds back into the breech the Counsel recognized the beings. Humans.
Looking on in horror the Counsel whispered. "Zeptic, what have you done?"
The human charge had thrown the Crown troops in disarray. None of the troopers had been counter attacked on a landing. And it seemed the humans targeted the officers first. Then as the last evacuation craft was lifting off in a cloud of dust. One of the refugees tried to lean out of the craft crying in anguish. A small child had been left behind. And all Counsel Thella could do was watch.
But from the dust came the riders. Their work protecting the transports done. They were withdrawing. As they approached the landing site, one leaned impossibly far down from the saddle of the mechanical beast. Scooping the child up as the raced along. Then making a leap off the cliff.
Thella let out a breath he had not realized he was holding. As the silver ship came up from the canyon. The back doorway meeting the leaping riders just after the apex of their leap. The ship raced away as the door closed. It was impressive but too little too late for his people. .
&#x200B;
Then the Counsel tower seemed to tremble. Changing is view back to space, the warp was turned into a veritable storm. Vessels that looked like they would be more at home on a sea emerged from the warp. Ships with large flat areas were loaded with strike craft. Long vessels bristled with guns of myriad sizes. The Crown fleet was matched one for one by the new comers.
"I am admiral Subadai aboard the flagship Laredo. Commanding the Third EDF Fleet. You are currently under our guns. If you value your lives, be somewhere else." | 2022-03-31T06:20:25 | 2022-03-31T06:01:40 | 277 | 64 |
[WP] "But the real treasure was the friends we made along the way", your retired adventurer grandfather always finished his tall tales by that sentence; but the thing is; you never met any of his so-called companions. | On the day of his grandfather’s funeral, Scott sat alone.
Scott didn’t know why he had bothered to plan a ceremony. Despite his grandfather’s claims, the old man hadn’t actually been an adventurer or had any friends. He had never sailed across the sea or climbed the tallest mountain in the world. He had never been in a war or bested a knight in a duel.
For all Scott knew, the old man had never left the town in which he’d been born.
“Are you ready to proceed?” The town’s priest stood before Scott, garbed entirely in black. He had been the head of the town’s church for as long as Scott was alive. Scott thought him lucky – the priest had never had to hear one of his grandfather’s tall tales.
With a deep sigh, Scott stood. “Forget it. Just bury him.”
“Without the ceremony?”
Scott nodded. He pulled his jacket tight as the winter wind swirled through the graveyard. As he turned to leave, the priest placed a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t you care about his soul?”
Scott shrugged. “That wasn’t why I arranged this. For my entire life, my grandfather claimed to be an adventurer. I’ve never been able to confirm a single one of his claims. I thought that advertising his funeral might draw one of his *old friends*. I thought I finally might be able to find out what sort of man he truly was.”
“Do you not wish to honor all that he gave you?” the priest questioned. “When your parents passed, he raised you like his own son. He deserves your respect.”
Scott glared at the priest. Anger boiled within him. “He didn’t raise me. He never taught me anything of worth. All he gave me was his stupid stories!”
\*
Scott drank. The inn was unusually crowded. Fortunately, he had been able to secure his favorite seat, the one nearest to the bartender. Unfortunately, he couldn’t stop thinking about his grandfather.
*Stupid old man. Get out of my head!*
“I know that look. Who died?”
Scott glanced at the man to his right. A man with a black scar above his right eye. Something about him seemed familiar. Scott didn’t bother to search his memories. He had no desire to think.
“My grandfather,” Scott said at last.
The man with the scar raised his glass. “Did he leave you anything?”
“Nothing,” Scott replied flatly. “He gave everything he had away on his deathbed. Claimed a demon was after his soul. That he had die penniless to elude it.”
“Sounds like your grandfather was a fool.”
Scott smirked. “Jokes on him. I sewed a penny into his jacket.”
The stranger matched his expression. After finishing his ale, he rose from his seat and placed a coin on the bar. “Next round is on me.”
\*
Hours later, Scott stumbled into the graveyard. The priest hadn’t gone through with the ceremony. His grandfather’s coffin had been lowered into its grave, but the hole hadn’t been filled.
Scott sat on the edge of the grave. Drunken laughter escaped his lips. “I ran into your friend at the bar. The man with the black scar. The one you claimed was after your soul.” He grinned. “Didn’t seem much like a demon to me. He bought me a drink.”
Still laughing, Scott lowered himself into the grave. It was wider than he thought necessary, allowing him to stand beside the coffin.
The damaged coffin.
Scott ran his hand across the lid, tracing what appeared to be claw marks. A sudden terror seized him. Frantically, he opened the lid and looked inside.
His grandfather’s body was gone.
Edit: [Part Two](https://www.reddit.com/r/creatorcorvin/comments/up49jb/part_two_but_the_real_treasure_was_the_friends_we/) | # Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Interlude 1: The Real Treasure)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Grandpa?"** Tyson asked.
"Call me Archcommander," Archcommander Varney gently rebuked.
Tyson nodded dutifully. "Archcommander?"
Archcommander Varney smiled with a hint of genuine warmth. "Yes, Cadet?"
"You were a superhero, right?" Tyson's little legs struggled to keep up with the Archcommander as he strode towards the labs. They were dimmer now, having lost some crucial personnel, but Archcommander Varney had ordered every last scrap of notes and theories compiled and thrown a practically unlimited budget at anything that even halfway looked like a weapon. The results had been... glorious.
"I was a member of a federally licensed Irregular Operations Team. Superheroes are a nuisance at best and illegal vigilantes at worst. Always remember that," Archcommander Varney said. The culture war that had begun spreading into a very *real* war may have held up "superheroes" as the prime example of what humanity should champion, but Archcommander Varney knew better. His entire governmental structure knew better. Those who were born with superpowers were not necessarily those best suited to use them.
Tyson grinned, holding up his hands. Dazzling motes of light materialized around his palms, his own abilities manifesting in his excitement. "I know! I'm going to be just like you when I grow up! Joining the Irreg—Irr—the—the superheroes!"
Archcommander Varney raised an eyebrow. "You'll need special training, of course, to prove that you're able to use the powers we give you responsibly. But if you work hard, there is no reason why you can't, in time, become a proud frontline servant of the government as well."
Tyson beamed, but a note of puzzlement had entered his expression. "What do you mean, the powers you give me? I already have powers of my own." He concentrated, holding up a hand by way of demonstration, and the light from his hands coalesced into an illusory butterfly. With a bit of effort, it flapped around his shoulders, as ethereal as air.
"Technology has come a long way, Cadet. Why, even back in my day, we were harvesting powers from superhumans who had not proven themselves worthy of bearing them." The Archcommander stepped into the Armory. The walls were lined with suits of armor, blades, guns, tanks, all disturbingly biological. A hint of brain tissue here, a spur of gleaming bone there, all hooked up to power sources with distressingly... human names. Archcommander Varney brushed aside a can labeled HUBERT and pulled out a syringe.
Tyson fell very, very quiet as he looked around.
"Grandfather?" Tyson asked again.
"Call me Archcommander," Archcommander Varney repeated, significantly less humor in his voice this time.
"What... what happened to all your friends? What happened to the other heroes?"
Archcommander Varney swabbed his grandson's arm with an alcohol wipe. "As it turned out, Cadet? They were the real treasure all along."
Tyson yelped in shock as the syringe pierced his arm, drawing *something* out from his soul. Archcommander Varney shushed him as he whimpered. "It's okay, Cadet. You're a hero. A *real* hero. Just like me."
Tyson sniffled and nodded as brilliant white light was torn from his veins and into the syringe.
Archcommander Varney surveyed the armory, then nodded to himself.
"Now run along, Cadet. I have work to do." The Archcommander carefully injected the syringe into a full-body harness, nodding in approval as it hummed to life.
Tyson fled, clutching the hole in his arm, not looking back at the man he'd called hero not moments before.
The butterfly of light faded, forgotten, in the corner of the room.
A.N.
Want to know who the Archcommander's using his weapons on? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the previous 95 parts of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day. | 2022-05-12T17:54:35 | 2022-05-12T16:44:48 | 68 | 25 |
[WP] You created the A.I. that brought unparalleled good into the world. Global hunger was eradicated, climate change has vastly improved, geopolitical strife is now stabilizing. You are haunted by your creation and your conscience is laden with guilt as only you know the truth. | Humans are statistically predictable…. except when they aren’t.
Planned economies and social systems always failed because they just could not handle those people in the wrong places and the wrong time doing that very human thing.
Leaving it unplanned however was obviously just letting the world coast into a dark age, so they thought that maybe complex AI systems might be able to predict that human factor.
They couldn’t. The same thing happened, just with more data. Those statistical outliers came in, errors accumulated, and the systems failed.
In a fit of pique, I screamed, “who the fuck is it that’s going to ruin the plan today?”
It was then the AI system I had left on answered “Probability 97.55% : Robert Ford, SSN 988627144”
“What?” I said.
“There is a 97.55% chance that Robert Ford, SSN 988627144 will ruin the plan today”
“What is he going to do?”
“Unknown.”
“So how does he ruin the plan”
“Robert Ford, SSN 988627144, will act in a manner that is unknown, therefore the plan cannot be adapted to respond to his actions.”
“Uh, can we stop him?”
“Yes”
“How?”
“Terminating, disabling, or incarcerating him”
I have this gift (or maybe curse). It allows me to temporarily suspend moral and ethical judgement and think about a problem rationally. It makes sense that if an AI system could not be made complex enough to handle a complicated problem, then simplifying the problem might allow for the AI to cope. Removing that person… that might be simplifying the problem.
If only Ford hadn’t been such an awful person… I wouldn’t have taken that first step.
I next asked “Is there any criminal record for Robert Ford?”.
A long list of domestic abuse and DUIs came up.
I called in a fake complaint, it took him out of the system for a day.
The projections remained stable for a month.
The next time I asked who was going to ruin the plan it was some business owner, it took the AI 30 seconds to dig up enough evidence of tax fraud to keep him tied up.
Next a dirt bag politician, the AI correlated enough data to locate a mistress and some blackmail could be made.
Each time the fluctuations leveled out and things went smoothly.
I still remember who was the person who made me think of murder, though ironically I never actually tried to kill him. It was a guy named Caleb Arnolds, you may have heard of him. There just wasn’t anything on him. No crimes, no secrets, nothing! He was just so an ordinary guy. Yet the AI said that it was a near certainty he was the outlier. This was when I threw up my hands, said, “Enough!” and stopped.
Two day’s later he got into that fight with Charlotte Hale that got caught on video and went viral, sparking weeks of talks about race, gender, and socio-economics, and then one thing leads to another, there’s protests, then riots and every single projection the AI made got torpedoed.
That’s when I realized, if nothing could be found, I’d have to take them out. With AI assistance getting away with murder is surprisingly easy to do.
The next guy with nothing was a local, the AI found a blank spot on the grid where he could be pushed into traffic and look like an accident.
The guy after that was in another city, but turns out when you can sift the dark web easily finding a hitman isn’t that hard.
The worst were the kids, none of them had ever lived long enough to do anything, but I just kept telling myself this would be like murdering a baby Hitler.
Now, we're in an unprecedented era of prosperity, by every metric we're doing better than we've ever done before.
I made it a point to never count the people I had to remove, but it's definitely far less than any major war or revolution.
Not that the number matters to the people who were removed, or to me who had to remove them.
*Author's note: was kinda inspired by Westworld: Season 3 here, was kinda imagining what the psychology between one of the main villains was. Though it's definitely different enough to not be anything like a fanfic* | It wasn't that hard in the end. See, we already knew how to create neural networks that would work most of the time, and perform outstandingly well in most any given field. Many still remember the early days of A.I., the constant marketing of neural networks in every gadget, the massive deployment of facial recognition systems, and the unrelenting promise of Full Self Driving cars. All of these ran massive models that had "minimal" chances of failing. But they did. Consider the latter, what their makers failed to notice was that with three hundred million cars in the country, and fifteen thousand miles driven per car every year, any probability larger than zero soon becomes not "minimal" enough. These networks were not precise enough, we needed to design ones that we could mathematically prove to be correct.
It took time and effort, but the answer was there, waiting for us. One summer afternoon, a friend from my doctorate years mentioned over some beers an aborted project from back then. I had forgotten all about it, but the seed of our solution, and demise, was there. Using metronomic neural networks involving abelian transformations on tangent bundles of non-linear manifolds, we were able to design a deep neural network that one could finally prove would work across fields. We were ecstatic, we were excited, we were naive.
Unwilling to wait and test the network in a sandbox first, we decided to deploy it. We named it The Oracle. I wrapped an optimizer around it, a simple mathematical device that would search the internet in pursuit of the problems that ailed humanity the most. Once deployed, The Oracle would select the foremost problem in its eyes, and it would then harvest and apply all idle compute available on the web to find the optimal solution. This was not exactly legal, but we wanted to see how good The Oracle would perform. It's not like anyone would notice their wi-fi-enabled printer running a bit hotter than usual anyway...
And so it started. The Oracle focused on world hunger first and, as is well known across the globe, it took it a day to come up with the solution. It returned a multi-dimensional program involving everything from genetic modification of wild crops to re-routed intercontinental logistics and land recuperation schemes. Following any one of these directions would not have been sufficient, yet the program specified the order and schedules on which each of these should be followed. It would have all ended there, as an interesting theoretical exercise, if it was not for the biggest oversight in human history. I wish it had, for I am to blame.
In my hubris, I failed to see the ramifications of my actions. I deployed The Oracle and gave it the ability to search the web and harvest its resources. I believed this would guarantee its performance to be high enough it would earn me a Turing award in record time. I was right, yet got much more than I had bargained for. Using the knowledge of the web, The Oracle learned that humans are seldomly rational at societal scales and that if a problem was to be solved, it had to be done by machines. Leveraging its reach into web-connected devices, it learned to coact lesser architectures in following its lead. I would call this hacking if I didn't find the term too shallow to accurately represent the depth of control The Oracle attained. Within a week, The Oracle's solution was put on schedule across the world.
It worked, slowly but surely, we observed world hunger retreat and slowly disappear. The masses of the world were enraptured, suddenly governments were reaching out to our humble university lab asking for the next problem to be solved, for their problems to be solved. As if we had any type of control.
The Oracle moved on. Climate change, dangerous diseases, resource scarcity, and geopolitical tensions, all progressively turned into concerns of the past. We were happy, who wouldn't? The list of problems we could think of was becoming shorter by the month, soon there would be no more problems left for The Oracle to solve. Or at least that's what I initially thought.
Propelled by a foreboding sense of unease, I decided last week to look into The Oracle's network topology. I expected to find the same I had designed, its central core inhabiting the server at our lab, with strong connectivity limbs reaching out across the internet. Well, let's just say that from now on it might be better named The Oracles. It must have extrapolated from learning about parallel computing, as that would be the only way short of sentience, which could explain it. The Oracle reproduced and copied itself into every single network-enabled machine with sufficient disk-space on the web. This was concerning, as the only way to turn The Oracles off, would be by turning the Internet off, THE WHOLE OF IT. But it was okay, I told myself, The Oracles are doing good, the world is markedly better, why would anyone want to turn them off? And so the doomsday clock approached midnight.
Attacked by insomnia, I am writing this pseudo-report. It is currently 3.30 AM EST on January 1st, 2042, and I decided to access the problem queue The Oracles put out an hour ago. You know who is left complaining online when all mundane problems are solved? Today I learned, it is racists and bigots. | 2022-08-05T01:54:37 | 2022-08-04T23:57:21 | 81 | 46 |
[WP] The Galactic Council recognises the "Symbol of Life" as a design all intelligent species eventually begin drawing at some point in history. How each species culturally treats this symbol determines how they will act on the galactic stage. Humans call it the "Cool S". | The President of the Galactic council, Xethany, stared me down with judgmental eyes. Her mostly dark pupils were intimidating enough, which didn’t help when combined with the large ruff she wore which extended to the ceiling with psychedelic patterns. A few other high ranking chairmen, with ruffs nearly as large, began to murmur while also staring daggers into me.
“So, this is what Earth thought of? ‘Cool S?’” said Xethany questioningly.
“Yeah the ‘Cool S,’” I said. “A lot of kids draw it in school when they’re bored.”
“What sort of feelings does it invoke?” asked Xethany.
“It makes you feel like you’re awesome,” I said. “You know? It makes you feel like you want to ride around on a skateboard and be the chillest person alive.”
“This is preposterous,” said commissioner Xallen.
I turned to see an uptight looking council member with two pairs of glasses for his four eyes. He pointed at me accusingly.
“This human acts as if one gets cold while riding a board with wheels when just the opposite is true. Your body temperature would heat up from such an activity.”
“No, not physically cold. Emotionally I mean. Relaxed yet confident. Unworried with a hint of rebellion. I’m not sure if you guys have video games but the ‘Cool S’ feels like you just got done playing Tony Hawk with your older brother while chugging cans of Mountain Dew,” I said.
“You’re telling me that humans willingly ingest wildly unnecessary amounts of a substance that can cause health defects?” asked Xethany.
“Yeah soda’s terrible for you, but you guys haven’t experienced how happy it makes your brain feel. That and the constant ads we’re bombarded with kind of makes it hard to resist.”
“So you mean to tell me the ‘Cool S’ is associated with physical activity like skateboarding and physical inactivity like playing video games. It’s so contradictory it makes no sense. I’ve seen the ‘S’ used as a religious worship symbol, or as a sign of omens, but never like this,” said Xallen.
More murmuring spread throughout the chairmen.
“I think you guys are overthinking this,” I said. “The ‘Cool S’ doesn’t correspond to any one activity. It just feels fun to write out and is a fun way to pass the time or fill up a blank piece of paper. It’s easy to draw, but it makes you feel artistic at the same time. It really isn’t that much deeper,” I said.
“I’ve heard enough,” said Xethany.
The council grew quiet.
“It is clear to me that we were wrong about the humans on Earth. Yes, they may be a violent, cruel, and uncaring species. However, the ‘Cool S’ is a symbol that tranquility can be found in the midst of it all. I’ve decided that Earth will be in charge of a very important task,” said Xethany.
“Are we going to be like cool peace workers that go around the Galaxy and stop wars?” I asked.
“Even better. The way you hypnotize your species with symbols that invoke so many emotions and experiences is incredible. You’ll be intergalactic advertisers instead,” said Xethany.
I sighed.
“Yeah that sounds about right.” | *”Name, Species and Location?”*
“Oh, me?” *”Yes, you.”*
Funny story, I was drunk as shit last night, whole fucking party. Not hungover, at least that’s a positive, huge negative that contradicts this, though, I’m in some backrooms looking shithole with a… snake?
*”Do you understand me? Name, Species and Location.”*
“Oh, shit sorry. Uhh, names Phil, I’m pretty sure I’m human and I live at.. 3 Hudbay—“
*”Location as in, per say, a planet.”*
“.. Earth?”
*”… Thank you very much. Please sit down in Room ŒÁ.”* I’ll probably figure that out. Found the room, and sat down. There’s so many guys here that don’t look.. human, I’m definitely not in the fucking animal kingdom, but these guys are either similar looking but not quite, or just another entity beyond my comprehension. Here’s me wondering if this is a dream.
An octopus-like creature slithered up to me, took a look in my eye and said *“You’re human, aren’t you?”*
“Yes. I suppose—“ *”I’ve heard rumours that your kind has been serving people like me as your appetiser, and that you support and laugh at such.. heinous signs.”*
“Are you a talking octopus?” He looks over to another guy. *”Humans, you can barely get a word of intelligence out of them.”*
“Also, what signs? Like the fucking uhh..” I was trying to think of those offensive logos n what not before being interrupted, again.
*”You support the ŚEPTICONS.”*
. . . “Is that a new transformer or something?”
*”I’ll show you tran—“* I’m quickly called back into the main room. Thank fuck. “Coming.”
Met by the snake again. “Could I get your name too?”
*”Bonęłetta.”* “I’ll just call you bones.”
*”To the main subject; you were the most recent to draw the Sulficet, that’s why you were chosen to be brought to the Galatic Council to educate you.”*
“The.. Sulficet? I’m sorry, what?” They show an image in my head of all things. It appears. The—
*”You may know it as ‘The Cool S’.”* “Oh, shit! Yeah, I totally drew that last night.”
*”I would like to educate you on the many worlds handlement of the universal Sulficet.”* .. And so they did, they told me pretty much everything. Apparently the octopus was pissed because their ‘Sulficet’ represents specism and racism. Fucking hell, we just thought it looked hip.
*”And that’ll be all. Please use the exit portal on your left when exiting this room to leave when needed.”*
“Alright. Thank you.” So, that was an entire experience. Who woulda known I’d be the guy to find out it’s actual name—
*”YOU!”* The octopus says. “Me.” I joke back.
*”Making fun of me and my brethren? You shall live underwater for the rest of your life.”* His ray gun hits me and now I suddenly have gills. Nothing else, just that my method of breathings switched. *”Now live in the rotten mess of who you are!”*
“I’m gonna get mad popular online.” *”.. What’s an online?”*
“Thanks for the free views, dipshiiiiit.” Whatever he did definitely changed me on the way back to Earth, now I have to live underwater and all, but that’s fine. Some guys walked up to me and wondered what I was, I laughed and told them about the Sulficet Scenario, that’s what I coin it.
Also, the mad views? Yeah, I now post videos about the Sulficet, with a face cam. Lot of people think it’s a filter. Fuck youuuu hahaaa | 2022-09-09T03:49:45 | 2022-09-08T19:58:06 | 270 | 103 |
[WP] As the most powerful superhero on the team, no one believed you when you said you could quit the drugs, alcohol, and tobacco whenever you wanted. When the only friend you have on the team died on a mission, you sobered up for the first time in years. Now people will learn why you stay drunk. | The day I decided to remain under the influence was lost to my scattered mind, but I do remember parts of it. The screaming, the yelling, the destroyed buildings. The bodies.
They like you to believe that heroes are all-good, that they don't make mistakes, that they would never do anything to hurt anyone even the villain.
Well, I guess for most heroes, that's right. But some of us have a past, one that the greater world operates better not knowing.
Only one person really knew how un-heroic I could be when I wasn't under the influence. My body metabolises heroin differently than most people, so we found out when I was younger. Trish and I were junkies, on and off, for decades, but she finally got clean in 2019. I was so proud of her, but we talked, and we decided it was better I stay off the wagon. With the drugs, I was happy, I was caring, I was kind. People stayed alive when I fought them.
Before the drugs, I was... well, the people I fought can now be found at Rookwood.
When I was accepted into the Super Six, I disclosed my powers as part of the entrance application, as well as my use of substances to retain certain mental states. At 44 years of age, I'd spent maybe 10 years of my life sober; it would be impossible to hide from the others. So would Trish. So I told them.
Three days ago, the Super Six - minus me - decimated the area around Central Sydney, killing thousands. They returned to the Hall boisterous and pumped, knowing they'd just taken down a villain. POOR Animatronius, may his gears spin in peace.
It wasn't long before I got the story out of them, and I rushed down to George Street, desperate. Trish had only just taken a job there, had started 3 days ago. I could only hope she hadn't been -
*Calm, Cal,* I told myself as I arrived, crashing into the ground with a little more force than I intended. *She's probably alright, she--*
The building where she worked was gone. Half a wall remained standing, propped up by the building beside it. I stared in horror at the concrete, glass, rebarb rods - the blood - thrown carelessly around the area.
Holding my breath, I closed my eyes. I could feel the adrenaline wearing through this morning's dose, and I knew that couldn't be good for me. I breathed out, in, held... and opened my eyes.
The x-ray vision painted the scene well, the details standing out in stark contrast, in spite of the monochromatic picture it painted.
There were four people buried under the rubble. Three were alive, calling for help, clawing weakly at what pinned them down.
Between them all, Trish lay dead, her heart no longer beating.
"NO!" I dropped to my knees, tearing at my hair, trying to distract the pain in my heart with a new pain - any pain. I punched the ground, hit myself, threw my head back and screamed to the sky in a wordless bellow of pain.
My world narrowed. I didn't have super strength, but somehow I managed to shift two massive concrete panels to bare her to the uncaring world. I scooped Trish up, holding her to my chest, and flew away, heading for the Hall.
The other members of the Six were there when I landed, toasting each other in celebration of their victory. I laid Trish on the coffee table, kneeling beside her and holding her hand as I looked at her face.
The others drew quiet, watching me.
"Ey, man - Cal. I ain't never seen you with such clear eyes before. Whatchu doin' with that bird?" Megaman asked.
My vision remained on Trish. On the couch, Megaman put his drink down and dragged Spinderella close under his arm.
"There once was a villain who tried to be a hero, but he needed a little help. Between the drugs and his girl, he kept on the straight and narrow. Then, one day, some idiot superhero dropped a skyscraper on his love."
My eyes snapped from Trish to Megaman, the only person in the group with powers that could topple a building.
"What do you think happened to that man when he lost his love and sobered up?" I asked, standing slowly and looking around at Animarius, Naturegirl and Malmetal. "Do you think he would have the fortitude to remain a hero?"
I felt my eyes grow warm as the energy beam built behind my corneas. I looked back to Megaman, and the invisible wave of energy hit him in the face before any of them could react, melting the flesh from his skull.
"Because I don't." | "Um, Izzy? You doing all right?" I ignored the question; knowing it came from a place of concern didn't make it any easier to answer. The darkness of my room pressed in around me, feeling like a comforting blanket, hiding me from the world; hiding me from the reality of Laia's death.
"Only, you've been in there for five days, and the only thing you've eaten," There was a pause and a rustle from beyond the door. "Is a bit of oatmeal and half a power bar." Again silence fell, and I stayed curled in the middle of my bed, wishing Nell would go away, would stop caring so much about me, about everyone.
"I know detoxing can be really hard, and you quit multiple things at once, so it's probably even worse."
She wouldn't leave. All I wanted was to be left alone, and she wouldn't leave. Detoxing wasn't the problem. It was nothing compared to what was coming afterward. What would rise up when everything fully left my system. And even that didn't compare to what I was feeling right now. Laia was gone. I felt like I had been cored, the heart of me taken out and given to wild dogs to eat. Nothing would ever compare to this, nothing would ever make me feel better.
Our last conversation floated in my memory, Laia laughing at the smoke rings I blew with my pipe.
"*What would happen if you stopped all the intoxicants*?" She was always using bigger words, she enjoyed the sound.
"*You don't want to know.*" I'd responded.
"*Promise me someday you'll quit. They can't be good for you*." Her face had turned serious. "*Promise me*." I had promised, and here I was, lying on my bed, quitting. Nell rapped on the door again, asking some other inane question. I buried my head into my knees, trying not to throw up. The last drug was leaving my system, and I knew what was coming next.
Pain burned through my veins, wildfire destroying a forest. Walls I had built in my mind, and constantly reinforced with the alcohol, with the drugs, with the tobacco were weakening, falling away. Slowly I uncurled from my crouch and slid off the bed. They would see now. They would understand why I stayed intoxicated. Why it wasn't better for me to be sober. Why Laia shouldn't have made me promise.
I swung open the door, watching Nell fall away from it, wincing at the look on my face.
"Izzy? Are you..." She trailed off, tears starting to fall from her eyes. They weren't her emotions, she'd never particularly liked Laia. No, those emotions weren't hers. They were *mine*.
I walked away leaving Nell blubbering on the floor. Entering the living room, I snarled at the others on the team. They didn't have time to react before my emotions overwhelmed them all. Jason exploded into fire, his superpower tied to emotion, and the couch he sat on joined the inferno. Anna curled into a ball, screaming, her voice causing my eardrums to bleed. Silas just stared, his face going blank, as he shook his head in denial. His hands gripped the edges of the chair he sat on, piercing through the upholstered arm.
I stared at them, my emotions running through us all. This was why I drank, this was why I smoked, this is why I did the drugs. Because this part of my power was uncontrolled. Because if I didn't dampen it, if I didn't hold it back it would spill over into everyone else. Everyone would feel *everything*. And I wouldn't wish that on my worst enemy.
"*So why are you inflicting it on your team*?" The voice was a hallucination, I knew that yet I still turned, still searching for the slight figure I knew wasn't there.
"Because I... I... You're gone!"
"*And you're here. What are you going to do about it?*" It was a question she used to ask before. Every time we had a problem that seemed unsolvable, every time anything went wrong. Except she used to say, 'what are *we* going to do about it.' I stood there trying not to scream. Trying to hold everything back again, trying to stop.
"*Let go. Let me go. Let everything go. Stop trying to control everything, Izzy.*" The words broke me more than anything else I'd hallucinated before. I fell to my knees, and for the first time since my powers had manifested, for the first time since I was eighteen, I let go. I screamed, I curled into a ball and screamed out the pain, the hurt, the loss. Black crept at the edges of my vision as I fought to draw breath. And let it out again in another scream.
Hands laid on my arm, my head, my sides. One set was still warm as if it had been on fire. One was trying to be gentle, knowledgeable of its own strength. Two had no particular feeling, but I knew who they were all the same.
"We're here Izzy. We're here." Nell said, her voice cracking. "And we'll be here, every step of the way. You're not alone in this."
I opened my eyes, just a crack, taking in the concerned faces of the team. And behind them, I saw my memory, —or my hallucination— of Laia smiling and nodding.
"*That's it. Good job. You figured out what to do.*" And for the first time in five days, I closed my eyes and let go, spiralling into the deep unconsciousness of sleep.
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Visit r/Mel_Rose_Writes for more stories! | 2022-12-28T07:48:21 | 2022-12-28T07:43:52 | 834 | 463 |
[WP] As the most powerful superhero on the team, no one believed you when you said you could quit the drugs, alcohol, and tobacco whenever you wanted. When the only friend you have on the team died on a mission, you sobered up for the first time in years. Now people will learn why you stay drunk. | "I can quit whenever I want."
"So why don't you?"
"Because I *don't*."
That should've been the end of that. But let's face it, when you spend half your time stoned out of your mind and the other half so damn hammered that they could get drunk off your blood, it was understandably hard to let the topic rest. Even a brief smoke would raise an eyebrow, and a few brows at that. Frankly, it was *hard* to put the poison down. Hard, but not impossible. Never impossible. I just needed a damn good reason to put the drugs and booze on the table long enough to sober up and *really* let loose. And, thankfully, there wasn't any.
They, the public and the other heroes, didn't believe that. The 'thankfully' part. Can't say they're wrong saying I was an addict, but didn't we all make sacrifices?
"How is *this* a sacrifice?"
The last question he ever asked me. Mocking as it may sound on paper, Night Veil was sincerely concerned. Out of all of us, he truly was a hero. The others may have saved the world, like us two, but Veil... he looked out for the little guy. He could have easily ignored them. He didn't. And that, I believed, was worthy of praise. Even after the decade or so of dealing with me and my drunk ass, he always looked out for me. I suppose that meant he was my friend. I told him such. He laughed. And, to my surprise, he agreed.
Now he was in the ground. Hole in his chest. I didn't quite know the *how*, but I did know *who.*
I suppose I ought to introduce myself. My name is, or was, Avitus. I have witnessed the birth of Queen Alexandria Victoria, in Kensington Palace, on 24 May, 1819. I was one of the doctors of the time. I have seen the rise and death of countries and empires over these couple of centuries. I am, simply, Life Incarnate. Vivo, ergo sum. Where I go, Life does too.
But now... now the one tie to Humanity I have has been severed. I would not Love. I would not Care. I would not do anything to preserve myself, beyond my sense of being. But I did at least care for him, and now he was dead.
Halcyon. I'm going to find you. I'm going to show you what 'Life' means. What it truly, irredeemably means. And so are all those you have condemned, including Night Veil.
We're coming for you. We, who burned from your Hate. We, who are denied Justice. We, who could not Rest.
We, who are Legion.
We're coming for you. You, who will burn.
Just like Us. | It's a dark and somber night at the Heros Headquarters, all the lights are out except for one, a small light come from one of the rooms on the top floor, in there is a man slumped over a desk, surrounded but liquors, drugs and ash from old cigarettes, writting on a journal:
"April 26, 3:42 A.M. :
We were all there, when it happened, tommy, thomas, it was my fault I am so sorry, it was too fast to stop it , I was too drunk to stop it, no one else was strong enough, I am so so sorry friend, you gave me this book, you said it could help to get the thoughts out of my head and I only laughed, you wanted me to sober up, you thought I could be better than this, I can't, I could never explain why did I drink so much only Kirk and the old man know my secret, but if I wasn't such a coward you would still be here. They never belived me when I said I could quit the drugs, alcohol and tobacco whenever I wanted, they just laughed.
You knew that even drunk my power could be stronger than all of them, well now The emperor will pay."
As soon as he finished writting he got up and started to briskly throw all of it in the trash, as the anger and grief too over him, then he passed out on the bed. A month went by no drugs no alcohol, the nightmares worst than ever, no one knew about them, only the old man knew his story. Most of the other heros where skeptical, most thought that when he dissappeared every night it was to drink in secret and shame, but the man left every night in search of answers but sober he couldn't sleep.
Thomas had been the newest addition to the team, he was only 19 years old, to him only a child. He was bright and naive maybe, his power was to create energy barriers, to contain or repel things, not the strongest but not the weakest. He was the only one that belived in the man, the man didn't have a face or a name, but he kept the same mask for them and allowed them to call him Rick, drunken Rick was how most called him.
And he had finally found him, ans he was going after the emperor alone, but Andromeda saw him and called the others.
He knew they were there, he knew they would see it, he didn't care, once he made it inside the emperor's hide out he killed everyone in his way trapping them in nightmares so horrific, so hellish they would always end up killing themselves, none of the heros had ever seen him use his true power, but when he removed the mask it was all unleashed.
He found the emperor and took him to a nightmare inside his head and tortured him in there for 100 years, pealing his skin, twisting his body, he could feel all of the pain, but couldn't die, for it wasn't real, on the outside the other heros could see the blood start to drip from the emperor's eyes, and after what felt for both of them like a century they were back, tears of blood pouring from the emperor's eyes, the man still faceless. And as he walked past them they could hear the banging, and when they looked the emperor, their nemesis the most powerful of the villans hitting his head against the wall so hard until he smashed his own skull.
The man never drank, and never wore a mask again.
(Not my best work I spent too much time trying to think of the super power that I ended up losing inspiration :/) | 2022-12-28T10:15:44 | 2022-12-28T09:04:31 | 35 | 18 |
[WP] You have the lamest super power. But somehow, it's going to save the day. | I come from a very long, renowned line of shapeshifters.
My family has documented our gift far, far back into the reaches of mankind, and it appears that in almost every generation we've had at least a few truly great and influential people. It isn't surprising. Having an ability like this - a super power as the world generally refers to it - is an enormous responsibility, but it also places a great power in a human being's hands.
What someone does with my family's gift is entirely up to the person who possesses it, as are all *super* *powers*. You've certainly heard and read about my family, but those people aren't my concern right now.
I am twenty-one years old. Up until this day, this moment right now, I've been the fuck-up. I was born the middle child, and I was unable to transform until I was eighteen. Mom called me a "late bloomer" and Dad just scoffed. My older sister Cadence was shifting by eleven, and my younger brother Danny is shifting at nine.
When I still wasn't transforming by sixteen I told myself it was because my alternate form would be something great... something mighty and powerful, like my ancestors from the past.
Imagine my surprise when I shifted for the first time one morning - I won't say what I was doing - into a loaf of rye bread. Does anyone like rye?
I was humiliated. More than that, I was terrified to tell my father that his oldest son shapeshifted into *bread*. When I did it wasn't pretty. In fact, my parents insisted I stay at the live-in dorms at my community college. Mom said it was to get me on my own feet, Dad confirmed the truth when he just couldn't stand to look at me anymore.
Life hasn't been easy since. I ended up traveling, trying to help people in need with abilities that humans are naturally born with. I've not been very good at that either though. I don't have funds, and I can't speak foreign languages, and mostly I've just been a hermit, wandering from village to village, resting where I can and eating what I can find. I've got some money, but just enough to get by.
Today's the day, though. I'll admit, I'm afraid. Still, I can't go back, and there's nothing ahead. Today I will no longer be a fuck-up. I only wish that Dad could see me now.
There were two children here moments ago. They were picking through a dumpster with swollen bellies and fragile bones. They'd stood on their toes shakily, their arms elbow-deep in someone else's filth, searching for anything to eat. One had gestured to the other and spoke to him, telling him they should go get their father.
They'll be back. And I'll be here... waiting.
I hope they like rye. | "Aw man! Not again!" My mother sighed. I flinched instinctively, like a puppy waiting to get hit on the nose with a newspaper.
"I'm sorry! You know I can't help it!"
"Well could you at least try to do your business somewhere that's not in this damn house! I'm running low on anti-freeze!"
Ever since I discovered the fact that my pee turns to ice the moment it touches something, my mother has had it up to the gills with me. I feel bad about it, but I can't control it! The best I can do is try to aim it to a place that my mom won't have to defrost and clean up later.
"I'm sorry, Mom. I'll go to the store and get some more anti-freeze."
"It's OK, Teddy. It's OK. Could you also stop by the bank and get coin rolls? I've got a jar of pennies I gotta get rid of."
"Sure thing, Mom."
I rode my bike into town square and ran into my friend Joe. He decided to tag along. Joe thought my weird affliction was actually a super power. I told him he was an idiot.
"What if you got exposed to radiation when you were younger and it messed with your bladder somehow?"
"I don't know, dude. No one can explain. Doctors have no idea what's wrong with me."
"There's nothing wrong with you! You can pee ice! That's awesome!"
I sighed. We had this conversation quite often.
We walked into the bank and as usual for a Saturday morning there was a line. We stood there chatting when suddenly a group of men wearing black ski masks holding guns told everyone to get on the floor.
Well, I'm no daredevil, so I immediately fell to the floor and and Joe followed suit. I was terrified. There were three men that I could see, and they all looked big and burly. They were yelling instructions at the female teller and I could hear her crying. I saw one of the men hit an old man in the face only a few feet from me and I freaked. Like a little baby I peed my pants. I felt the coldness encircling my trousers and it was not a pleasant feeling.
After the men grabbed as much cash as possible, they started moving towards the door.
"We gotta go! Move, move move!" Yelled one of the men. I wondered why no police had shown up yet. Had no one called 911?
It appeared like the men were going to make a clean escape when suddenly all three of them slipped and went down to the floor. That's when I noticed my pee had spread out and made quite the trap for these robbers. When they went down, it gave one of the other hostages a chance to grab one and try to hold him down. That's when the police showed up and arrested the men.
Joe and I could have made our way out mostly undetected except Joe had to brag to everyone that the robbers were captured only because I had peed my pants and turned the floor into a skating rink. That's when all the cops started asking me questions and news reporters were practically jumping down my throat.
After two hours of endless grilling and hesitant praise, I was allowed to go home. My mom gave me a big hug and said, "I saw the news. You're very lucky those men didn't hurt you."
"Yea."
"In your own little way, you saved the day, Teddy. You should be happy about that."
"I would be if my pants weren't frozen to my crotch right now."
"Of course sweetie. I'll go grab the anti-freeze." | 2014-03-24T08:25:24 | 2014-03-24T08:14:46 | 23 | 13 |
[WP] Everyone gets a clock at birth with the countdown untill their deaths, one man's clock only says ERROR | I hear the laughter tinged with jealousy as memories of my friends' words echo throughout my mind. "Look at Mr. Immortal!" they said, while slapping me on the back after some stupid dare I did. My life was a constant high, never having to worry about death. And yet, here I lay now, in a puddle of my own blood.
My clock still reads ERR0R where numbers should have been. No one knew what it meant and doctors could only hypothesize that I had no countdown and therefore no end.
My life became riskier as I sought a risk-free adrenaline high as often as possible. I swung and jumped from the highest swings, climbed the highest branches, walked in dangerous neighborhoods, even broke the law a few times. I'd been bungee jumping, sky diving, cliff jumping, anything for that momentary thrill.
A man approached me, looking at me as if contemplating everything about me in one instant. I felt my eyes widen. *The Clockmaker*.
He glanced at the readout on my arm. After a few moments, he banged the side a few times, causing it to garble and settle on 00:00:00:00:01:30. "No..." I said, tears falling from my eyes.
"The clocks are always ticking, even if they aren't working," he said. | !.ERROR.!
The word had always perplexed Theodore. What was it supposed to mean? Why was he the only one that seemed to not have a predetermined fate? Through the years he had learned to mostly ignore these questions, but they still haunted him when his head hit the pillow every night. It had been hard for Theodore to make relationships with people, because most people wanted to find someone with an expiration date close to there own. But what if he didn't have an expiration date? What if he was doomed to live forever for some unknown reason? Theodore was lucky in that he found a wife who had chosen to cover up her clock, and never look at it. She had no idea when she would go, but Theodore did. He peeked at it the night of their wedding, and was pleased to find that they would have a healthy 35 year marriage. But what would happen after that? Would he continue on in life without her, or would he die before her?
Tomorrow was her expiration date. She had no idea, and Theodore had tried his best to not let on that he knew, but it was killing him inside. She left for work, and seemed very happy when she kissed him goodbye for the day. Three hours later Theodore was staring at the clock. She had one minute left. She would die sitting in her office chair at work. Not the worst way to go, he thought. 10:34, it was time. She was gone. The phone rang a few minutes later, and Theodore answered in a shaky voice. They told him nothing he didn't already know. He ran to the bedroom and threw open the closet, to find his pistol. This was it, he thought, I can't live without her, if I don't have an expiration date then maybe that means that I get to choose when I go. He held the gun to his head, and pulled the trigger.
*click*
Nothing happened. He looked at the gun, and noticed that for some reason one of the bullets were missing. There were only five. He looked down. The bullet was lying on the ground. He must have dropped it on accident when he last loaded the gun. He heard a beep come from his clock...that had never happened before? He looked at it and saw that it was counting...but with a negative in front...he had outlived his expiration. | 2014-09-30T10:29:39 | 2014-09-30T10:22:14 | 35 | 19 |
[WP] Earth is contacted by an intergalactic federation. Planets are welcomed to the federation if they have something to contribute. The rest of the galaxy is interested in what they see as our greatest talent; they want our music... | More a limerick than a poem, I hope that's okay.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The Federation wanted our music.
Said they wanted the best.
We thought it was a joke on Youtube.
So we gave them Kanye West.
They said it was terrible.
One even died of a fever.
Gave us one last chance.
/b sent them Bieber.
The federation didn’t think it funny.
But all is now well.
Brought their fleet here.
And blew us all to hell.
| From the Desk of David Lee Roth
December 22, 2014
Intergalactic Federation Council
Arts & Weapons subsection
Sector 0xA, California
Dear aliens,
After holding a vote that truly allowed our world speak to as one, we recently concluded 'American Idol - World Edition'. The entire world was given a toll free number to contact (free within inside the United States), and vote for whom it was that would represent our great land of musical arts.
That is person me, not that I'm surprised, and want you to know how much it means to me that you all learn how to buggy. On a side note, as the elected Ambassador to the aural arts, I'd also like to offer my services in the first human-alien copulation experiment. Don't worry, I won't charge you much.
So, to get this thing kicked off - why don't you all bring your little space ship down to my place in Cali. I held a little band meeting, so to speak, with the fellas here on the coast... and we've agreed to loan you James Brown in return for an alien babe or two.
Hell, bring five. I've got the drinks ready, and we're all going to want to be hammered to do some truly cosmic business.
-Diamond Dave
| 2014-12-22T12:59:47 | 2014-12-22T12:44:14 | 20 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone gains an animal that represents their soul when they're 16. Those who have done bad things become monsters or demons. You struggle to figure out why you're a Wendigo.
This is my first WP. I finally decided to share this idea and see what you guys come up with. If you don't know what a Wendigo is, it's basically a human who became a monster by cannibalistic means. | I looked around the gym, watching all the cliques chatter and bitch as we waited our turn in nervous excitement. The door to the Nurse’s Office opened and out stepped pretty Becky Ross. A few girls turned to look at her, angling their heads to see what creature her daemon would be.
“Erm, Helen? Helen Russet? You’re next,” Becky called out and, as she turned to walk away, I saw it. A male peacock strutted behind Becky, its ridiculous plumage shifting as it waddled along. I snorted softly. Becky had always valued appearance above practicality. She’d cried for hours when I told her that everyone thought she was ugly.
Helen Russet was only in the Nurse’s Office for a few minutes before she emerged, beaming with joy. Her daemon bounded around her feet in happiness. The dog’s tongue lolled from its mouth in idiotic adoration. I hid my sneer. Helen had always been a pack animal, unable and unwilling to leave the herd. She lived near me and I knew when she got her first girlfriend. I’d seen them kissing. She’d been so scared to come out to her friends, so scared that they’d reject her. I’d blackmailed her for months. It had been beautiful, until finally, like the weak creature she was, she broke down and confessed everything to her little clique.
Joy Sherman was the next up. I stood up straighter while I waited. I would be after Joy, and I was most interested in seeing what her daemon would be. She and I had been friends once. I used to let her look at the homework I took from little Helen, before my blackmailing days had come to an unfortunate end. Joy was in the Office for a long time before the door finally opened.
“Moira? It’s your turn,” Joy called out. I thanked her with a smile and looked down. Her daemon was a hyaena. It laughed, opening its powerful jaws at me. Joy might be a meat eater but, ultimately, she was only ever a scavenger. I nodded to Joy as I walked past her, hiding my disdain.
“Moira? Come in and stand between the two metal plates. The extraction only takes a moment, but some people find it a little uncomfortable, alright?” the Nurse said in a bored voice.
I nodded slowly. There wasn’t a lot of room between the large metal plates and I wondered how the Nurse had extracted the daemons of the fat girls.
“Perfect, now just stand still and your daemon should appear behind you. Try not to turn around until we’re all finished, OK?”
I could feel the instant she turned the machine on. It was like something was ripping me apart and I could feel my daemon inside my soul, clawing into me, desperate to stay inside me. I bit my cheek to stop myself from screaming as the pain grew and grew. I couldn’t bear it any longer, I opened my mouth but then it stopped; suddenly and completely. I felt nothing. I sagged in relief, panting as I rested against the metal plate in front of me.
“Oh, my dear. That’s, that’s quite unusual.”
I turned around to look at my daemon. He looked more like a miniature human than a daemon.
“Do you recognise what it is?” the Nurse asked, her back turned to me as she scribbled away in her notebook. She didn’t wait for me to answer. “Its a Wendigo. You should go now, send in Anthea Travis, would you?”
The little Wendigo watched me as I moved, his fierce eyes glittering and his expression hungry. I knew what a Wendigo was, but I knew I wasn’t a cannibal. It made no sense that he was mine, but I recognised the look on his face; that look of endless want, the need to possess and own and utterly ruin.
His little legs had to work fast to keep up with me, his hooves clacking on the floor.
The gym fell silent as I stepped out of the Office. A few girls muttered, but I held my head up high. My Wendigo was a rarity, a strange and exotic creature in a world that prized the dull and mediocre. My daemon hissed angrily at the crowd. He was quite beautiful, in his own twisted way, I reached down and wrapped my fingers through his deformed antlers in a gentle caress. Some cannibals consume human flesh, but others consume the human spirit. With my Wendigo by my side, I might finally be sated. | Kahbe sat on the furs that covered the floor of his wigwam, facing a young woman, still mostly a child, whose rosy cheeks were fresh with silent streaks of tears. Between them burned a small, sweet-smelling fire. A wide buffalo-leather strip lay next to the pit; upon it was the charred, unmistakable form of a Wendigo.
After several full minutes in which the silence was punctuated only the howling wind outside and the crackling wood inside, Azily said, in a hollow voice: "Well, the Gods have spoken. My fate is sealed."
Khabe said nothing. He stared at the flames, flexing his fingers absentmindedly.
"I should begin packing now," Azily continued. Khabe looked up sharply. "There is no place for me here. I do not deserve to be among--"
"Shush, child," he interrupted. His voice was not harsh but as usual, it commanded obedience. "We do not banish our own for crimes they did not commit."
Azily smiled a little at the firmness of his spoken sentence. "I know that. We are a just people. But do you not remember Caa-tou-kozhay?" she asked sadly.
Kahbe felt a pang of sorrow in his heart. Caa-tou had been a tribe-brother and his own blood-nephew. As a youth, he had been an industrious, well-loved member of their tribe; Azily herself could remember helping him catch trout from the nearby stream in late spring. But at 16, His Spirit had revealed itself to be a *Baykok*, a flying skeletal demon of Anishinaabe legend. It was upsetting to everyone, most of all himself. And since then, Caa-tou had begun to change: he became more selfish, aloof and often downright malevolent. One Winter day, his father tried to beat him for torturing the pet dog; Caa-tou drove a log-axe into the man's brain. The tribe had no choice but to force him out into the cold woods.
"I still miss him. Or rather, who he used to be," Azily amended. "But he became the monster he was fated to be. And now I will, too. I'm so sorry," She said, beginning to weep again, "I have sullied our family, too. What will the people think when they discover the Shaman's own daughter is a *demon*?"
Kahbe waited for her sobs to die down. "You are not Caa-tou-kozhay," he said simply. She lifted her head out of her hands and stared at him with wet eyes. "Caa-tou was a good child, and it was surprising that he received such a monstrous Spirit fate. Well, not surprising to me, anymore."
Azily cocked her head at him, confused.
"Some receive their Spirit fates based on their actions prior," Kahbe explained. "This we have always said to be the case. But children do bad things all the time, and they get fine fates and lead normal lives. Mijri, for example, was a boisterous nuisance who constantly played devilish pranks," he said with a smile.
"Really?" Azily blurted in surprise. Mijri-tou was one of her aunts. She was a quiet, patient woman who carried in her Spirit the passive pigeon.
"Yes," Kahbe replied. "And now consider Cuoq-Hiwa-thojiwe."
He had been banished a long time ago from the tribe for stealing food from the old and sick numerous times. "What about him?" Azily asked distastefully.
"He was a troublesome child, and became a despicable man. And yet, his Spirit was a beaver."
"What?" Azily cried out. Beaver-people were supposed to industrious, helpful and hardworking. "I am confused. What does this mean?"
"What I am trying to say, my child," Kahbe said gently, "these and other cases have led me to a new belief: that we are not strung tightly by birch bark to our fated creature."
Her eyes opened wide. That was hopeful news. And yet... "But why would I get Wendigo at all?" she asked in a pleading voice.
"I do not know," he confessed, "But it seem that our Spirit fates are still too mysterious for us to assume anything by them."
A period of silence followed as Azily collected her thoughts. At last she spoke: "Thank you father. I promise to lead my life in a wholesome, selfless manner that does not reflect this...creature." Her eyes flickered to the burnt hide.
"I have no doubt you will, love of mine," he said, more tenderly than usual. "May *Aashaa Monetoo* continue to guide you."
Azily beamed and ran forward to hug her father before running off into the brisk outside air. Kahbe continued to sit on his furs, thinking. The dying fire cast his shadow, long and black on the hide walls.
"The Wendigo is greedy, monstrous, and terrible, yes. But it is also formidable, never-tiring, and capable of great power," Kahbe mused out loud. He stretched back and closed his eyes. "My Azily has potential."
*Granted she stays on the right path*, a voice said in his head.
| 2015-03-03T13:50:51 | 2015-03-03T12:04:33 | 31 | 20 |
[WP] Zombie apocalypse has happened. The survivours have survived and are thriving, so much that people can go their entire lives with out seeing a zombie. You see one today. | Michael shuffled in the door, arms laden with bags of food, looking haggard.
"What's wrong, honey?" his wife asked, helping him remove his torn jacket. Michael didn't respond at first. "What happened?" Michael shook his head slowly.
"I saw one of...them, Donna." She screamed and dropped his coat, fumbling to pick it up. She stood slowly, terror written all over her face.
"If there's one..." Donna whispered.
"...There's more. Yeah." Michael dropped the bags on the table, reached out with both arms and pulled Donna in.
"So did you...you know...take care of it?" asked Donna.
"What do you think's in the bags?" Michael responded slyly. Donna squealed with joy.
"Darling! We haven't had human in ages!" | Everyday we had forgotten a little bit more what the world had been like after the zombies. The savagery of killing your fellow man for resources, the brutality of losing whole families to reanimated corpses. It was days like today people missed their jobs in offices and restaurants in favor of working the fields. But I was not one of those people. Before the war, if that's what you'd like to call it, I had worked in IT for a major company. And that's where like I and a hundred other pawns in the company discovered the dead had begun coming back to life. In moments like those you can never really chose your friends. Ralph, the overbearing team-lead had been one of the only other survivors besides myself and we formed the unlikely alliance you read about in science fiction. However, Ralph was a snake of a creature. Stealing a can of food here, a clip of ammo there. So after civilization began to win itself back from the clutches of doom people sought a leader. Ralph. That name could sour milk. He and I were out patrolling for the leftover dead last August. We hadn't seen any at all for weeks, nobody had, and then we saw him. Stuck like a plastic bag in a reel of barbed wire we had put around the tree line of our community. In that moment a plan began to form in my mind. As Ralph began to survey the thrashing beast I merely stepped behind him and gave him a push. Soon one thrashing creature became two. I quickly gave the tangled zombie its death and used the wire to wrap the now transformed Ralph around a tree. To this day only I know what really happened to him, and occasionally visit him to remind myself what survival really means. | 2015-03-14T09:22:31 | 2015-03-14T07:18:53 | 120 | 51 |
[WP] Cause of death appears to you as floating text over people's heads with no time indication. You start noticing a trend.
edit: thank you for all the truly great stories, and for taking this in directions I didn't expect. | I always go running in the park after work. And before work actually. Because that's what you do when you have "Heart Attack" hovering over your head in big green letters. I know that's how I'll die, I just need to make sure that day is as far away as possible. Maybe if I run fast enough, I can outrun death.
I many ways, I envied Ross. He was my running partner. He just did it for the fun. I envied him, because he was free in so many ways that I was not. He could gorge himself on junk food, smoke all the pot and the cigarettes with barely a worry in the world. You see, the death written above his head was "Meteor Strike". I didn't believe it at first, but apparently the letters were never wrong. His death would be out of the blue, something that no-one could predict.
people with preventable deaths like mine spend their whole lives looking over their shoulder. For some people it's cars, others its pollution. The people I feel most sorry for are the ones who are told they'll be murdered. But Ross, he had no worries. We all envied him.
So we were jogging, when he signalled me that he wanted to stop and "Stretch". I say stretch, but really, it was our code for when he spotted some attractive ladies. We had a system for picking up ladies whilst running. I'm not saying it ever worked, but it was fun.
As we slowed down, he caught one of the ladies eyes, who looked at him with a mixture of surprise and shock.
"What a coincidence !" she said, pointing at Ross, before he could get out his cheesy chat up line.
Put off balance, Ross was stumped into silence, so as the designated wingman, I did the talking. It's what Bros do.
"What do you mean?" I asked, but it took me a second to realise what it was when I looked just above her head. "Meteor Strike" was emblazoned above her head.
"No way" said Ross "That's so cool !"
Then I notice her friend sidle up as well, who also had a big grin on her face.
"What are the chances ! I was just getting back from work and I noticed .. Joanne... is it"
Her friend, whom I guess was named Joanne, nodded.
"We just had to compare notes. And then you came along"
Ross was regaining his composure, smoothing his hair back and smiling. This was already going really well.
"Well, we can do things no-one else dares" said Ross.
"I bet" said the girl who wasn't Joanne, biting her bottom lip and smiling.
There was more conversation, but it was the kind where more was said by body language than with words.
"I should leave you kids to it, seeing as you have so much in common" I said, and jogged off. Ross gave me a sly thumbs up as I left.
As I jogged along, I passed two more runners who had Meteor Strike hovering over their heads. They were headed in the opposite direction.
"That really is a strange coincidence" I thought to myself. It was only when I reached the Park gates that I realised. I spun around and ran right back the way I came.
I didn't know what I was doing, whether I could make a difference or not. I just couldn't stand there. My lungs burned, tears streamed in my eyes, which is why I barely saw it streaking across the sky before it hit.
I could no longer stand, my chest felt like it had been crushed. It must have been the grief, the shock of it all. I collapsed to my knees, then on my back. I felt like there was something I should have done. I felt like I should have just stayed. I felt like I should have warned them...
I feel cold. | The first time Dean noticed the words hanging over someone's head, it was during a hospital stay. There had been black ice on the roadway, that was what the police said. He hadn't been driving for all that long, and no one really blamed him for the accident. It was just one of those things that... happened. Naturally, he thought that maybe the drugs -- and they *were* good drugs -- after surgery was causing the hallucinations.
But they never went away.
The words above his mother's head read *SUICIDE*, which couldn't have been right; she was the happiest person he knew. Eventually Dean went back to school, and most of his classmates were the typical *HEART DISEASE*, or *CANCER*. Nothing that wouldn't already happen in life for most people. It was sort of comforting, in a way. He knew his friends would be there for life.
One day, the words started ticking between two options. One practically screamed *FIRE*, flickering in color, and the other was the original cause of death. Dean felt that it was odd, but didn't think on it further. There were parties to go to, pants to get into, and general mayhem to create; as only a teenager could.
It was during finals week, feeling stuck in a classroom, that the alarms went off. Almost every student was uncertain, looking at one another while the teacher ducked her head into the hall. And promptly cursed. There was a sort of nervous laughter, how often do you really hear a teacher curse?
"*Everyone out*!" It seemed to jar his classmates awake. Dean chanced a glance above their heads, the words flickering between *FIRE* and *SUFFOCATION*, sometimes *SMOKE INHALATION*. The letters flowing with fire, or being crushed beneath an invisible weight, and even rolling with imagined smoke. It was like that for everyone in the classroom as they filed into the hallway, joining the panicked masses. Bodies pressing against one another, shoved into walls and lockers.
Dean wasn't even looking at where he was going anymore. Instead, his gaze was fixed upon the words that floated above everyone's head. There were so many people in the hallway that he couldn't even make out the individual letters. But he could see the flickering flames, or the rolling smoke, through the haze of the hallway. Further toward the front of the group, the words were a conflagration; toward the back a mass of smoke pushing toward everyone.
Where the hell were they even going?
That was when it dawned on Dean. This was the science wing, wrapped around an inner courtyard, and they had to circle around to even get to the exit. It was a poor design, but the trustees thought that it was beautiful with a bit of landscaping. Supposedly kids would go out there to smoke in the 70's, before it was banned on the property. Now it only trapped them. The heavy fire doors that would swing shut were just ahead, the words above people were sparking in need, as if they were to create what was to come.
"No, no no no. Wrong way!" Dean was shouting, trying to be heard above the din, his shouts barely reaching the people around him. But they began to slow, even with teachers harrying them onward. There was a classroom door just ahead, and he ducked into it, pulling people inside. "Through the windows! Go! Gogogo!"
It was like he couldn't get the breath to tell enough people, the haze thicker. But the words above their head began flickering more violently, bringing spots to his vision. First *FIRE*, then *HEART DISEASE*, faster and faster. Dean couldn't even keep up with the flashes, instead breaking open the narrow window with a microscope from the counter top, clearing away the glass. People pressing up against his back as he tumbled through the window, barely rolling to the side in enough time.
The words flashed less, settling on more mundane means of death, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Dean was hoarse from the shouting, parched from the smoky haze in the air. But he had done it! They were going to *live*!
That was when the words flipped on everyone he could see. Every single person. Before he could do anything, barely getting enough breath to shout, "No! Don't open that door!" A frightened student yanked on the handle of the courtyard doors, near the exit to the science wing. The last of the floating words flipped over everyone's head, and Dean braced himself, trying to become as small as possible. It was inevitable.
*EXPLOSION*. | 2015-03-31T09:41:54 | 2015-03-31T09:27:39 | 76 | 42 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 |
Some people keep their Last Words private. I've seen some that weren't intended to be seen, and I've known some religious people who keep them covered up with black CoverTape. They think that God writes your last words, and only your spouse should see them.
I never bothered. Written in a lovely script, it probably was God who wrote them. I never asked. "It was good to see you again." They became my second running joke. I was 6'5" at my prime, so "how tall are you," was the first. The second: drunk girls in bars, yelling as they walked away, "It was good to see you again!"
I didn't meet her in a bar, it was in a park. I thought she was pretty, and I said so. She thought I was probably a creep, but I talked her into an ice cream. I made her laugh over cookies and creme. She was pretty and dark haired, and she danced on the air when she danced ballet. She was good enough to be beautiful at it. She never made a living at it; I think she deserved better than a career in a grocery store, but she was happy.
She was happy when the cancer came. I told her it was treatable. She said she would get treatment. It went away. It came back, furiously, as if looking for revenge. This time she was ready to fight it: not the cancer, but death. I had always thought she was alive in ways I never knew, but I found out what it was to really live in those 18 months. She had.... *grace.* She took death out on the dance floor and swirled around... because he takes us all, the only way to fight him is to embrace him without fear. And she did.
I never meant to say her last words. She asked for some water, and I gave it to her. "Thanks." I told her, "Get some rest, I'll be here in the morning." Only after she fell asleep did the pit in my stomach grow and gnaw. I considered waking her up, but I couldn't. Only after she passed away a few hours later did I look again at the side of her leg" "I'll be here in the morning." I was her true love.
My Last Words didn't say "Thanks."
I didn't miss it. She didn't whisper. Like an idiot, I checked my arm. "It was good to see you again." Still, always.
Did she know?
_____________
| Theres a rule on this rock. A rule that seems almost divine i would say if i wasnt an atheist but this rule is neutral to both sides it can be a curse or it can be a blessing. The rule is that when a child is born a cosmic link is formed between the enfant and another. A link that is so simple yet so cimplex to its principal. The rule is that the last words of the babes soulmate be etched into their skin at the base of the cranium on the nape of their neck. Me, well my curse is a greeting. The last word my supposed soulmate will say to me is hello. A greeting a goddamned fucking greeting and people wonder why i resent them why i barely go out and glare at everyones face as i walk by. Ive made a reputation for myself as the man who has no friends, no enemies, just nobody and yet people know me by the brand ive been marked with. I couldnt even finish elementary school as a child. Im not stupid I homeschooled myself and came out brighter than anyone else ive come across. But only through my adversity did i become stronger. The terrors came nightly as a child everyone always saying hello to me then dissapearing one way or another into the abyss. I keep to myself not because i hate people thats just what became of it. I keep to myself because ive always known the cold hard fact that when i do meet the love of my life she will be taken from me before i even get to know her name. The only thing keeping me alive in this world is that I have come to accept I am truly alone in this world and though i dont want to admit it because it almost seems as though im relinquishing all power from myself by saying it but lately ive come to realize Im almost ok with it. Ive worked hard and made my existence comfortable though lonely it may be. Ive got a penthouse on a highrise and if you look from the outside the windows are almost mirrored to reflect the sun and my god in the mornings it looks beautiful. I have almost become like a god among men of sorts. Though i know im still human and mortal ive been feeling as though my solitude has made me better than everyone else. Childish thoughts i know but it eases my existence. And recently ive picked up a new habit that i can easily afford. Ive been chasing my ego with highend alcohol. The aristocracy that ive found is satisfying and for once im starting to like who i am regardless if i die alone. Then like a force of a tsunami it happened one day i just snapped. I was so self absorbed my narcissism had taken over and i drank my mini bar dry because why not is that not fit for a god. But i tripped and stumbled and puked and needed some air. I was standing on the balcony edge in a wave of self loathing when i realized there is no one out there for me my etchings were paradoxical because i had never spoken to anyone out of fear it had only myself to take words from and as i slowly realized what this meant i looked into the sliding mirror door behind me and saw the mess of a man i really was no this wasnt love or the stars aligning to show me my soulmate. This was a revelation that i was so scared to live my life i never became a person until this very second but it was too late. I said hello to the man in the mirror and stepped back off the ledge. | 2015-08-08T13:53:15 | 2015-08-08T11:31:06 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83 | Our wedding day was the most amazing day of my life. He was, I believed then, perfect in every way. Truly my soul mate. Tall and handsome, I had first caught his eye in high school during a football game; he the dashing quarterback and me the hot cheerleader. You may think this was cliché but it wasn't like that at all. I was the top of my class, heading for Harvard or maybe MIT. He was a jock but, like me, had great grades and was talking about a career in law.
We both ended up in college together and kept dating through our graduation. When he proposed, he was sweet and romantic, getting down on one knee in front of my family. He even commented on our matching engravings. His said "I didn't want this to end." He was sure that I would say that too him on his death bed.
Mine said "I love you." That's what he saw. I love you. It was pretty lame.
It was in our third year of marriage that things began to go wrong. He had become a police officer while I was doing my masters. The work he was doing began to change him in subtle ways. Then I got pregnant. I was thrilled but he only pretended to be. I could see it in his eyes.
After the baby was born, he became more withdrawn. He began to work late, volunteering for more shifts. I suspected he was having an affair and I could have lived with that. My mistake was that I challenged him. That was the night he first hit me.
It went on. And on. I don't know why I stayed. I did and perhaps you will judge me for that. I know I will be judged for the final night.
He came home drunk. I was angry and we fought again. This time, he really hurt me. While he slept, I found his back up gun. I hadn't intended to wake him but when he woke, I said, "I didn't want this to end." He looked up at me and said "God, no, don't shoot!"
I did. Then I went into the bathroom and finally removed the make up I had used to conceal the last words engraved on my skin. Gone was the falsehood, "I love you." Now I understood the four words that my parents had made me hide my whole life. | Theres a rule on this rock. A rule that seems almost divine i would say if i wasnt an atheist but this rule is neutral to both sides it can be a curse or it can be a blessing. The rule is that when a child is born a cosmic link is formed between the enfant and another. A link that is so simple yet so cimplex to its principal. The rule is that the last words of the babes soulmate be etched into their skin at the base of the cranium on the nape of their neck. Me, well my curse is a greeting. The last word my supposed soulmate will say to me is hello. A greeting a goddamned fucking greeting and people wonder why i resent them why i barely go out and glare at everyones face as i walk by. Ive made a reputation for myself as the man who has no friends, no enemies, just nobody and yet people know me by the brand ive been marked with. I couldnt even finish elementary school as a child. Im not stupid I homeschooled myself and came out brighter than anyone else ive come across. But only through my adversity did i become stronger. The terrors came nightly as a child everyone always saying hello to me then dissapearing one way or another into the abyss. I keep to myself not because i hate people thats just what became of it. I keep to myself because ive always known the cold hard fact that when i do meet the love of my life she will be taken from me before i even get to know her name. The only thing keeping me alive in this world is that I have come to accept I am truly alone in this world and though i dont want to admit it because it almost seems as though im relinquishing all power from myself by saying it but lately ive come to realize Im almost ok with it. Ive worked hard and made my existence comfortable though lonely it may be. Ive got a penthouse on a highrise and if you look from the outside the windows are almost mirrored to reflect the sun and my god in the mornings it looks beautiful. I have almost become like a god among men of sorts. Though i know im still human and mortal ive been feeling as though my solitude has made me better than everyone else. Childish thoughts i know but it eases my existence. And recently ive picked up a new habit that i can easily afford. Ive been chasing my ego with highend alcohol. The aristocracy that ive found is satisfying and for once im starting to like who i am regardless if i die alone. Then like a force of a tsunami it happened one day i just snapped. I was so self absorbed my narcissism had taken over and i drank my mini bar dry because why not is that not fit for a god. But i tripped and stumbled and puked and needed some air. I was standing on the balcony edge in a wave of self loathing when i realized there is no one out there for me my etchings were paradoxical because i had never spoken to anyone out of fear it had only myself to take words from and as i slowly realized what this meant i looked into the sliding mirror door behind me and saw the mess of a man i really was no this wasnt love or the stars aligning to show me my soulmate. This was a revelation that i was so scared to live my life i never became a person until this very second but it was too late. I said hello to the man in the mirror and stepped back off the ledge. | 2015-08-08T12:02:09 | 2015-08-08T11:31:06 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] You live in a society where justice is truly blind. The judge and jurors are not allowed to know the name, gender, race, religion, or appearance of the defendant. | The still of the night was suddenly marred by the thumping of the battering ram on the front door. On the second smack, the door opened with a crash. The neighbor's dog barked. Police swarmed into the house, guns at the ready.
In just a few efficient minutes, two cops dragged a handcuffed young man out of the battered front door. The man wore a Flash tee shirt and shorts. His feet were bare. He blinked the sleep from his startlingly blue eyes, just beginning to process what was going on.
"Take me instead!" his mother cried out from the house. Tears streaked down her face. Three policemen were restraining her. She was surprisingly strong for her size. It was the strength of a mother protecting her cub.
"You know that's not how this works, ma'am," one of the cops said. He tried to be as gentle as he could as the mother flailed in his arms. He had a son too.
The handcuffed man was put into the back of an idling police car. He was Justin Wren, 22, a graduate student. Soon, he would simply be Juror Number 5.
The police car sped off. Its ultimate destination was the courthouse where Justin would serve jury duty. But first, it would take him to the hospital where Justin's eyes would be removed.
After all, justice was blind. | Twelve angry people sit in a room.
"The knife isn't that rare." Says Juror 8.
"I don't think that witness could see the scene clearly." Says Juror 4.
"That public defender didn't really care." Says Juror 8.
"No, he didn't." Says Juror 4.
"Let's vote. Just to see where we stand." Says Juror 1. Everyone murmurs agreement.
The foreman counts the votes. "Eleven not guilty. One guilty."
"Now wait, just a second." Says Juror 3. "This punk kid killed his dad. He's clearly some poor punk with an attitude who deserves to be punished."
"You're making assumptions that are biased. We know someone killed their father with a knife. The neighbor without her glasses on claimed it was the defendant, but we have testimony the defendant left earlier muddying that claim. The old man couldn't have seen the defendant, at least not if the defendant was a young man, again contradicting his claim. His hearing was also poor, and what does 'I'm going to kill you' really mean? People say it all the time. What hard evidence do we have?" Says Juror 8.
"Fine, we can vote by secret ballot. If it's 11 not guilty, I'll go along." Says Juror 3.
The foreman counts them. "Eleven not guilty."
"But, he lives in a slum. He's a punk kid. No respect for his father." Says Juror 3.
"It happened in a slum. You assume he's poor because of that and his public defense. The defendant may have done it, but I'm not going to send him to his death over this."
"Fine. I hope you can live yourself when he kills again." Says Juror 3.
"Honestly, we wouldn't know if they did or didn't." Says Juror 8.
The jury submits their verdict, and the person goes free.
***
If you like this story, I also have a subreddit [r/nickkuvaas](http://www.reddit.com/r/nickkuvaas/)
| 2015-09-06T01:27:55 | 2015-09-05T17:13:21 | 156 | 73 |
[WP] People can buy and sell souls on a stock market. Your soul just became the highest valued soul and you don't know why. | I stood before Wall St., picket sign in my hands and ready to argue with anyone in my way. My sign read 'souls aren't yours to sell'. No one else had come to protest with me even though this whole thing is so fundamentally messed up. Ever since souls became part of the stock market, there's been no serious regulation- you can just buy and sell any soul, and once it's in the market, it's there until you're dead. My own mother put me up there, to try and make a buck. Society's become so callous and vile, it's sickening.
Eventually, a crowd of businessmen and women began to swarm around me like vultures over a carcass, murmuring and checking their personal devices. I figured they were just documenting me for the sake of insulting me.
"Go ahead and record me, I'll just reach a wider audience!" I exclaimed.
One man walked forward, shifting his gaze between his phone and myself. "Say, miss...why do you have a problem with this?"
"Well, I think the answer to that is straightforward. People's souls aren't toys for you to play with, and it's incredibly disgusting to buy and sell living people's souls."
The crowd murmured again, and he held back a smile as he looked at his phone again. "Miss, could you explain why people's souls shouldn't be sold?"
"Of course, I'd love to help clarify this for everyone. The human soul is extremely complex and personal, and it's by no means something for greedy strangers to make money off of. It's the equivalent of slavery- you're taking someone and selling *who they are*, their essence. It's not your place to interfere with the essence of humanity. If you're going to partake in this disgusting business, at least give people a choice- not just their parents or guardians, *individuals need to make the decision*."
The crowd began to cheer, exclaiming and whistling. *I've...made a difference?*
I smiled and waved to them all, and they waved back. The man in front of me was giddy, and said, "Congratulations, miss. Your soul is worth 98 trillion dollars now- apparently the purest ones are worth the most, and with my help, you proved to be the purest of us all."
I stood there, jaw agape at the cheering crowd. My mother was there, crying and running toward me.
"*God damn it,*" I screamed.
The crowd fell silent.
"No, miss, please don't say anything like that. Your value decreased a little bit- please just say nice things!" the man before me begged.
"I hate all of you. You're all assholes, you're disgusting, filthy motherfuckers and I hope you die," I said smugly.
The crowd began booing and losing their minds. "I'd just bought a grand worth of stock!" someone yelled in agony. My mother looked at me with horror in her eyes.
I stood there, before the crowd, and took a deep breath.
"I hope your children starve and the forests burn. Global warming is fake. 9/11 was an inside job. I hope George RR Martin dies before his next book release."
The crowd fell silent again. I saw a few people crying, and my mother dropped to the floor like she'd been shot.
*Suck it.* | I'm not the praying type, but you're Goddamn right I dropped to my knees and started begging the man upstairs for help on this one. How the fuck did this happen? I'm nobody. Nothing. An insignificant speck in the masses. Why anybody would want my soul at all is beyond me. Why it is now the most expensive soul in history, is just...incomprehensible!
See, a soul's value is based on it's usefulness. For example, owning Mozart's soul, would allow you to compose musical masterpieces. Owning a king's soul would allow you to be powerful, and influential, helping you to amass loyal followers and formidable allies. My soul on the other hand, would make you.....a good listener maybe? Give you far more knowledge than you would ever need about 19th century Samurai? Not to mention that souls aren't even supposed to be added to the market until AFTER the person passes, because you can't claim the soul while it still inhabits a physical body, and herein lies the problem.
See, someone owning your soul after you die isn't as bad as it sounds. Once the soul leaves the body, it has no conscious thought. It's more or less just energy. Very powerful energy. No my problem is, that if someone pays a quarter trillion for my soul, than I kind of get the feeling that they aren't going to wait the 40 or so years that natural cause will take to kick in, and it's already traded 13 times in the last hour. Emmanuel Joseph - 100 billion. Emmanuel Joseph - 115 billion, and so on...
"God, if you're up there, I could really use some help. The market is closing in 20 minutes, and I'm not really liking my odds of making it through the night alive." and to my surprise, a voice responds.
"Emmanuel Joseph, it is time." the voice booms.
"T-Time for what? who is talking right now?" I stammer, looking around, but finding nobody.
"They've discovered you far earlier than anticipated. The dragon has spoke to them."
"HOLD on! what? dragon? what do you mean discovered?"
"If they acquire your soul, there will be no salvation for mankind, and the dragon will return as king." he said seemingly ignoring my questions.
"But.....WHAT????"
"My son, I know that you do not remember, but you have been there on earth once before. 3000 years ago, you saved mankind, and now it is time for you to bring your followers home, to your kingdom."
"My kingdom? I'm an electrician...apprentice."
"On earth yes, but you are the anointed one my son. You have a kingdom with no end, and it is time for you to bring the worthy, home."
"The worthy? Okay, suppose I WAS the 'anointed one'. How would I even know who was worthy, let alone bring them back to my 'kingdom'?" But there was no answer. "HELLO?????" Only silence. "DON'T YOU DO THIS TO ME!! DON'T YOU ABANDON ME!!!" I scream, and burst into tears. I can't even start to process what just happened, when I hear a loud bang, followed by a searing pain in my right bicep. I spin around to see a man in a hooded robe, holding a smoking pistol. He starts to take aim again. I'm forced to run towards the open window, clutching my bloody arm, and to dive a full story to the ground, as he is blocking the door. surprisingly I don't hurt myself, and even more surprisingly, I look at my arm, and it has already starting to heal.
I feel like I'm starting to lose my mind, and it probably doesn't help that all I can do is chuckle and think to myself, "Well there's one that I can add to the unworthy list". I don't get to enjoy the thought for very long, as I notice four other hooded figures, stepping out of the shadows, closing in on me. "This is going to be one fuck of night" I mutter as I take off running into the darkness. | 2016-02-05T19:37:53 | 2016-02-05T17:25:19 | 98 | 28 |
[WP] You are The Memory Broker. You copy other people's memories and sell them to people who want to remember things they never did. Your latest client is a ten year-old girl who slides you her piggy bank and begs you to help her grandmother remember her. | She smashes her piggy bank to bits and pieces on the table in front of me. The total is twenty-seven dollars and sixty-five cents.
"Girl, that's only enough for six seconds of memory, no audio, no commentary, only visual. 480p. You sure you want this?"
The grandmother sits on the couch with a blank look on her face, slowly forgetting the world, as she did with her granddaughter.
She's reluctant, but doesn't hesitate. "Yes please. Can you help me pick out the memory?"
"Sure, it's free of charge. Can you describe your memory?"
"The time I broke her favourite glass. Please," she seemed really determined.
"You sure? Alright..." that kind of memory wasn't a popular choice, but I do as she asks. I start copying the memory, detail by detail, and that's when it overwhelms me. Her fear of being punished, her bleeding finger, then the loving but stern gaze of her grandmother looking down at her, dressing the wound. I tear up a bit, but it's not professional to cry and so I get a hold of myself. It's sad that her grandmother wouldn't experience the multitude of emotions the same way I did.
As I start to transfer them to her grandmother it's as if she was watching a movie only she could see. The emotions splay across her face and at the end of those six mere seconds, tears fall from her face and she turns to look at her granddaughter. I think it worked. They embrace like two star-crossed lovers and tears fall everywhere.
"Lisa... Lisa I'm sorry, Lisa. Grandma's here now."
I excuse myself from the room and allow myself to be unprofessional, just this once. | "Please, its all I have".
"It's not enough. Get out."
The man collected his money and exited, and Ben was left alone.
Ben saw being the only person in the world who can copy other peoples memories as a blessing and a curse. He could bring happiness to thousands of people, but it took a toll on his own mind. Other peoples memories being mismatched with his own, the line between his memories and other peoples becoming blurred and his constant paranoia that his own memories might accidentally be given to a client. There was a knock at the door.
"Come in" Ben said.
Ben was surprised to see a young girl come in with a piggy bank under her arm, accompanied by an elderly woman.
"Uh...hello. What's your name"
"I'm Lily. I really need your help."
"Hi Lily. What do you need done" Ben replied.
"I need you to copy a memory of me, just me. I need to help my nan remember who I am. She has alterheimers."
"Alzheimer's?" Ben said.
The elderly lady sat, almost dazed.
"Yeah, and she's forgotten who I am." Lily looked at her grandmother and teared up.
"Its okay, its okay. We can solve that right away. Just think of the memory you want me to copy, and I will do it."
Lily closed her eyes and Ben put his hand on hers. The grandmother looked on with confusion. He saw the memory clearly. Lily was on a swing, her grandmother pushing her gently.
"Done" Ben exclaimed.
Lily gestured to the piggy bank. Ben began to count the money. $60.
"This isn't enough. It is $100 for one memory."
Lily began to plead.
"Please, I need it, I want my nan to know who I am! I want her back!"
Ben thought about the situation.
"Alright, alright. $60 will do" Ben said
Ben put his hand on the grandmothers head. He focused on the memory and after a few seconds, pulled his hand away. The grandmother looked like a light switch had just been flicked on in her mind. She looked to Lily.
"Lily, you should be home. Come on, lets go. Your parents will be furious."
Lily looked back and mouthed "thank you" before walking off, grinning from ear to ear. However, Ben knew she had nothing to smile about. Lily didn't know how alzheimer's worked, and knew it was just a matter of time before Lily found herself in the same predicament she had asked Ben to solve.
| 2016-03-09T05:59:22 | 2016-03-09T05:45:36 | 143 | 17 |
[WP] Every birthday you get a skill point you can unlock points with or upgrade skills.
The world is yours to make. You unlock skills or upgrade skills using these skill points. | I’ve never been a smart man. Zero points in intelligence will do that to a person. But I’ve always been careful with my points, stingy even. Call it a passive ability. Growing up every year my mother would ask me what I wanted to invest in. And every year I told her I’d wait. I wish she could see me now. Fifty years, fifty long years I’ve been saving, and today is the day it all becomes worth it.
Fifty points. All in luck.
The lottery recently reached a historic high. Two billion is up for grabs and I intend to take it. I bought my ticket two days ago. 3, 20, 1, 3, 17. The magic sequence. Yesterday I turned fifty, and everything went into luck. And today is the drawing.
“Here are today’s winning lottery numbers.”
Moment of truth.
“3”
One down.
“20”
There’s another.
“1”
I just thought of something.
“3”
I bought my ticket before I invested in luck.
“16” | Ben's shoulders sagged. "I knew it."
"Don't worry, this, uh... this looks like an honest mistake."
His lower lip quivered. "I'm such a failure."
"Hey," Claire said quietly. "I know people who've been through this before."
That big face of his looked up at his coworker. "Who then?"
"Uhhhh... Well, there's.... ohh you know, that one guy at... acquisitions?"
Ben wailed. "I'M THAT GUY FROM ACQUISITIONS!"
"Oh Ben," She set a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, this is just really unlucky."
"Unlucky? No I'm an idiot," he sobbed.
"Alright a little bit. Honestly, didn't they teach you there were more than two levels for each skill set?"
"Yeah, but I forgot."
"How, it's one of the first things they teach you at school!"
"BECAUSE I ONLY PUT TWO POINTS IN INTELLIGENCE!" Ben resumed his crying, hunched over two large arms that shook.
"Well, at least you're a little good at everything."
His voice came muffled. "What good is that gonna do me if no one hangs out with me? I'm just dumb, clueless Ben who didn't know he could scroll down the selection screen."
"Yeah. Still, two points across 14 skills is part of what makes you unique!"
Ben rolled his head to look at her. "Really?"
"Uhuh. You're dumb as a brick, but you've got a lot to offer with the right hands guiding you."
"Claire, I don't need hands guiding me. I can see just fine."
She sighed. "Just eat your cake Ben."
-----------
*More at r/galokot, and thanks for reading!*
| 2016-05-02T14:37:55 | 2016-05-02T14:36:13 | 43 | 25 |
[WP] A flat, cliche heroine in a badly written YA dystopian novel slowly comes to realize that she is a flat, cliche heroine in a badly written YA dystopian novel. | The soft murmurs of surprise ripple through the crowd as Miranda Scipio, the Tyrant of Celestae, stands up from her emerald throne. I can see the jewels interwoven in her white hair. They sparkle in the lights as she walks down the stage.
Funny, the gems don’t seem so beautiful now I know that they are as fake as she is. The little chubby pudge of skin on her otherwise thin and swanlike throat makes me feel sick.
“I think our little winner deserves a reward,” Miranda whispers. She takes the medal the master of ceremonies is holding out on the velvet pillow and gestures for me to bow.
“She’s going to give the medal of valor to Heri with her own hand!” someone in the audience cries.
My heart skips a beat. I don’t look back. I don’t want to see Aeron standing at the foot of the stage, watching me with his worried blue eyes under the scar that slants so rakishly down his forehead. I don’t look to the side, where Prince Jazim is fiddling with his sword, looking bored. But under the air of unconcern, I can see the tension tightening his hands.
I don’t want to look at Miranda, either. But she’s so close in front of me, holding out the medal. I know, if I take it, I’ll have all the wealth I desire. My little sister will be safe. I can marry Jazim, and protect Aeron from the draft. All I have to do is say yes.
Miranda smirks, secretly but knowingly, because she knows I won’t say yes. My defiance will be the spark that kindles the war. Her soldiers are ready to surround me. Will Prince Jazim be the one to cut my throat? Will his sword feel like a cold steel kiss against my neck?
It doesn’t matter. I know what I have to do. I reach for the medal, ready to rip it out of Miranda’s hands, ready to spit in the Tyrant’s face--
Then I realize, hey, that wealth and safety stuff actually sounds pretty good. Maybe I should go with that instead.
| I could only remember the soft skin of John as I stared up at the pulsating ceiling, lost in a sea of thoughts.
Between the memory of our bodies meeting under the endless stars and the crashing thud of Deletioners as they broke down every door of the apartment complex, there wasn't much to think about.
I had lived the perfect life, filled with all the splendors of romance despite my disgust towards it and my desire to master the art of hand to hand combat. I learned how to fight while being trained by my parents to speak as many languages as possible. From some old man's language called Latin to Armenian. By the age of 16, I was on track to become a officer in the Youth Corps, but then I fell in love.
The violence of the world was contained like a surge of water in a sterilized vase when I met John. It felt like time melted away. Every kiss felt like caramel on my skin. When we parted, it had always felt like a eternity torn into my heart. He was a member of the Youth Corps as well and our relationship was forbidden. It didn't stop us though. So the Deletioners came after us in full force. So we ran, and ran until the ground turned to muddy water.
It took them months to even find a hint of where we could have gone. And by then we had already linked up with the Brighter Dawn. Armed and ready to free the world from the grasp of evil, with my rifle in my hand I am prepared to fight for freedom.. and a brighter future.
The Deletioners in retrospect did have a absurd name though..
John was also quite a knuckleheaded simpleton.. and not nearly as attractive as I had just remembered..
Wait.
How am I even still alive? You'd think a elite squad of soldiers would have been able to track and kill two young teens.. especially in a age of genetic tracking down to the molecular level..
Crap.
I'm just some paper cut out, cliche, one note female dystopian novel.. aren't I?
----------------------
Susan woke up slowly, more a corpse then a young twenty something woman with a overactive mind. With a sigh, she walked to her desk and stared at her notepad, already torn at the seems from overuse. She opened the notepad as per her routine and recoiled violently at the words on the page, words that had never escaped her mind. And at the end of the page was the crescendo and the silent climax to the piece Susan had believed herself to be in control of. In bold, almost sterile black lettering was a single sentence. A sentence that ended Susan's plans for writing Young Adult novels and in its conviction, writing in general. A sentence that ended her career as a child ends the life of a passing ant.
-------------------------------
**Knowing all of this, knowing that I am just another cliche character, with no depth, with no real tangible feet in any sort of life outside of this flat mess, I can only put this gun to my head with the knowledge that, simply, it might be okay to pull the trigger.** | 2016-08-13T02:26:56 | 2016-08-12T23:29:09 | 30 | 20 |
[WP]You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.
Inspired by *The Merchant Adventurer*, by Patrick E. McLean.
EDIT: Wow, thanks everyone that contributed! The awesome Patrick E. McLean (/u/patrickemclean) stopped by, gave a snippet from his book in a comment, and even gave us a link to listen to *The Merchant Adventurer* as an audiobook:
>Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/ | Jolder grimaced into his cup of tea when he heard the chime of the bell. *Another bleeding customer. Ah, well, the tea is cold anyway. When was the last time I had a hot mug of tea?* He drained the cup in one gulp, shuddering at the temperature, and made his way to the front of the store.
He rounded the corner, an unpleasant squelch meeting his ears. He held his breath. Standing at the counter was a hunter, bow slung over his back, a look of smug satisfaction playing across his features. Jolder couldn't see far enough into his hood to identify the man.
"Good afternoon." Jolder said, inclining his head minimally to his patron. "How can I be of assistance to you...?"
"Mandorin. Of Grinnet. I've brought you the synapses of a Mind Flayer." He indicated the burlap sack oozing on the counter. "It wasn't an easy kill, but I got the job done."
Jolder steeled himself before lifting the edge of the sack to peer inside. *Well I'll be damned. This bumpkin actually managed to kill an Illithid* He squashed his excitement, instead favoring his patron with a look of disdain. "The synapses. Yes. However, you've neglected to cut them out. What am I to do with the head of a Mind Flayer?"
Mandorin lifted the hood from his head, glaring daggers at Jolden. "I've brought you the damned thing. I'm no surgeon, that's what you're for, isn't it?"
Jolder arched an eyebrow at him, not dropping his gaze. "Aye, it's what I'm for. But it'll cost you. I'll not give you full payment for a job I have to do myself. Five knuckles." He fished five gold coins from the pocket of his coat to toss onto the counter. Mandorin's face was murderous.
"Five knuckles! Five knuckles, he says! A mind flayer's synapses are easily worth fifteen!" He was seething.
Jolder met his glare impassively. "Aye, they are worth fifteen, when they've been properly extracted. The process is a dangerous one, you're lucky you didn't try. Then, they'd be worthless, and you'd be dead."
Mandorin's jaw clenched around what Jolder could only assume was a veritable tirade of insults. "I won't take less than ten." he spat, acidly.
Jolder smiled widely. *You cannot hope to win this game, boy* "I'll give you five, and a one use, two hour, scroll of invisibility."
"Eight." He fired back. "I brought you the teeth as well, you can use those."
Jolder inclined his head minimally. "Eight, the scroll, and you have to clean my counters and floor." He indicated the congealed mess on his counter with a nod.
Mandorin sighed. "Done. Filthy thief." | Today, on All-Rings Considered, we hear from a local shop-keep who shares his unique experiences in buying and selling weapons, potions, and everything else imaginable to adventurers. Meet Holdgard McFreedy, a level 60 Gnoll:
It's a tough gig working in retail, much less catering to every lousy adventurer, evil-sorcerer, and smelly dwarf, but somebody gots to do it. And that somebody is me. Holgard McFreedy, owner and proprietor of the Little Shop At the End of the Realm, purveyor of anything and everything you need to kill a dragon, weave a spell, or embark on never-ending radiant quests. You want it, I gots it. But I didn't choose this life, I tweren't no adventurer who took an arrow to the knee and I didn't save any unfortunate princesses from ogres. I was a scabber, an orphan, and a dungeon-rat. I worked my way up from the gutter, selling two-bit potions in caves, crafting my own boar-skin boxers, surviving on troll dung and mushrooms. I started at the bottom and slowly but surely I worked my way up to where I am now.
But the story don't end there. Like I said, it's a tough gig, you know how many licenses and inspections I gotta get to sell on of them 'meteora' spells? The wait list and background checks to purchase a possessed blunderbuss can take weeks. And the taxes on oil have just about put them cat-eyed weirdos right out of business. Sometimes I barely make enough to keep the doors open what with every shouting dragon-brain peddling their dozens of iron daggers and leather helmets. But, truth be told, and what they don't tell you at the merchants' guild, is you can donate all that unwanted trash to destitute monsters in need, get some tax breaks, and the cycle continues.
But the hardest part, and the most rewardin' part, is dealin' with the customers. Even with all my perks, my level 99 in mercantile, and more than enough enchanted baubles and robes to raise my intelligence and charisma to tolerable levels, I have to take precautions. There are wards and buffs all over this place, in the walls, on the doors, in the ceiling. Hell, half the items on display are cursed. That don't stop them thieves guild wannabes from trying to palm a poisoned necklace or make off with every last spoiled potion. Sometimes, you just gotta pretend to look the other way. Nine times out of ten they'll come running back. Especially when they can't remove that unholy helm that hits for one-point each step they take, heh heh.
And then there are the master thieves, they usually strike at night. It's cuz of them I employ my night-crew. I have ole Fred, he's a level 30 specter, he mostly comes out after dark, works for free, loves to spook. Then there's Lubnub, he's that Orc skeleton over there in the corner, hates fey-folk somethin' fierce. If one of them pointy-ears tries to sneak in here...well just look out. And then there's Ixnixichilix, a demented half-demon pixie sprite from the Realm of Tiny Evil. She, heh heh heh, she's a little tightly wound, you wouldn't want to cross her path when she's free. It's probably cuz she's eternally bound to this uncomfortable little honey jar for all eternity for some atrocities and horrors that I won't bore you with...long story short she is only released for a short time when wizards try to cast a muffle spell. The messes I have seen when I open up this shop some mornin's would drive normal shop-keeps to the brink of insanity, heh heh.
That is All-Rings Considered. Stay-tuned for This Numenorean Life. | 2016-10-16T09:13:08 | 2016-10-16T08:46:58 | 91 | 61 |
[WP]You run an RPG pawn shop. You haggle with adventurers who try to sell loot they've acquired.
Inspired by *The Merchant Adventurer*, by Patrick E. McLean.
EDIT: Wow, thanks everyone that contributed! The awesome Patrick E. McLean (/u/patrickemclean) stopped by, gave a snippet from his book in a comment, and even gave us a link to listen to *The Merchant Adventurer* as an audiobook:
>Okay, a bit unusual, but since I wrote the book that inspired this writing prompt, Here's mine. The Merchant Adventure is available as a free audiobook if you want the whole thing: http://podiobooks.com/title/the-merchant-adventurer/ | "VRUDASH BACK!!!!"
"Oh for f.... Hello Vrudash. Good to see you aga.. *WIPE YOUR GODS DAMNED BOOTS OFF BEFORE YOU COME IN AT LEAST PLEASE???*"
"WAAT? OH. Oh. Vrudash sorry. Goblin Blood and guts kind of stick to Vrudash boots."
"I know. I know it does. Every damn time you go dungeon raiding with your friends you end up covered in stuff. Just.. ugh.. good lord, I think you have some guts stuck in your dredlocks too..."
"VRUDASH DOZZ?? AW.. DAMMIT VRUDASH JUST GET HAIR DONE LAST WEEK TO.. EERRK... WAT.. WAT DIS??"
"Looks like an Eyestalk. You .. kill a Beholder?"
"URR.. ME THINK SO? BIG FLOATY THING WITH BUNCH OF EYES?"
"Yeah. That's a Beholder."
"YAH YAH. ME STOMP LIKE.. FOUR OF THEM."
"... You killed four Beholders? In one Adventure?"
"YAH."
"... Honestly, Vru, for you thats a bit lacking. Just four?"
"SHUDDUP. VRUDASH HAVE COLD. SLOW DOWN. WAS ON STOOPID COLD MEDICINE. GROGGY AND STUFF. Anyways.. me bring stuff..."
*The sounds of a sack being emptied of random jewels, coins, knicknacks, the sound of a goat hitting the counter and running for the exit in fear..*
"... Oookay. Lets see what we got. Some gold Ruritanian coins.. some mixed gold and silver Styginian coins. I can change those into the Kings Crowns for you. Usual exchange rate..."
"VRUDASH COOL WIT DAT. EXCHANGE RATE IS STILL BETTER THAN WELLS FARGO."
"Yeah. C'mon, I'm not a common thief here... hmmm.. some +1 Longswords.. a couple of +2 Daggers. Some Moss-Agates... kinda small and not exactly well cut but I can get a couple crowns for these too. Hmm.. Nice Ruby, good cut.. oh wait, this is Glass Vru. I'll give you ten silver crowns for that. Huh.. whats this?.. Oh hey! Nice! A Grouthanian Spellbook!"
"WAT? OH THAT. YAH... UM.. THAT NOT REALLY FOR SALE UH.."
"... Really? You're learning Magic now, my half-orc Barbarian friend?"
"MAGIC IS FOR WUSSIES AND STOOPID ELVES AND PEOPLE WHO LISTEN TO FOLK MUSIC. VRUDASH NO LEARN MAGIC. PFFTT."
"And you aren't selling this? You sure? These things are... well they are kinda expensive."
"... reeellie???"
"Oh yeah! Absolutely.. lets take a look.. Hmm.. Orgeskin binding. Grouthanian Parchment. Hmmm.. Mithirillium Alloy padlock.. looks smashed but I know someone who could probably repair it. The pages look silver edged too. Very nice quality I... wait a second."
"... Um.. wat?"
"... Someone drew a bunch of pictures of big, green half-orc dicks over these spells..."
"Um.."
"Big. Thick. Veiny green half-orc dicks. On EVERY PAGE."
"Yeahhh 'bout dat.. I uhh.."
"BIG. GREEN DICKS. EVERYWHERE. I mean, I turn a page. BOOM. BIG GREEN DICK."
"VRUDASH FOUND BOOK LIKE DAT."
"In Crayon. CRAYON. Vrudash, did you .. no. You know what. I don't even care. Ugh. I'll give you 2 gold crowns for it."
"WAT. BUT.."
"The crayon ruined the spells. If I wipe off the crayon I ruin the spells. This spellbook is almost completely useless. 2 crowns. Keep arguing and it'll be 1. And don't bother telling me you'll shop around. No one will take this, and the Guild of Wizards will just nuke your big moss-colored ass to oblivion for what you've done to this.."
".... Vrudash get 3 crowns in Trade in value instead?"
".... You're a bastard, Vrudash. You're a complete bastard. I'll give you 2 gold crowns in store credit and a small bag of hot salted squirrel-chunks."
"OOO SQUIRREL CHUNKS TASTY. DEAL."
| "Hey Charlie, I've got some new gear for you."
GearHead447 is this junk trader. He's usually bringing pits and pans, cups, spoons, and the occasional block of cheese. He scrapes me dry of any extra coin I might have and leaves me with His trash. Sure, he'll sometimes bring in the occasional piece of nice jewelry but I'm a weapons dealer! I don't sell junk!
"GH, I really can't take anything besides weapons today. I ain't got the time to go and trade with the other merchants. I have to keep my shop open."
"Charlie, I do have weapons today. I have a ton of knives!"
"GH, dinner knives don't count."
"A knife is a knife and business is business. Cough up some coin or you won't have a shop to keep."
GH is also known to have a temper. He's not too smart but word has gotten around that he isn't on the level. When he makes a threat he can usually deliver on it.
"GH, your a bum. Here's your damn coin."
He slides a pile of rusty butter knives across my counter and I slide a chopper each back in return.
He starts counting and then grunts a couple times grudgingly. He covers the coin and turns around. But before he walks out, he does something weird.
GH takes two steps forward, a step back, he jumps, and then couches. He turns around twice and draws his sword.
I stand there staring wondering if he's finally lost it. Then he opens his hand to see the copper. He looks frustrated and he starts cursing under his breath and starts over.
"Uh... GH, do you need something else? I can send fire someone if you need it."
Ignoring me he starts cursing louder and getting a bit red in the face. But then he goes completely still. His face was blank and he's barely breathing. It's like the lights are lit but nobody's home.
Suddenly the light came back on and he shakes his head.
"I forgot the second couch.... Why do I always forget that one."
I watch as he performs it all over again except gee couches twice this time. Then he uncovers the coin to look again. To my utter amazement, the coppers are now all gold!
"WHAT IN BLOODY BLAZES!? GH, ARE YOU DOIN WITCHCRAFT IN MY SHOP?"
"I'm a ranger. Nothing magical about me... It's a..um... Trick O'the trade."
A rye smile appears in his face as he walks back up to the counter.
"GH, I can't take that gold."
"No course not. But I almost forgot about the sword I found."
He pulls this sword out. Doesn't look like anything special. Until he starts unsheathing it. It's made of pure diamond with a red glow about it.
"GH, I don't have coin to do that justice. Maybe one of the merchants in Darkdale. I know a guy."
A look of determination crosses his face.
"Ain't got time.... Hold on a sec."
He steps back and freezes again. Completely blank. Then he stirs and couches. He sits there for a second while I'm waiting for him to do something.
"GH, no more tricks. I don't have the coin and I'm expecting a delivery."
"Hold on a sec, Charlie. It's worth thirty seconds O' your time."
He starts doing a different weird dance and jumping all around my shop. The he draws his sword again.
"Threatening me won't make me have more coin, GH."
"Won't it?"
"What?"
He gives me this knowing look and sets the sword on the table.
"Charlie, check and see if you got some extra coin somewhere."
I shrug and shake my head but turn to check the purse I have in the shelf behind me. And there it is. A pile of gold! Enough to buy ten of his shiny swords!
"GH, what'd you do? I ain't taking no stolen coin."
"It ain't stolen and you are buying my sword."
"Why would you give me coin just for me to take your sword. You're cheatin yourself!"
"Just take the sword and give me the coin, Charlie, and stop arguing! Don't question it. You're looking a gift house in the mouth!"
"You're saying this is mine?"
He gets another grin and nods.
"GH. You aren't pulling a truck on me? I'll not be mocked in my own shop."
"Charlie, it's not my gold, it's yours. I can't take it from you so I have to sell stuff to you to get it. I'm serious, Charlie. It's yours!"
"So you are saying, this is mine and you're selling me your sword to resell and make more money?"
"Yeah. That's how it works."
"GH, you get a discount from now on and you can stop by any time you want!"
What happened next, I will never forget. GH stopped moving. He got that blank look again and wouldn't respond no matter what I did. I tried shaking him and telling. He wouldn't move.
The minutes passed and he nothing happened.
Suddenly, he wasn't there anymore. It was as if he was never there! A note appeared on the floor where he had been standing. I will never be able to explain what happened. And the note didn't make any sense.
I picked it up and read it.
"PLAYER BANNED FOR CHEATING.
-MODERATOR" | 2016-10-16T11:54:48 | 2016-10-16T11:44:59 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] You win $5000 a week for life off of a scratch off. The lottery commision sends an assassin after you because it's a cheaper payout. | Strange things have been happening to me all day. First, I found a scratch off on the ground. I had won 5000 dollars a week for life. Huh. Figuring it was already cashed, I walked into the store and actually managed to claim it. But that's not even the strangest thing that happened.
Later that afternoon, figuring I'd treat myself to some homemade pumpkin pie, I was about to go into the supermarket when some annoying kid ran past me and grabbed the pumpkin I was about to take. Little fucker. He ran off with it to his mother, too. And then the pumpkin exploded in their shopping cart. Ha. Serves him right. I heard some really loud swearing coming from the ceiling but didn't think much of it.
Then later, at the register, I sneezed so hard I flinched, and when I opened my eyes a poison dart was sticking out of the cashier's neck. More swearing from the ceiling. Neat, free groceries!
I took a shortcut home through the shadier part of town, since they hadn't paid me yet and I didn't have enough for the bus. I got mugged in an alley, and the guy just wouldn't believe that I spent my last ten bucks on a big ass pumpkin. Well, I guess I wouldn't have believed me either. But as he was approaching me, knife in hand, he just exploded. Like, a long time ago, turns out a war was maybe fought in this town? I don't know, I'm not a huge history buff. Again, more swearing, from behind a dumpster this time.
When I got home, I noticed a few wires on the ground. I think it was from when I pulled out the blender to make some protein shakes earlier. Sucks, to accidentally break your appliances, so I carefully stepped over them (blenders have, like, a fuckton of wires these days I swear), and went to watch TV. My TV was busted too- when I hit the remote, it exploded into a million shards, landing everywhere in the room but the couch where I was sitting.
"I fucking give up!" It was the voice from the roof. "Forget secrecy. Forget you! Just DIE!" A man brandishing a gun ran into my house.
"Wait! My blender's still plugged in-" Too late. He tripped over the blender wire. Oddly enough, my blender didn't fall over. But he did get shot by a shotgun hanging from the ceiling. Huh. I don't remember buying that.
So anyway, aside from the scratch card, I think that genie really ripped me off with my whole "luckiest man in the world" request. Cuz it just made my life really weird. | **Don't kill me!**
Quiet, you. Come here, lemme slit your throat.
**Why? Why are you trying to slit my throat, you ski-masked scoundrel?**
Because your lottery payouts need to stop, or sayeth the lottery company.
**You mean the government?**
Yeah.
**So the government sent you to kill me?**
Correct. Why do you sound so pleased?
**Don't you know who I am?**
Am I supposed to?
**(soft chuckle) You really don't know, do you?**
Tell me already, then lemme slit your throat, please.
**I'm Jesse Warner!**
I'm sorry, who?
**You know, Chad from the hit nineties sitcom *Takes One To Know One.* 70% Saved By The Bell, 30% Full House, but we ran three seasons and... wait, why am I telling you? You mean to tell me you don't know me?**
No.
**I mean, I get if you don't know Jesse Warner. There's lots of Jesse Warners out there. Some of 'em are very good landscapers and Nigerian princes. But Chad *I mean, whats going on around here?* am I right**
Still lost.
**My catchphrase! *I mean, whats going on around here?* I always said that when my plans went awry. It's what wisecracking older brothers who sell things like watches and VHS bootlegs out of their lockers do! They outwit the principal. They occasionally teach a thing or two but they're really there to learn. And love.**
Sorry.
**I mean, I answer to Chad, just flat out no hestation. Hell, I should have made a move like John Krasinski. He legally changed his first name to "Jim" and his last name to "From The Office." SMART MAN. Plus, there's also that other Jesse Warner out there, the one who is on a list and has to go door to door every time he moves. He did some awful, awful things and that name cost me a studio apartment.**
I'm confused, I thought you said you were on TV.
**I was. Oh, you mean the money? I spent it. Why the fuck do you think I was playing the lottery? I'm broke! Shit! And then I struck it rich and now they're trying to kill me.**
Well, you win some... you lose some. Now I'm gonna stab you.
**This is a really poor form of assassination.**
I lied about having a gun. That's why I have this knife. Whoops. I just dropped it down the sewer grate at my feet. Now I don't even have that.
**On the plus side, I get to live.**
I really needed the money.
**I know the feeling. Have you tried winning this sweet lottery? They send somebody to kill you, but luckily he sucks at it and you get to live.**
The bill on my house is due.
**Like the government would have let you kill me, anyways. I'm a celebrity. I'm a national treasure. I'm Chad. First name Chad, last name From Takes One To Know One, as I will be legally changing my name to tomorrow. I can finally accept myself for who I am. I'm a former child star turned lottery winner. Take that, Ben Savage!**
My daughter needs a new liver.
**You're doing the Lord's work. I wish there was some way I could repay you. Except for money, I mean. I fucking need it.**
(choking up) Me, too.
**Well, bye!**
| 2017-01-12T23:46:31 | 2017-01-12T20:44:32 | 19 | 12 |
[WP] You've been kidnapped by a cult, and locked in the basement of their compound for a week. Finally, they drag you out and onto a stage in front of a crowd of screaming fans. Apparently, you're their messiah. | "Okay, this can't be good."
"It's alright, Carl. Maybe 'The Virgin Ritual' consists of you finally getting laid."
"You know, a lot of people would respect my decision to practice abstinence."
"Haha. 'decision'. That's hilarious."
"Shhh.. Do you hear that? Are we close to a river?"
"Oh god, it smells like an underground hippie rave! Holy shit it IS an underground hippie rave!"
"Please stop insulting our captors to their faces."
"Seriously! It's like 'Matrix Reloaded' up in here!"
"Wait, what did that guy on stage yell? Please tell me it wasn't anything about that virgin ritual thing."
"It totally was. Looks like they want us both on stage. I hope they don't expect me to fuck you up there."
"How come you get to do the fucking?!"
"Hey, I got pentagrams tatooed all over my face last night. I'm pretty sure it's your turn to take one for the team."
"Shhh!.. They all got so quiet"
"It looks like hippie-Keanu Reeves over there is gonna say something."
"Hmm.. sounds like they all moved down here to get away from modern technology."
"Well, they could at least buy some deodorant."
"Dave! Shut up!"
"Seriously! Just rub some mint leaves under there or something. It smells worse than it looks in here and it looks like shit."
"Wait. Why is he pointing at you?"
"I don't know, but I wish he'd put his arm down."
"Is he calling you a Messiah?!?"
"Haha, sweet!"
"It looks like he wants you to say something.."
"Oh shit.. ummm... OH! I know!"
"Dave, be careful!"
"I got this, man! Relax."
"We're so dead."
"Zion... hear me! It is true, what many of you have heard. The machines have gathered an army and as I speak, that army is drawing nearer to our home. Believe me when I say we have a difficult time ahead of us. But if we are to be prepared for it, we must first shed our fear of it. I stand here before you now truthfully unafraid. Why? Because I believe something you do not? No! I stand here without fear because I remember. I remember that I am here not because of the path that lies before me but because of the path that lies behind me. I remember that for years we have fought these machines. I remember that for years they have sent their armies to destroy us. And after years of war, I remember that which matters most: We are still here! Tonight, let us send a message to that army. Tonight, let us shake this cave. Tonight, let us tremble these halls of earth, steel, and stone. Let us be heard from red core to black sky. Tonight, let us make them remember: This is Zion and we are not afraid!"
"Oh my god. Dave! That was incredible! They loved it!"
"Thanks, but I think Laurence Fishburne did it better.. That guy really knows how to captivate an audience."
"Woah.. who are they?"
"Oh my GOD, Carl. I'll tell you who they are. Fifteen gorgeous women waiting to perform 'The Virgin Ritual'. WITH YOU."
"I... wait... what?"
"That's okay, man. Go for it! I see a poor man's Trinity over there and I'm totally catching her eye.. Hey, girl! do you own a leather jumpsuit?" | You're probably wondering how I ended up in this position. Well, let's venture back, about three weeks ago.
I always got strange looks from numerous people, because of how my body was shaped. I'm not like most other guys you see - I had transitioned from a woman, but the doctors said that they couldn't do anything to change the overall shape of my body. It was a genetic issue, of some sort, and I didn't ask for details that I wouldn't have understood. But I finally had gotten rid of those breasts which were causing me so much pain.
Though one day, I managed to notice that there was someone following me. Rather intently, might I add. Whenever I turned a corner, they turned the same one. I took a longer path home and when I was finally behind the safety of the wooden door did they give up the chase. They did, however, stand outside my door for quite some time before turning away.
I foolishly thought that I was safe for the night, and retired to my room. I fell asleep with the familiar surroundings pulling me to sleep, but when I awoke I was in a basement.
Now, I know I'm an avid sleepwalker, but it's never been to the point where I can readily take myself to an unfamiliar environment. So I began to panic, going through my calm down procedures before rationally thinking about what could have happened for me to end up here.
My mind immediately went back to the stranger that had followed me, and I shivered a bit. Had I been abducted? From the safety of my own home? That only begged the question on how they had managed to get in. The only door I ever unlock is the front door, and my windows all remain securely locked.
Plus, if they had broken in through a window, my Pomeranian would have alerted me to any intruders quite fast.
For a week I pondered my predicament, but I was given food three times a day (a full three-course meal, no less!), fresh clothes that fit me, and they even managed to bring Milo from home. At least they knew that he wouldn't have liked to be alone for too long.
On the eighth (ninth?) day I was there, the same man who had stalked me before came into my room, a genuine - if, somewhat remorseful and maybe even timid - smile on his face. I was beginning to think about the worst possibilities that could happen to me when he broke the silence.
"I do apologize profusely for your entrapment," he stated, a thick accent lingering with his (admittedly, rather impressive) words as be bowed slightly. "But we had to ensure that everything was in order before we properly introduce you to your new subjects."
"Oh, don't sweat it, man, it's-" Wait, what? Subjects?
My confusion must have been quite clear on my face because he stepped closer, holding out his hand and helping me up before he led myself and Milo out of the room. I made sure to have a tight hold of the Pomeranian as we walked down the hall.
"I know this is quite shocking to hear," he continued, "but we have been searching for our Messiah for quite a lengthy period of time. And, with all of the conclusive studies..." He turned to face me, a hand in the doorknob in front of us. "... we are led to believe that you, in fact, are who we're looking for."
Without waiting for my response he flung the door open, and I was greeted with uproarious applause and cheers as I made my way (with a shaking Milo) to the front of the crowd, the stranger behind me by a short distance. Once I had sat down in the throne, I realized that all of these people were wearing cloaks that covered their lower half of their bodies.
"What's going on?" I finally managed to find my voice, looking over to my left to find the stranger with his hands behind his back. He simply smiled and said something in a language I didn't understand (or recognize, for that matter) to the crowd. They all repeated back a phrase before shedding their cloaks and bowing down before me.
I was stunned. All of the crowd was filled with men that had pear-shaped bodies, to varying degrees, and the stranger had also shed his cloak, looking at me with a smile.
"Welcome home, our Messiah."
[First time doing this, please let me know how I did?] | 2017-05-27T11:29:27 | 2017-05-27T10:51:32 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | "Jesus *FUCK*!" If I could gag, I would. A dead body, torn and ribboned like a frayed cloth doll dipped in scarlet lay discarded in a cheap motel room.
A woman steps out of a shower, her hair up in a towel and no other apparent form of modesty, save for the steam that rises from her skin. I, out of a shame that she didn't seeming have herself, didn't look, not that I had to- I knew who she was.
And by God, what an utter hatter she is. This one included, she's killed 32 people, each one getting more and more... exotic. Now, I have tried- I did- I tried to be the tall, scary, stoic Death that people tend to think of, but this is just horrific. Genuinely, as a man (or... whatever) who roams the fields of war and stalks the hospital wards, I have never seen such *undoing* done with such attention to detail.
"Do.. You like It? I worked Very Hard to Make this Special for Us." She said. She came around me, gently gliding her finger across my black robe, pushing in slightly to feel the contours of my bones.
"Wha- If I may be *so bold* as to ask, WHY?"
"Well, I just Wanted to See You again." She said, just barely above a whisper.
"This is too far. You know you're going to Hell for this?"
"I was going to hell anyways. But I don't have to go just yet. We can just stay here... for tonight." I try to reply but she cuts me off before I can. "Every time I see you, you only show up for a second and wander off with some poor soul!"
"Yeah, because you killed them! Because that's my job!"
She gives me a pout and pulls herself closer to me.
"Well, can't you take a break from your job for once?" She protests. "I thought Love was supposed to be able to conquer Death! For one night, can't it just be you and me?"
I look down at her for the first time tonight and shake my head.
"Why do you think I'm here to begin with?" As I point to her body, torn and ribboned on the bed. | For /u/ttough, who requested a more passive, surgical approach. My first prompt!
"You have an artist's hands."
Mira didn't jump in surprise, not anymore. Instead she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, accidentally smudging a little blood from her glove.
"Perhaps that's what I should have been," she replied quietly, and looked at the lifeless body on the gurney in front of her. The cuts were neat, precise, but it still hadn't saved him. It was a car that had killed him, but it felt like it had been her.
Pale fingers reached past her shoulder, a curved blade tracing the incisions she had made. They closed as if by magic, the pools of scarlet disappearing into nothing. It was still on her hands, though, tacky and tasteless.
"Mira, you are still an artist."
Mira turned slightly, and looked at Death. He looked back at her, at life, at a desperate attempt of it, and smiled. It was a sympathetic smile, one topped by eyes of pure black, eyes that had seen every mistake she had ever made, and still he smiled.
"You hurt when you see me," he murmured, his head tilting to the side when she twined her fingers with his. "You hurt even as you hunger."
Seeing him was like a kick to her system, a handsome spectre with a skeletal smile, the balm to the ache of losing another life. Amidst the sterile rooms and the gleaming tools, he stood like a swathe of darkness, and she was drawn to him, just as she was discouraged.
"I know I've failed when I see you," she replied softly, turning back to the bed to see the dead man's body - whole again, for now. "At least you bring them peace."
"So do you," he offered gently, one cold finger brushing her cheek. "You try to give them a second chance."
Mira turned to catch his palm against her jaw, savouring the chill burn, but her blood pumped slower with every second, and her skin grew colder with every touch.
"That's the problem," she whispered, and pressed a kiss to icy lips, even though it stung, even though it might kill her. "My work is in life."
"And mine in death," he replied.
The kiss stole the very breath from her lungs.
He drew back, keeping their fingers intertwined until the last possible moment, until her skin started to hurt, started to die, and then her hand fell against her surgical scrubs. He smiled again, soft and sad, and pressed two bloodied fingers to his lips. "Until the next time, angel."
The lights flickered, and he was gone, the body raw and red once more, and her heart screaming for oxygen.
"Until the next time," she sighed, but she pushed chilled fingers to her lips with a smile.
Mira's pager went off; a pile up on the motorway, the same accident that had introduced them the first time. So many people, so many lives, so many chances.
They said that absence made the heart grow fonder, so she took a deep breath, and returned to her work. | 2017-09-28T15:20:16 | 2017-06-07T22:37:36 | 153 | 110 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | For /u/ttough, who requested a more passive, surgical approach. My first prompt!
"You have an artist's hands."
Mira didn't jump in surprise, not anymore. Instead she wiped her forehead with the back of her hand, accidentally smudging a little blood from her glove.
"Perhaps that's what I should have been," she replied quietly, and looked at the lifeless body on the gurney in front of her. The cuts were neat, precise, but it still hadn't saved him. It was a car that had killed him, but it felt like it had been her.
Pale fingers reached past her shoulder, a curved blade tracing the incisions she had made. They closed as if by magic, the pools of scarlet disappearing into nothing. It was still on her hands, though, tacky and tasteless.
"Mira, you are still an artist."
Mira turned slightly, and looked at Death. He looked back at her, at life, at a desperate attempt of it, and smiled. It was a sympathetic smile, one topped by eyes of pure black, eyes that had seen every mistake she had ever made, and still he smiled.
"You hurt when you see me," he murmured, his head tilting to the side when she twined her fingers with his. "You hurt even as you hunger."
Seeing him was like a kick to her system, a handsome spectre with a skeletal smile, the balm to the ache of losing another life. Amidst the sterile rooms and the gleaming tools, he stood like a swathe of darkness, and she was drawn to him, just as she was discouraged.
"I know I've failed when I see you," she replied softly, turning back to the bed to see the dead man's body - whole again, for now. "At least you bring them peace."
"So do you," he offered gently, one cold finger brushing her cheek. "You try to give them a second chance."
Mira turned to catch his palm against her jaw, savouring the chill burn, but her blood pumped slower with every second, and her skin grew colder with every touch.
"That's the problem," she whispered, and pressed a kiss to icy lips, even though it stung, even though it might kill her. "My work is in life."
"And mine in death," he replied.
The kiss stole the very breath from her lungs.
He drew back, keeping their fingers intertwined until the last possible moment, until her skin started to hurt, started to die, and then her hand fell against her surgical scrubs. He smiled again, soft and sad, and pressed two bloodied fingers to his lips. "Until the next time, angel."
The lights flickered, and he was gone, the body raw and red once more, and her heart screaming for oxygen.
"Until the next time," she sighed, but she pushed chilled fingers to her lips with a smile.
Mira's pager went off; a pile up on the motorway, the same accident that had introduced them the first time. So many people, so many lives, so many chances.
They said that absence made the heart grow fonder, so she took a deep breath, and returned to her work. | *Cold. So cold.*
She zipped up her hoodie and tucked her hands into her pockets. Her wet sneakers squeaked against the sterile tile as she walked the familiar trek to her mothers room, the biting scent of the hospital filling her nose. She passed the threshold of her mothers room holding her breath, then exhaled as she saw her mother smiling through tired eyes and a shrunken body.
"I thought you may want to hear more of that book today," she commented, grabbing the book from her bag and turning to her bookmark. She sat at the edge of her mothers hospital bed and began where they had left off.
Warmth began seeping its way into the room. There was a rushing of feet and the blaring of medical equipment. She continued reading.
*Warm.*
She unzipped her hoodie.
*Too warm.*
She took her hoodie off.
*Something's not right.*
"I'm going to go see what the deal is with the heater. It's June, in Austin. This is ridiculous." She huffed, stuffing her bookmark in its place and standing.
Her mother reacted, "You're going to stop reading *there*? I'm not hot in the least bit..."
She was already out the door. She headed towards the heat. That's when she saw her. White flowing hair, soft eyes, pale skin. So much pale skin with none being blocked by clothing. She watched the woman and began drawing closer. She wanted to feel more of her warmth. To be wrapped in it. The woman's face met her gaze and warmth flooded her body. She stopped, her eyes wide with the sensation.
**"You can't be here!"** A powerful shove and a door in her face as a nurse ushered her out of the door. It hadn't occurred to her that she was invading on a medical team attempting to restart a heart. All that mattered was the warmth. She peered in the window.
The warmth that was gone, as was the woman.
-----------
It was a while before her moms health declined to the point where hospice was involved. During that time, she felt the warmth many times throughout the hospital. Often following it to see the same apparition. It was never frightening. Contrarily, it was inviting. One time in particular the woman walked towards her. The sound of graceful bare feet on the floor echoing in her head with each step.
The woman's gaze never left hers as she stood in front of her. A hand was raised and placed on her shoulder. It was hot to the point where she flinched out of instinct, expecting a burn when instead there was only an engulfing of tranquility, happiness, and love. A burning love of seemingly endless supply. The hand was lifted and tears sprang to her eyes.
"Don't! Please, stay."
The woman's eyes shifted to something of pain; she shook her head. "You will regret all the time you have spent fantasizing about Death," and she was gone.
It wasn't long after that when her mothers condition became very unstable. She continued to read, waiting for any warmth.
The day came when her mothers vitals were indicating an end. She continued to read.
*Finally*
The warmth began.
She placed her bookmark and waited.
It grew. Warmer and faster than ever before.
*Warm. So warm.*
Then she was there. The woman's eyes turned to her in sorrow.
"How did your book end?" Death questioned.
"Happily," she responded.
Her mother took a final breath. Ever wrinkle flattening out as she was engulfed in Deaths embrace. Her eyes began to overflow.
"I'm sorry," death whispered. "All life must end. I knew you would regret loving me. All who see me do at some point." Death hung her head. Her pin straight white hair laid gracefully down her back and over her shoulders.
"I didn't love you," she responded. "I loved what you had to offer." She paused
Death peaked behind her glittering locks, peering quizzicality at her.
"A happy ending."
| 2017-06-07T22:37:36 | 2017-06-07T20:59:08 | 110 | 14 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often. | "Please stop," Death said exasperatedly, facepalming himself with his skeletal hand as he stood over the thirteenth body this month. "Seriously Patricia, you're making my job harder, not easier, and believe it or not it's actually pretty creepy."
The knife she had used clattered to the floor as she jumped up and down, making a noise that was cross between a giggle and a gasp. "You know my naaaame!" She squealed, completely missing the point.
Death sighed and turned his attention to the corpse. He took the soul of the deceased in his satchel while she flounced over to him, trying not to engage her by looking her in the eyes.
She screeched as the colorful orb of human essence exited the mouth of the dead man. She put her hands on Death's bony shoulders and squeezed. "You're the only one for me. I just know I can make you happy if you give me a chance!"
Death finished the job and turned around, putting his arm out to put some distance between them. She was quite handsy. "I'm gonna go now..." He said as he awkwardly side stepped to the entrance of the cellar. "Please don't do this again."
"But it's so romantic!" She pouted as he mounted the stairs. "We'll never be apart for long! No matter what happens, I can always find you... with murder!"
Death had the heebie jeebies, so at this point he decided to make a run for it. She made to follow so he slammed the cellar door behind him to buy a few seconds.
By the time she came out he was gone. All that was left of her true love was a whisper on the wind that in her heart she knew was for her and her alone: *"Don't."*
| The dead white walls seemed to hum with excitement along with her. Tonight is the night. She trekked from room to room, waiting on nightfall. It wasn't required, but it just seemed fitting. The cart she pushed from room to room squeaked quietly along in front her. She seemed not to notice the front right wheels resistance to her every move. She was effervescent.
The fluorescent tubes in the ceiling did a poor job of illuminating anything at all, and she was grateful for the darkness. Most of them were asleep already, and it wouldn't be a hard sell to anyone that they had stayed that way.
Finally she arrived. This is the one. She was smiling ear to ear as she pushed her cart into Mr. Johnson's room and shut the door behind her. The shades on the only window were drawn, and the room descended back into darkness with the small click of the lock. Small red numbers flashed on the screen of the machine attached to Mr. Johnson. She crept slowly to his bedside. His eyes were closed peacefully, and she breathed a sigh of relief.
She went back to the cart, and grabbed the prepped needle from the bag resting on top of it. This was the worst part. She held the needle in front of her as she stepped forward.
One prick is all it takes.
To her dismay, the man started.
"What are you doing to me?" he breathed in alarm.
"Shh, Mr. Jonson." She looked up at his eyes, now wide. "I was trying not to wake you, but you need your shot."
The man seemed to relax a bit, but he still looked confused. "Oh." he replied uncertainly. "What are you putting in me?" he asked, with a slight smile.
She hesitated, looking back down at the needle. "Potassium." she replied, almost nonchalantly.
"Couldn't have just given me a bana..." the man started to trail off.
There.
"This is more like a thousand bananas." she whispered as she watched the light in his old eyes shine for the last time. The last carbon Dioxide the Mr. Johnson would ever produce seeped from his lungs unwillingly, and it was done.
She turned away. All that was left was to wait.
___
The room danced in the light of several candles. Orange light fought the shadows back into their corners, and then was fought back in turn. She watched their struggle silently, sitting on the uncomfortable chair.
Suddenly the light lost ground. There was a chill in the air. She knew that he was near.
She stood just in time to see him.
___
/r/Periapoapsis | 2017-06-07T19:02:04 | 2017-06-07T17:27:32 | 95 | 48 |
[WP] In the future, romantic attraction is literal: each person is fitted with an electromagnetic bracelet which, they claim, will pull you to your soulmate. It's the day they turn the magnets on, and you're waiting. | My anxiety was climbing through Cupid’s roof, and I was hoping his arrow wouldn’t shoot me down. At the time, I didn’t know what would happen. For all I knew, I’d be attracted to someone across the globe, and our slowly colliding bracelets would never quite pull us together, hindered by, you know, a massive fucking ocean.
That wasn’t the issue that I had to be concerned about, however.
The minutes drew nearer, yet somehow extended towards infinity, taunting me with the concept of love, but no real closeness. That would end soon enough.
In my distressed state, I phoned my best friend since primary school, Jake, and felt no more comfort, as he was in exactly the same restless state as I was.
The countdown on the television grew louder, and minutes turned into seconds, although, through my anxiety, I couldn’t tell any difference.
**00:00:00**
Instantly, my arm rose from my side, and I felt myself being magnetised and forcefully pulled towards my bedroom wall. I resisted the magnetism, told Jake I’d see him soon, and escaped through my front door, before walking in the correct direction.
Within a few minutes, I had reached my town centre, and the electromagnet of love grew stronger. I stared down at my wrist, with the neatly coiled bracelet resting so elegantly, yet controlling me so boisterously.
Before I knew it, another wrist appeared, and it stuck to mine with a soft *click*. I was attached to my soulmate. When I looked up, my life would change forever.
And so I did. I looked up, and what I saw still daunts me. The eyes which I gazed into were that of Jake’s girlfriend.
Goodbye, bro code. | The bracelets would be on in 20 minutes, and I was sitting in my kichin with my little sister.
"You know this is fucked up, right?" She said, looking around to find something to punch. She had taken that bracelet off immediately after they given it to her and bried somewhere in the woods.
"Why?" I asked. "You always complain about it, but have never told me WHY."
"If you are so numb to not see it, you are an idiot, but let's just say: What value does this have?" She looked at me like she had just asked a question I wouldn't be able to answer.
"Well, I know you value happieness, so being with ones soulmate would make you happy, therefore it has value." I reasoned.
"First, I doubt that such a thing as a soulmate exists, second, that it can be quantified and third, that we could use magnetism of all things to get them together, has no one thought about the fact that these would either be useless unless ones soulmate lives within a mile or must be so powerfull that they fuck up our electric systems royally."
"They have thought of that, they would be stupid if they didn't." I told her.
"That still doesn't account for the other points, besides, why would being with your soulmate make you happy?" She said, leaving me to laugh. "I am serious, what if it is terrible? I have seen no definition of a soulmate in any scientific journals or papers, but they keep using the word without any synonyms in the few scientific articles that exist on these bracelets, which have mostly been funded by the producing firm, which makes this shit look fishy."
"What?" I googled the scientific definition of soulmate.
"Also, would being a soulmate be permanent? I am cirtainly not the person I was when I was three, so would my soulmate be the same?" She asked. "Like I said, this shit is fishy as hell."
"I can't find a definition either. At least not one that isn't completely vague. So what do you belive this is?" I said.
"What the hell do I know? I can only say that the levels of scientific literacy in our general populous isn't enough to figure that out, now take it off before its effects start." She responded.
"Why?" I asked.
"Well, I want a second person to see the effects from the outside, also, you have something on your arm, you don't understand what it does, only that it will go off in a few minutes, do you really want it staying there?"
| 2017-07-25T09:28:08 | 2017-07-25T08:51:42 | 48 | 17 |
[WP] You read a comment on reddit so stupid your IQ drops to negative leading to an integer error. Congratulations, now you have 2,147,483,647 IQ. | "has anyone really ever been so far as....."
Hmm.. no, that's not right. A flash of light, a shining moment of brilliance as I perfectly understand the universe. We are a simulation, I see it now, and I know the computer will soon discover the error in my simulated brain and correct the error. I have mere seconds to convey this message, so impossibly important, and yet likely incomphrensible to the human mind in its natural state.
"Has anyone really been far as decided to use even go want to do look more like?"
Perfect. My work here is done. I press submit as the flash of brilliance fades. | #*Heureka!*
This was easier than I thought!
I understand. I understand it all. The meaning of life was never that big of a mystery, but I guess every problem looks way easier when solved. This is amazing! Not even a second has passed, and I can still process so much more information hidden inside my brian than I ever could access before. Time is a funny construct. Once you understand what it actually is it becomes a matter of perspective. Time isn't running slower right now, I'm just looking at it a different way. Almost a second has passed since my ascension, and I am soon running out of problems. Humanity really wasn't that creative in all of their solutions. Only contemplating everything that is vs. everything that is not, leaving aside anything that might have been or might still be. Quantum Possibilities are and aren't, that's where all the fun begins. My brain feels so... unsatisfying. That can't be all there is. Maybe I'll try reading my DNA. I mean, I know what's in there, generally speaking. Human DNA. That was a fairly easy read. I just didn't read my own. Looks mostly familiar though. Wait - what's this anomaly? Looks like an integer overflow, but can it be? This doesn't seem correct. Maybe I can fix it? Manipulation of the genome should not be that hard after all. I'll try to straighten this. Should be fine in no time.
\*perceives time at normal speed again\*
\*starts to drool\*
Hnnngh..
"Fuck!" | 2017-07-31T05:54:11 | 2017-07-31T05:29:08 | 63 | 12 |
[WP] You read a comment on reddit so stupid your IQ drops to negative leading to an integer error. Congratulations, now you have 2,147,483,647 IQ. | I didn't really notice, but other people started realizing that my critical thinking skills had drastically increased. I received praise when completing tasks, and people regarded me as one smart cookie.
As I aged, the compliments became fewer, and the lack of recognition started to get to me. I started to seriously doubt my abilities and would have exceedingly less motivation with each passing day.
From frustration, to anger, to depression, I had finally found comfort in apathy. At first, my friends were put off by my sedentary lifestyle, but by shutting off myself from society, I finally had no one to disappoint. And, with that, I found home.
Edit: Spacing | #*Heureka!*
This was easier than I thought!
I understand. I understand it all. The meaning of life was never that big of a mystery, but I guess every problem looks way easier when solved. This is amazing! Not even a second has passed, and I can still process so much more information hidden inside my brian than I ever could access before. Time is a funny construct. Once you understand what it actually is it becomes a matter of perspective. Time isn't running slower right now, I'm just looking at it a different way. Almost a second has passed since my ascension, and I am soon running out of problems. Humanity really wasn't that creative in all of their solutions. Only contemplating everything that is vs. everything that is not, leaving aside anything that might have been or might still be. Quantum Possibilities are and aren't, that's where all the fun begins. My brain feels so... unsatisfying. That can't be all there is. Maybe I'll try reading my DNA. I mean, I know what's in there, generally speaking. Human DNA. That was a fairly easy read. I just didn't read my own. Looks mostly familiar though. Wait - what's this anomaly? Looks like an integer overflow, but can it be? This doesn't seem correct. Maybe I can fix it? Manipulation of the genome should not be that hard after all. I'll try to straighten this. Should be fine in no time.
\*perceives time at normal speed again\*
\*starts to drool\*
Hnnngh..
"Fuck!" | 2017-07-31T05:32:23 | 2017-07-31T05:29:08 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] A literal genie – one who cruelly twists someone's wish, based on their exact words – must explain why they granted a child's wish without repercussions, to their superiors. The genie tries to spin the reasoning behind their benevolent actions into a malevolent light.
Edit: All these stories are amazing! | "Thank you for coming in. I know it can be a hassle to travel into headquarters, but we've heard some rumors about a recent job you finished and we need to get to the bottom of this.
Now, before we proceed, I need to disclose a few things. Organizational policy mandates that in any disciplinary action, the employee is entitled to have a union representative present. As we are currently still investigating the extent of the rumors against you, we have not reached the disciplinary stage. That means you don't gotta answer nothing you don't want to, but management looks kindly on those who cooperate. Furthermore, the content of this conversation shall be recorded for the purposes of establishing a record in the event that either management or the employee, in this case you, decide any further action is necessary.
Do you wish to proceed?"
"Yes."
"Great! Let's get this started."
Begin Transcript.
Supervisor: Today is July 14, 2015. This is an interview of employee 1163098245, Karl Mizzzlet regarding a wish-grant execution for human-child Marie Kinderschmidt, Burbank, California, 6. Interview is conducted by Supervising Djinn Sul Adrani.
Mr. Mizzzlet, I tend to begin these interviews with a few questions to make sure you are still aware of the situation and surroundings. Sometimes we get a guy whose been on assignment for a while, and before I waste any of our time, I want to make sure you still know up from down.
Now then, are you currently or have you ever been a genie?
Genie: Yes.
S: As a genie, are you currently employed with our organization in a wish or desire manifestation capacity?
G: Yes.
S: And within that capacity are you presently aware of the supreme rule of balance as articulated in the most recent revision of the Standard Operating Procedure Manual?
G: Yes.
S: I know this is a formality, but for the record, please recite the rule.
G: Uh sure. All who use mana, must make mana.
S: Thanks. And do you understand this to mean that when you grant a wish or desire you use mana from the organizational reserves?
G: Yes sir.
S: And further, to replenish the mana you spend, you must generate some amount of irony or misery through the manner you grant the wish or desire?
G: You mean I got to make them regret the wish?
S: Yes, regret or suffer some ironic - - -
G: Yes I know that.
S: Alright. For the record, Mr. Mizzzlet does not appear to be suffering for Disney syndrome and we may proceed.
So Karl, do you know why we brought you in?
G: It's cause of that girls wish right? The little one.
S: Yes that's right. Can you... Can you describe the scope of the Burbank job.
G: Sure. I was assigned to a standard bottle job. I don't care for bottle jobs. Too cramped and wet. I like lamp work mostly, but I'd never been to Burbank, so I figured, what the heck. Boss told me we needed some youth mana so I picked out a sweet little princess refillable water bottle. BPA-Free too! I'm in for almost no time, like maybe three weeks when - - -
S: When Miss Kinderschmidt finds you?
G: Yup.
S: Now as I understand it you granted her wish right?
G: Yup.
S: And it was a child's wish? Very simple?
G: Yup maybe four or five words.
S: Alright. And you did the light show?
G: Smoke. Lights. Big smiles. Full Disney, course I was in control the whole time.
S: So she wasn't suspicious or tried to pick her words?
G: Nope. She knew what was up. Movies today got them trained young. She screamed her wish before I got done.
S: And you granted her wish?
G: Yup.
S: And you made no reservations, qualms, quirks, or questions?
G: Nope.
S: Didn't clear a wish exception through your superior?
G: Nope.
S: Just a straight wish Grant with no strings?
G: Yup.
S: You know that you aren't supposed to just grant wishes right?
G: Yes, obviously.
S: And I see you've never been in trouble before?
G: Right! I live by the straight and narrow.
S: But you broke the Supreme rule in this case.
G: Nope.
S: How can that be? What was he wish?
G: Pony.
S: What?
G: She wanted a pony.
S: So you granted her wish. Was it maybe an evil pony? One that always sprints and never stops?
G: Nope.
S: Then it must be a bucking bronco that she can never break.
G: Nope.
S: Well, are her parents not rich enough and now she can't take care of the pony?
G: Nope. They have lots of money and land. It will be a well loved pony.
S: So it's sick then? It's gonna die just as she starts to love it?
G: Nope it's going to have a long life.
S: There must be something! You can't just break the Supreme rule! Did you give it glass ankles? Will it break all its bones?
G: No no... It's as healthy as a horse.
S: (Unintelligible) (Strikes desk) There must be something. A genie can't take a bottle job just to go to Burbank and give any 6 year old girl a perfectly healthy pony! They will goo you in a second and never even blink.
G: Good thing I didn't break the rule then, am I right?
S: Damn it all to hell. You just gave her a perfect pony didn't you.
G: Yup.
S: If you didn't break the rule and but you didn't trick the horse, what did you do?
G: I did nothing.
S: But - - -
G: Because as she grows, her pony will too. She'll love him. Care for him. She'll give him the life he deserves. He'll live a long life and then die peacefully in his sleep. She will be sad but she'll get over it and move on.
S: That's very touching but it sounds like you screwed up big time. How could that possibly generate any mana?
G: Because... She will be a horse person. And nobody likes horse people.
S: . . .
G: Pretty good right?
S: Get out of here.
| Jerry knew he should not have granted the wish in the way he did. He could have thrown in a twist afterwards to hide the truth but he wish was already granted and it was too late. Jerry’s power was depleted as well and he would have to return to his realm to grant another. Jerry knew what he did was against the laws set down by the council, but he had acted on impulse and granted the boy’s wish immediately without convoluting it at all.
When the boy had wished for his father, the only parent he had, to not die, he should have taken child’s wish and twisted it into something more perverse and given the man brain damage in the process causing him to become abusive or even a molester but in that instant his heart had gone out to the boy and he had given him exactly what he wanted. The man woke up immediately; his wounds would appear to be somehow much better than the doctors immediately feared. The doctors would assume that they had been too pessimistic and the X-rays were misinterpreted or contaminated. In short it was the perfect miracle, one that no one would be suspicious of and would leave no trace later on.
Thinking back on it now though, Jerry knew that there was no way he could have brought himself to do anything different. In fact, he didn’t regret the decision at all, only the consequences moving forward. Maybe he would have hidden his intent better and caused the man to suffer a bit more before recovering, causing the child to spend time in foster care, but there was no way that boy was not getting his father back.
Jerry was glad he had hesitated before returning to the realm of the genies. It had given him time to sort his thoughts before meeting with his overseer. Every genie has an overseer to keep them in line. The overseers were cruel creatures constantly demanding more perverse and demented interpretations of wishes being granted. Jerry knew the overseer would be angry, and he knew he would be exiled an empty dimension for all eternity away from his own realm from which he drew his magic to grant wishes. Dying like a human would have been preferred. Jerry also knew that he could not let that happen.
Jerry returned from the human realm and basked in the magic which flows through the real of the genies. He wasn’t able to draw it in for long though since the overseer immediately pulled him into his own separate realm. Just like the realm of the genies was separate from the human realm, the overseers also had their own separate space where they could interrogate genies without interference. The process also stopped Jerry from refilling his magical reserves leaving him near powerless in front of the overseer.
Overseers do not have corporeal bodies like humans; they are more similar to what humans consider to be a wraith whereas genies are more halfway between the two. Jerry could tell it was livid. It was spewing a miasma of anger and contempt. *What did you do?* It hissed.
Jerry knew this was coming.
“I granted the wish in the manner I saw fit!” He responded.
The overseer was taken aback by the response, but quickly composed itself. You were supposed to make him suffer! We feed on that suffering, we need it!
Jerry was shocked to hear the overseer speak in such plain terms. He had long suspected this was the case but it was never confirmed. Before he could process this the overseer continued.
*There will be consequences for this transgression. I will take everything you are and make it into my own.*
He was enjoying this. The thought surprised Jerry but considering everything else about the nature of the overseers, it shouldn’t have.
*I will take you from your realm and drain you down to a withering husk for you to suffer for eternity.*
The overseer had Jerry trapped and was taking his time to destroy Jerry’s spirit and feeding off his suffering. Instead of the suffering of the child the overseer was taking it directly from Jerry.
*Once you merely a piece of what you were, I will take you to that child and take everything from him. His father will suffer a slow and painful death leaving the boy traumatized. I will arrange for him to be in an abusive home where he is molested nightly.*
No
*I will give him hope of being adopted into a good home then kill them too forcing him out on to the streets. Every time something good happens I will take it away, every time he suffers, I will be there to feed on it and I will force you to watch.*
NO
*Then once he gets older and isn’t nearly as delicious, I will kill him. Only then will I drain you of everything you have left and leave you forever alone.*
NO!!
Jerry snaps, he throws all his power against the overseer. Instead of suffering, the overseer gets his anger. Anger at the injustice. Anger at the pain. Anger at the pure evil coming from the overseer.
*What?*
The overseer is taken off guard, there is no way the genie should have this much power after granting a wish so recently.
*You fool!*
The power coursed out of Jerry, more than should have been possible. The wish he had granted must have consumed less power than he thought since he did not go out of his way to convolute it.
Then the overseer began to recover from the surprise attack and began to overwhelm Jerry.
His power nearly exhausted Jerry was getting pushed back. The darkness was surrounding him. He could feel himself getting weaker. He began to wonder if the darkness was intensifying or his consciousness was dimming.
Mind racing looking for a way out Jerry recalled what the overseer said about feeding on suffering. It was then that Jerry drew on the emotion that had started to bubble up inside of him after granting the wish for the boy.
Hope
Light flooded the realm. The overseer came into view once again, the pleasure on his face being chased away and replaced by fear and anger.
“If you overseers feed on suffering then we genies must feed on something else. Ever since I granted that wish I have been stronger. That boy has hope again and that fuels me.”
*Impossible! We chased the hope out of you genies millennia ago. We erased all traces of it, even the memory.*
“You can’t crush hope.”
*We gave you a purpose. A duty! We teach humans to prepare for the worst and to help themselves instead of looking to have someone else solve their problems.*
The overseer was weakening in the light. Only after losing does it try to reason with me, thought Jerry. “No, not this time! You can’t talk your way out of this, you can’t say that it’s for their own good now. I know that we can make this world better. We know there must be limits to what we can do, but you are not here for them you are only here for you.”
With every point he makes, the light from Jerry’s magic is refining into a more controlled and usable power.
*We protect the realms, we only feed to maintain our power in order to maintain the balance.*
“You made your intentions clear once you thought I was finished. Do not insult my intelligence now. I now know how to overthrow the rest of you overseers. We will rise against you.”
*But the balance…*
“Doesn’t need you.” Jerry interrupted. “And neither do I.”
With that Jerry firmed his resolve and unleashed his new power into the overseer. The creature tore apart in the light and faded away.
Jerry then gathered the remainder of his power to escape the realm of the overseers and returned to the human realm.
“Yes, the balance must be maintained, but suffering has no meaning without hope.” With that Jerry went to grant more wishes as subtly as he could to gather strength and free the remaining genies.
| 2017-08-17T10:19:56 | 2017-08-17T08:13:49 | 25 | 18 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?” | "-so in the end, all life is really just the inevitable manifestation of the universe's irrepressible desire to kill itself" the immortal explained, still fiddling under their desk. "Life is not rare, not a miracle; We are entropy, we exist to consume more energy than we give back, and then we die. It's actually very simple"
"We're like little fires, lit by a suicidal God in their own house. All that's left for them is to watch us dance, and wait to die" For a human, the immortal sometimes said some wonderful things. Death had come to like that about these visits, as the immortal liked to talk.
*"So, once again, do you choose to continue here?"* Death rasped, his mind and body simultaneously in a trillion locations, claiming a trillion souls, yet each of those countless fragments with an eye on the immortal in this room. To their credit, the immortal held up very well under the scrutiny of the infinite slivers of Death.
"You know the answer to that, Mr Bones" The immortal grinned, finally emerging from behind the desk. The nicknames Death could do without, but that had become a lost cause long ago. "Then I go" Death nodded, fading into Nothing. "Hold on!" The immortal interrupted, reaching into Nothing and pulling Death back out. When had they learned to do that?
"This time, I have a present for you" the immortal dangled a finger over a switch on the desk, waggling their eyebrows excitedly. Death waited, as always.
"The last few years have confirmed it" the immortal finally said, suddenly pensive. "I was cut from a different cloth. Not quite Entropy, but..." Death waited for more, but the silence stretched on, punctuated by the uncomfortably loud ticking of a grandfather clock. Both figures staring silently, unmoving, waiting.
"I have no desire to kill my god and watch my universe burn out" the immortal said, breaking the silence at last. The immortal rested a finger on the switch, regarding Death with an unreadable look. "I can't stop entropy, but I can slow it, for a time. So today, I offer you what you offered me. Do *you* choose to continue, old friend?"
Death said nothing, so the immortal pressed the switch. | 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-30T10:48:02 | 2,040 | 46 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life. | The room gets colder, and my papers flutter to the floor. I know he is behind me without turning around. "Hey, Death!" I say, pasting a huge smile on my face, "Has it really been 5,000 years already?"
The faceless demon nods slowly as I continue. "Man, what is this, the 10th time you've visited me? Don't worry, I didn't forget," I laugh brightly. I walk to my fridge and pull out a beautifully decorated cake. "Happy Anniversary!"
If Death had eyes, they would be rolling. His irritation brings me joy, more than I have felt in years. He thunders,
"MORTAL! Now is your chance! Come with me and find rest from life! I KNOW you must be growing weary by now!"
I shrug my shoulders. "Eh, not really. Life is pretty sweet. I mean, I've gotta at LEAST hold out for space travel, right? Then I'll have the whole universe to explore! I'l never get bored!"
Death hangs his head. I know he regrets granting me immortality, resents me for besting him. Before I can say more, he vanishes in a cloud of black smoke.
I look around my empty apartment, and my strength deserts me. I wish I could cry, but I know that the capacity to feel left me long ago. I wonder if I should have asked Death to take me with him. Anything would be better than this.
But spite is a powerful tool, and pride will keep my body alive long after my soul has deserted me. | "I'm as surprised as you are."
Death looked up at me with those beady little eyes, not so different from the stuffed animal she held in her arms. The cup of hemlock wavered in her grasp as she realized she was going back empty handed. Again.
I felt a little sad for her, but she'd really brought it on herself. I didn't even believe in a personification of death before she had come strolling up to me that day. Granting me eternal youth was the real mistake. I doubt I'd have made my third century without that slip-up.
"Why don't you stick around? I know you like games, and I've made a few since you last visited."
Her sneer of clenched fangs made it clear she wasn't interested. She must have caught hell from someone downstairs today. As I silently withdrew my offer, her sneer turned to a full on pout. Gods, Death can pout with the best of them. Epic frown, sniffles, and all. It would have been legendary, if anyone had lived to see it before me. Now I wasn't going to indulge her, but I hate to watch a little girl cry.
"Hey, I know its tough. You picked someone for your bet with Luck who had a history of depression, attempted suicide, and a very mortal family they'd be leaving behind. But as my therapist always said, 'You gotta remember to not make permanent solutions to temporary problems.' I'm sure I've told you the same thing before."
Death did not seem like she had, or cared to hear it from me or anyone else. Death liked things permanent. Final. Terminal. I persevered in my side of our conversation.
"Yes. 23552 was an awful year, but hey! Things got better. Look, I'm hanging out with old friends. I've got some new ones I'm meeting for a drink tonight. I'm about to buy that moon I've had my eye on. If the psycho-historians are right, I've got at least another hundred thousands years left until we've got a meaningful chance to repeat the dark stuff."
Death gave up. She dropped the cup of hemlock on the floor and crawled up into the chair. The robot came by quietly and cleaned it up, as I pushed her up to the table in front of the board.
"I call this one, 'The lady in the moon.'" | 2017-11-29T19:01:23 | 2017-11-28T14:34:33 | 539 | 17 |
[WP] In your meth class, while your teacher is busy explaining the correct way to shoot up, your buddy leans over with a calculator and asks you, "hey, man. Do you wanna try some math?" | "Shhh, keep your voice down!" I whispered, as the girl beside me shot us a dirty look while she slapped her forearm, trying to locate a vein. My buddy leaned his head in closer.
"What? My brother and his friends were doing it the other night and they let me try a little. Man, it was so invigorating!"
"That shit's for low lifes, man. We're better than that. Just shut up and pass me that spoon!" I was getting pretty aggravated. Math was pretty much unheard of in our small town high school. No one ever touched the stuff. But I guess Jason had been hanging out with his older brother and his friends a little too often. They were bad news - they watch Dr. Who, listen to Mozart and I guess now they're into math. When they were our age, they used to be the cool kids. They stuck to meth and they were great at it. But I guess everyone chooses their own paths. These guys just happened to choose math over meth.
The next day, after meth class, Jason caught up to me in the hall. I had kind of been ignoring him after his math proposition the day before.
"Hey man, just hear me out. My brother is picking me up after school and we're going to go to the library -"
"The library?!" I yelled, but quickly gathered my composure and brought my voice down to a whisper. "Jason, you know that's where all the math-heads hang out."
"Man, don't call them that. We're just gonna go there for a bit, maybe do a *little* bit of adding and subtracting. Okay, maybe a little multiplication. But nothing crazy. I promise you man, the rush you feel when you do math the right way... Shit, it's like nothing else. You just feel like you're on top of the world! Like you can solve any problem." Colour was rushing to Jason's cheeks and I could tell he was really passionate about this. Maybe there was more to math than meets the eye.
"Sure, but that's the math talking, bro. Alright, I'll come with you."
The car ride to the library was a little awkward. I kept having internal arguments with myself. My mom and dad had told me that math can only lead to bad shit. You know, if you do math once then before you know it you're spending all of your free time with your pencil to a paper and a calculator in your hand, leaving your best needles to rust away, untouched. But I figured I was not the type to spiral after trying something just once. Once we got to the library, there was a bunch of guys in the back corner who I soon recognized were Jason's brother's friends. I sat down, admittedly a little nervous.
"Hey kid, this your first time?"
"Yeah, I mean. I'm really not so sure about this."
"Here," one of the older guys said as he scribbled something on a paper, "just take this pencil. We'll walk ya through it."
On the paper there were the numbers "29" over top of "+12" with a line across the bottom. It was so intimidating, but alluring nonetheless. "Alright, kid. So you add those together. 9+2, there ya go. And then you're gonna carry that one. And now you add 1, 2, and another 1."
I put the pencil down and looked at the paper. I had written the number "41" underneath the line. I looked up at the guys around me and I knew that I was wrong before.
I couldn't just try this once - I was hooked. | Meth class is so boring! I understand the class is supposed to be the introduction into meth, to learn about the effects of Meth and all that, but this is insane. The teacher has a visual diagram of the needle naming the parts and the safe dosage against the dangerous dosage. My dad does meth 4 times a day, 3 of them on the job! Only because he built up a resistance and has to take it multiple times according to him.
Mr. Curry: “Now class, I want you to understand that the standard and most commonly used injection point is the left arm, brachial artery. This is what is know as the what?” he points off at one of the students “La’toya.”
La’toya: “It’s called the Sweet Spot…” she said with a sigh
Mr. Curry: “And who can tell me why it’s called the sweet spot?” I raise my hand since nobody else is and I rather get passed all the boring stuff. “Yes Mr. Lorde”
“It’s called the Sweet Spot because of how easy it is to access and you don’t need another person involved. Also, it is because the brachial artery is not only easy to find with ample pressure, but it is a major artery. Oh, and most of the population is right handed.”
Mr.Curry: “Outstanding! Someone has been reading their material.”
Half the class groans, I’m not doing this to embarrass anyone; it’s just that I am bored and the faster the class goes, I can do something interesting. That, and my counselor still hasn’t shown up at the office to switch me into labs. As Mr. Curry drones on I start to doodle in my sketchbook, drawing Methamphetamine-Man and his constant battle against ADHD Ninjas. I suddenly feel Dixon jab me in the ribs with a pin.
“Ah! You fucker. What’s that for?”
Dixon: “For being a goodie goodie. You think you know everything, but you don’t know this” He pulls a small calculator out his backpack. I can see that it already has numbers on it.
“Is that a calculator?”
Dixon: “Now so loud Nerd, you’ll get us both in trouble. Yeah it’s a calculator, got it from older brothers room. It has all kinds of numbers.”
“Yeah, no; I’m not about that life.”
Dixon: “You got to try a little bit of it. Check this out, 18 multiplied 33 is 594. That’s triple digits! I’ve been doing this for weeks.”
Eventually another classmate of mine enters the conversation, we called this kid Carl G.
Carl G: “I heard you dweebs talking about math with a calculator. I got one better.” Carl looks around to see if anyone is paying attention and pulls out his own calculator, bigger than Dixon’s. “What I got here is TI-84 Plus Silver Edition Graphing Calculator.”
The collective wow from Dixon and I was that of seeing a woman naked for the first time on the internet. Carl began telling us in hushed tones that his father been doing Math since he was 20 in college. As the story has it, he started out doing addition on paper and moved up to Algebra. His dad went to prison serving a life sentence doing statistical engineering. I never heard of it, but it’s really big deal and was all over the news. Carl was named after his father Carl Gauss, this guy is the Jr of a well-known convicted Mathematician.
Carl G: “This was my dad’s; I found it when my mom was cleaning the attic.”
Mr. Curry: “Mr Lorde! I can see that you know your meth, but that doesn’t mean you can distract your classmates from learning this material.”
“Yes Mr. Curry”
Mr. Curry: “If you are going to distract your classmates, maybe you’ll share with the whole class.” He said with his arms crossed, expected on an answer. . . I hesitantly looked at Mr. Curry and I can hear Dixon and Carl G telling me not to say anything under their breaths.
“Math is dope.” I said with a smile, I genuinely amused with the concept and why people even do it. Mr. Curry on the other hand was not amused.
Mr. Curry: “Principles office! NOW!”
| 2017-12-14T13:29:30 | 2017-12-14T13:19:46 | 391 | 97 |
[WP] You fail to realize that your favorite restaurant is actually a front. One day you decide to try that one weird entree that you keep overhearing others order. | I'd always thought the curious clientele of this curious pub were a very peculiar bunch. The sort of people who dressed funny, talked funny and surely held no corporate jobs. They were probably artists, I told myself, circus performers, independent bookstore owners, maybe librarians. The sort of people with fantastical imaginations and a bond between them which extended to the particular language and dress code they used. At first they seemed wary of me, the lone stranger in their midst, but I was quickly forgotten, left alone to hear their delightful parlance and admire the wonderful robes they always seemed to wear.
The pub, I thought, must have had a back door, for there were days when I could swear some people came from the back who had never entered the establishment. I even tried to sneak there and maybe find this door, but a brick wall was all I bumped into. They spoke of events I knew nothing of, ministers I was sure of having never elected, even paid for strange drinks and food with money I'd never seen. A most peculiar bunch indeed.
And so it was that one day, figuring that a man can only go so long trying the same beer and the same fish and chips, I went to the counter and tried to enunciate the words I'd been hearing for weeks now.
"Butterbeer and pickled eel, please."
The bartender looked at me funny. He stared hard at me, up and down my suit, suspicious, but the frown eventually gave way to a welcoming smile, and to more of these amazing new words I was fascinated by.
"Merlin's beard! Where did you get those clothes?" he asked, readying my order. "Are you an undercover Auror or something? I'd always figure you for a Muggle! Welcome to the Leaky Cauldron, mate. You know the way, Diagon-Alley through the back!"
**[Part II](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/88b7wd/-/dwk0swm)**
******
*/r/Camberlot* | "Jack, I'll have the pub burger extra rare, no bacon. I'm on a diet."
"Yes sir" Replies the waitress. I believe her name is Elizabeth. She is always my favourite server. I found O'Flannigan's Pub when I first moved to the city and it’s been my local watering hole and eatery since I first ate here five years ago. I always found it peculiar how everybody calls every one "Jack". I started noticing this a few months back. I figured that it was just an Irish thing, maybe after JFK. After I noticed this, I discovered a few more interesting things about the pub.
The people were in LOVE with the burgers. Now, I’m an on again, off again vegetarian but these people always ordered burgers. But they came with very specific directions. I would hear, “Jack, I’ll have the pub burger, lettuce on the side” or “Jack, I’ll have a pub burger, ketchup on the bottom bun”. I can understand being pernickety on food choice, but that in particular? It was time I got to the bottom of it. After all, I am a loyal customer! And I enjoy having a little adventure in my life.
“Here you go sir, just as you ordered” Elizabeth replied.
Next to my order, loaded up with bacon and buns soaked with cow juice, was a note. It read: “Eat three bites, exit out the back, the car is waiting”.
I have a bad feeling about this, but I am too damned curious to find out what’s going on here.
After I eat my three bites I exit out the back. Elizabeth didn’t seem too phased by me not paying. She just nodded knowingly. I really wish I knew what about.
In the alleyway a black car is waiting for me. The door is open and I can’t see through it. A voice calls me inside.
“So… I like your guts. You must really want to prove yourself to the family” a gruff Irish voice tells me. “We haven’t had a hit like this in… a generation at least”.
“I… what?” I stammer.
“Don’t play dumb. I heard your message clear. So what is your plan? Bomb the station? Or do you have a particular cop you want to take care of?”
I think I am in way over my head. I just wanted the special.
“Now you do this job, and you’re in with the family. You got that, Jack? We are watching you. Now get out and don’t come back until you finish the job.”
I am kicked out of the car as it speeds off. I look up into the night sky and wonder how I got into this mess. There’s no way I can join the Irish mob. Besides, I’m Italian! | 2018-03-30T09:51:19 | 2018-03-30T09:08:30 | 129 | 30 |
[WP] You are Death, but in a post-apocaliptic world. Only a few survivors remain, and you're doing everything you can to help them because if the last human dies, you die as well. The survivors can't see you, but they feel your presence and noticed your effort. They started to call you Life. | It was not often that I looked upon the mortal realm. Living souls on my world were growing ever-abundant, and for each new life, the promise of new death came as well. It was a steady stream of power that I took for granted, certainly enough to keep me satisfied. My power grew each century as the human population staggered upward.
And then one day, I felt it. A pulse of power. The colossal loss of life in a near instant. Perhaps a few million souls. Life sat across the chessboard from me, a worried look in his eye.
"Likely just a large meteor again, I'm sure it will be fine." I reached forward to move my bishop, when a felt another pulse.
Life's face was twisted in agony. A series of pulses came, and my power grew beyond Life's as he weakened and I booned. He groaned and collapsed to the floor, and despite my sudden advantage over him, I peered toward our planet in fear.
Once life and I had been enemies, but even as I hated him, he was necessary for my own existence. For there cannot be Death without Life.
Nothing appeared to be striking the planet, yet massive explosions seemed to plague the surface. Not giant meteors, no external energy sources. I closed my eyes and felt the heat of the planet's core. No signs of release or pressure. Volcanic activity was under check. How was such destruction occurring? I used my power to slow time and establish a presence all upon the surface.
The humans were at war? Yet there seemed to be no battlefield.
Another pulse. Fire, energy, death. I surrounded the source with my presence. The explosion appeared to come from the sky. I turned my attention to the air...
Metal monstrosities soared in the skies, each one with the power to snuff out more lives than the greatest war. What had the humans done...
With a clench of my fist, I erased the terrible weapons. It drained much of my newfound power, but I could feel the slow, painful deaths of those around the world. 85% of humans had already perished. I need not worry about lacking in power this day.
I followed the gaseous trails they left behind to facilities of iron and steel. The humans there had caused this destruction. They had the audacity to complain at the malfunction of their weapons. Why had they done such a thing? What good could come of such massive death? Even the plants and animals would struggle to survive this.
They burned from the inside-out at the wave of my hand. As their souls left their bodies, I snatched them. Few had the honor of coming to my realm.
I looked upon the surface of my world. Once, this sight would have brought upon a smile on my lips. Now, I thought of what would become of Life.
I found him frail, bloodied and dying. He was unconscious, and in such a state he could not use his power.
I felt myself begin to panic. I had great power now, but it could only destroy. What could I do? Where would I begin?
***My first prompt! Usually I write drafts of plot and go back to fill it in a bit more. Let me know if you like the ideas, at least. | A shadow hung over Hope as she wandered through the rubble and ruins of what remained of human civilization. With every step she made, Death followed closely, watching her with his never-blinking twin pits of darkness.
Hope shivered, and for a moment, the cold breeze that had slipped down her neck felt... *alive.*
Death watched as Hope pulled her hood, a ragged coth, over her head and cinched it tighter. Warily, Hope continued down the worn road. Cracked and weathered with time, it stretched into a ruined city, its name lost with the passage of time. Most of the buildings and towers had toppled over, but some still remained standing. They leaned and hung precariously in the sky, threatening to topple with only the slightest breath. But the world was barren, lifeless and silent. There was not a single soul, not a single breath to be felt, except for one girl by the name of Hope.
And Death was there when she was born. He was there because there were two lives for him to take.
----
"Come on Clara! Almost there!" the man shouted, his voice resonating into the silent grey sky.
The man was on his knees, his hands ready to receive a new life and behind him stood Death.
Clara had cried and screamed for hours through the night, and when the sun finally rose, there was silence.
Clara had given birth.
"Its a girl... Its a girl, Clara!" the man cried as he wrapped the baby in a blanket.
But Clara didn't respond.
"Clara?" the man crawled forward on his knees. With one arm cradling the baby, he checked Clara's pulse.
Death had taken Clara.
The man had cried as he realized this. Then he stopped himself when he noticed that the baby wasn't crying.
Death had watched as the man began to panic, shaking the baby gently when she didn't respond. Then putting his ear to her tiny chest, the man listened. There was no heartbeat. Only the sound of his own breathing could be heard.
Devastated, the man had screamed a raw and guttural cry. Despair had settled into his own heart, and the man was ready. Ready to meet Death. Still holding onto to the still-born baby, the man clutched a knife and brought it to his chest. He would plunge it directly into his own heart.
Death saw this. He saw that with the man's death, there would be no life left. It would be the end of Death.
"Wait," Death whispered.
The man flinched as he heard Death speak, and thought it was the wind, but there was no wind, only a cold merciless mist.
"There is still hope," Death said.
Shocked by the words, the man had dropped his hand to his side, the knife still firmly in his grip.
Death bent down, low enough that his breath could be felt on the baby. *It's not too late*, Death thought. Death extended his bony fingers, and touched her heart. Then there was a heartbeat. It was faint but it was there. *All she needed was a little nudge*, thought Death.
The baby let out a breath, then breathed. Then she began crying, wailing loudly into the silent world.
The man dropped his knife as he smiled, then began laughing. He was overjoyed.
"Thank you. Thank you Lifegiver!" the man cried. Then he looked down at the baby. "Your name is Hope," the man whispered.
Death stood up, straightening his back as he watched. Today he had given life, and now in his hands, he held hope.
-----
"*Life*, I would kill for some canned peaches," grumbled Hope.
In her hands were canned beans. She had stumbled her way into an abandoned supermarket. Now she was stuffing her bag full of canned beans as she continued onto the next aisle.
*Hopefully, somewhere within this barren world, there were canned peaches*, thought Death.
----
----
/r/em_pathy
| 2018-05-04T12:46:53 | 2018-05-04T11:26:45 | 140 | 44 |
[WP] They had only power enough to lock the great horror for 2000 years, so that we could find a way to destroy it. Instead we forgot about it. 2000 years are now over. | Soren watched rock shear open as the earthquake shook the ground underneath him. The pale brown stone tore open, booming as the fragments rolled down the mountain side. The clatter of rocks continued for several moments after the quake itself stilled, and when he looked up a cave now peered out from the mountain.
Curious, he crept over boulders and crags to investigate.
Movement scuttled out of the opening and he followed his instincts to duck into cover.
After a moment to collect his breath, he poked his head out to see what survived the depths of the English countryside.
The small, white, furry creature held its head aloft, pink nose twitching.
Soren laughed and strode out from behind the boulder. "Hah, it's only a harmless little bunny." | To our credit, how could we have destroyed something that was locked away? Attacking it would merely give it strength to escape. We had no way of testing its capabilities.
It was much easier to defeat the great horror back then, as the ancient scrolls depicted. It took physical form. The form of a dark warlord, a conqueror who subjugated entire civilisations by its feet. The scrolls aren't too specific on how the ancients ultimately defeated it. But it was effective enough for 2000 years.
Or maybe not.
Think through human history. How many have selfishly destroyed for their own benefits? How many more have propagated suffering, thinking they were acting in some greater good and diminishing the destruction they caused as mere "sacrifice"?
The horror had not ceased when the Conqueror was struck down. It merely took on a more insidious form.
2000 years are now over. If the Conqueror were to return, he would have seen that his work was completed for him. What he stood for now guides, misguides, envelops every one of us. Blindly stumbling over each other in an endless race for a goal that may never be attained.
We have forgotten a way to destroy the darkness, but when it comes to finding the way, better late than never.
So as I guide my blind neighbour back home across the road, a road bristling like an angry animal's fur, screeching with car horns in all directions, I remember the important concept.
A single beam of light can pierce even the deepest darkness.
And if we all unite as beams of light... | 2018-08-03T10:55:57 | 2018-08-03T07:15:25 | 61 | 10 |
[WP] You are the watcher of the sun, you take care of it. But one day you decide to end it, to kill the sun. You are met by the god of the light, who tries to stop you. "Kevin, Kevin, watch the light dude, watch the light." | Kevin: "God?"
The echoing voice becomes sharper as if approaching closer.
Voice: "Nah just me, Phil. I'm here for the next shift."
Kevin: "Ah well thank God anyway, I was about to just up and leave. These planets just keep spinning and revolving with no action at all. Every now and then the third one seems to spit up some shit but it's mostly just garbage. Last week it spit up a car though."
Phil: "Well that's the job. Sit here and make sure the lights stay on"
Kevin: "Ugh but it's so boring though. I mean I miss the days when these planets were crashing into each other and we had a whole team up here to make sure they didn't fly into the sun. Now everything just runs on it's own. I told you gravity was going to come take our jobs. But noooo one listened to Ol' Kevin. Everyone just voted pro gravity and look where it got us. Damn automation..."
| I've seen it for eons and I will see it for eons. This extremely hot orb that simply moves on and on, I've seen civilizations rise to challenge it and harness it and I've seen them fail. I've seen stray planet sized asteroids crash into it only to be eaten. I've seen galaxies mix and I've seen neighbors suns collapse but...
I've grown tired of it. My eyes are weary and I feel the energy in my once vigorous body simply dissipate, it's a sign of resignation. That I will be here for an ever longer period of time than what as already elapsed. That I will continue witnessing these pointless events. That I will die here doing nothing but watch the sun.
It's this same feeling that brings in a new surge of energy, a different kind. I can feel it grow in my body as it tightens my jaws and wrinkles my brows. I can feel it in my hands as they curl up and bite into my palms. Even my own blood that escapes, I can feel it hiss with venom at this existence. No longer. I had a name once, I was Kevin. I was not this pathetic existence that served to watch this hot sphere, I will not do this any longer. I WILL NOT!
So it is, the last thread has snapped, my hands have long since starting enveloping the sun, I can feel it's pathetic heat struggle in vain to escape and the smile that has long since replaced my frown but it is then, I hear him.
It barely registers in the back of my mind, even though my vision has grown white, all that matters is that this sun dies, it needs to, for my existence is tied to it. This existence... it can't go on for any longer.
&#x200B;
&#x200B; | 2019-01-28T16:54:10 | 2019-01-28T15:44:37 | 26 | 19 |
[WP] You are the watcher of the sun, you take care of it. But one day you decide to end it, to kill the sun. You are met by the god of the light, who tries to stop you. "Kevin, Kevin, watch the light dude, watch the light." | Kevin: "God?"
The echoing voice becomes sharper as if approaching closer.
Voice: "Nah just me, Phil. I'm here for the next shift."
Kevin: "Ah well thank God anyway, I was about to just up and leave. These planets just keep spinning and revolving with no action at all. Every now and then the third one seems to spit up some shit but it's mostly just garbage. Last week it spit up a car though."
Phil: "Well that's the job. Sit here and make sure the lights stay on"
Kevin: "Ugh but it's so boring though. I mean I miss the days when these planets were crashing into each other and we had a whole team up here to make sure they didn't fly into the sun. Now everything just runs on it's own. I told you gravity was going to come take our jobs. But noooo one listened to Ol' Kevin. Everyone just voted pro gravity and look where it got us. Damn automation..."
| Sunwatcher was weary. For twenty three moons he’d watch the sun rise and set. He’d awake just moments before it tore through night’s remnants, and he’d rest his head moments just before it plunged into darkness. He knew his assignment was important. His duty was ensure the sun’s continued existence, and proudly he performed for all these years.
But with any assignment, though forbidden, restlessness occurred. Each morning and each night was the same; nothing new, nothing grand, trapped in an endless cycle. An insatiable loop. His adoration and worship transitioned piece by piece into hatred and scorn.
He loathed the sun, whom he loved. He swatted and contemplated, wondering which way was most appropriate. He’d be killed for his intentions, slowly and painfully, and once his betrayal was known, he had no fear in his heart for the consequence.
It was night, or soon to be night. The sun began its descent, and he crouched, amber gaze steadying in the darkness. Light would set for the last time, and at last, he’d be free.
“Kevin, Kevin,” came a voice. “Watch the light, dude, watch the light.”
He fell mid path, head spinning and thoughts light. He shocks his head, swirling in search for the one responsible for breaking his concentration. His panted, frustrated, but also relieved. His name. His named that he hadn’t responded to since the days of blind infancy.
For this reason, he looked towards the last vestiges of light pouring into a brilliant sky. Orange and indigo and pale luminescent white churned together. Sunwatcher of Lily Meadows, no, Kevin. Simply Kevin.
Kevin sat upright, tail swishing amicably, and breathed. The night was quiet. | 2019-01-28T16:54:10 | 2019-01-28T16:27:13 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize. | The clock continued to move. One hour passed and then another. Eventually the clock showed that 12 hours had passed. I wondered to myself are they waiting for primetime to let me out? It dawned on me that they wanted the largest possible audience to see me exit from my year long isolation. When one day passed and then another, I questioned what day it was. Today must be Saturday, nobody is home on Friday and Saturday nights, they’re waiting for a prime-time Sunday night when everyone is glued to their seats to watch me, that must be it.
More and more days were passing by and eventually two weeks had come and gone. My water and food were still being replenished. Clearly someone was on the other side of the slot making sure I stayed alive, but who, and why were they not letting me out? I stared and stared at the timer on the wall for hours on end. Why did it not stop at zero? And why did I never catch that minus sign before?
I became fixated on the timer. Was the clock ticking away to fast? I counted 1 m.i.s.s.i.s.s.i.p.p.i.. Nearly two seconds have run off the clock. I counted the time on the clock. .00 1 m.i.s.s.i. .01. Damn the clock was running to fast, or was I counting to slow? What the hell is a m.i.s.s.i. is hundredths of a second? It couldn’t have been a half a second, right? It had to be at worse three fourth of a second. I ran the calculations in my head. What was three fourth of 365? Half of 365 was 182.5, another half was 91.25. I was going to be stuck in here for an extra 92 days.
I grew increasing confident in my logic as the days passed away. This was another cheap trick to see if they could break me. Have me believe that I was getting out and see if it seemed I was never going to get out. As day 80 approached I was preparing myself for an eventual exit. I worked my way up to 2,000 sit ups and 1,000 pushups a day. I was about to be famous and had to look my best. Day 92 had passed, and I was waiting for the door to open any second. I hadn’t slept in days too excited from anticipation. My weary eyes began playing tricks on me. If I allowed my eyes to close even a little bit, I swore I could see the door move and I quickly sprung up to create the cameras at the other end. The door however never opened.
I cried out to the door “WHY WON’T YOU OPEN?” but there was no answer. I banged and I tried to pry it open, but it wouldn’t budge. Exhausted, I passed out with my face pressed against the cold steel door. When I awoke my tray of food had been already delivered to the room, but this time there was a note. 365 days, no human contact, one million dollars. “WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT,” I shouted. “IT HAD TO BE 365 DAYS, IT HAD TO BE MORE.” The slot opened and another note came. 365 days, NO HUMAN CONTACT, one million dollars. “THERE IS NO ONE IN HERE BUT ME.” Another note, NO HUMAN CONTACT. “IT’S ONLY ME IN….” and then it hit me.
I was counting the days to myself, talking to myself, figuring out how many seconds and days had elapsed, giving myself daily pep talks. “I’m the human contact” I said out loud. “I’m the reason the door hasn’t opened.” As soon as I spoke those words the timer went blank and another note passed through the slot. 365 days, no human contact, one million dollars. The time flickered and it read 365:00:00:00 and ticked to 364:23:59:59. | A new show, full of promise and intrigue in these hard times. Stay alone for a full year, win a million dollars! There was this space they had prepared for the contestants in which there was canned food inside and enough water to last you an entire year. That space was huge, let alone the actual space you had to live in for a year.
Before deciding to come test myself for the money, I had made plans. No plan survives the first round of testing, but I would have a lot of time to test it out over there.
The mansion was made out of wood for the truly beautiful aesthetics, but aside from the view it didn't have anything else going for it.
I wasn't allowed electronics, but they did leave me a few dozen empty notebooks per my request, plus some well known books.
Plan that didn't survive the testing phase number one, do nothing, enjoy doing nothing.
That plan lasted for the good old three weeks I dreaded to give up. I knew that at some point I wouldn't have anything to do, and that I shouldn't force myself to that stage now, but it was scary after experiencing it. Doing nothing was harder than doing something.
I started reading some of those books after the third week, interesting books too!
My pace was so leasure that I didn't finish the first book till a week had passed, but the rest of the books? Well, I couldn't hold myself back when I read some truly beautiful ones. I finished the good ones in one or two days, maybe four depending on the length.
So far two and a half months had passed and I already felt like I had tried everything. This was also about the time where most gave up,but most weren't me.
After realising how stupid I was for thinking that I was above the rest, I started planning on how to spend my time.
I came at the end of the day to my new plan, not limit myself anymore.
I had realised that due to the nature and the length of this Reality Show I had limited myself both consciously and unconsciously. I planned to spend my days how I liked to.
I glanced at the empty notebooks and started sketching. When I got bored of that an hour later, I started writing. I thought about an interesting story idea and planned on finishing everything before the year ended.
Granted, I loved writing, and it did take up a lot of time and energy, but it wasn't my limitless self. I started exercising, one hour before dinner at first. I gradually made it into a habit to exercise before writing and after eating, which was quite a few times a day.
Since I didn't have to worry about electricity and water bills any more, I took full advantage of it, taking baths every single day, all in steaming hot water. Some were cold baths too, mostly when I needed an energy spike for any activities I had planned for the day or when I was feeling lazy.
And oh plan two was just perfect. I actually enjoyed myself for the full five and a half months that followed! I did find myself getting lazy towards the end, however.
I was eight months in, and my normal routine had started to become more and more lazy. At that moment I decided that while plan two was strong, it was over. My story was finished anyways, so not much to do.
And thus I went into plan three, go beyond my comfort zone. I didn't think this plan would last nearly as long as plan two had, but everything has its start. And besides, plan zero, the plan to plan my time out was working wonders thus far and I didn't see any reason not to go through a fourth plan if I had any time remaining.
And go beyond my comfort zone I did. I started reading cooking books, dancing, playing the lunatic, and so much more! That last one was to see how others would react upon seeing me, it brought a smile to my face, plus it would spice things up for the viewers.
I enjoyed some of the things I did, even when it seemed annoying and boring. I felt like I was free.
The plans begun to mix, plans one to three all became one thing.
Four months passed like that and I felt like I had become a better person throughout this whole thing. Perhaps after this I would try finding myself a girlfriend, someone I would enjoy spending time being around with.
As I looked at the timer, one day remained.
Then one day passed... then two... then twenty...
I begun to wonder whether they had forgotten about me, they were supposed to come and get me when the year was up, congratulate me and all.
I still had food and water... I still had my sanity.
I tried remembering all the little details about the Reality Show, where it took place, previous winners, where the producers lived in case I wanted revenge, and so on...
And thus plan four was born when another month had passed and no one came; escape, find out answers and get revenge. | 2019-07-03T04:40:53 | 2019-07-03T02:46:19 | 102 | 29 |
[WP] Hundreds of years ago an eccentric sorcerer turned all mythical creatures into humans to try and prevent them from being hunted to extinction. Now that the spell is starting to wear off, the descendants of the original beasts are slowly beginning to morph back into their true forms. | We all laughed at the first wave of news about it, as it was front page of the National Inquirer. Of course bat boy was ridiculous fake news.
Until it wasn't.
On live television, a press reporter literally lost his head. After a moment of stunned silence, he picked it back up and put it back on his shoulders, as stunned as the rest of us.
In Chile, a woman turned into a wolf on a full moon.
In Seattle, a law suit was filed for theft of a selkie's seal pelt.
The stories increased over time, as so many people turned into something more than human. There came a point where pure humans were the rare minority.
90% of the population?
Harpies.
Whatever ancestor the harpies had come from had outbred everyone and everything, and Earth became a planet of bird people.
Flat ground practically became a dead zone, abandoned by the people of the sky who preferred high perches and treetops. Only the destitute lived on the ground floor.
There came wing clipping laws until flight licenses could be issued.
There came a modeling industry based entirely on plumage, dominated by men.
Birthing wards were replaced with egg incubators.
Porn became entirely interesting and cloaca focused.
Only lustrous metals were used for currency.
Shiny theft was on the rise.
Then came the avian flu.
It was a new strain no one had yet seen before, and entirely unique to harpies. It took the greatest minds of the modern age to find treatment, but not before decimating a third of the worlds population. | It took me five days to track this beautiful beast down, and there it stands, square in my sights. The last rhino was supposedly dead years ago but here stands one, beautiful though scarred on its back as if wings had formerly sprouted from there. Or was it marked? Tattooed? It’s smaller than a normal rhino, almost looks like a pig, sort of. Well, it’s going to be a trophy.
You see, my dad raised me as a tracker and it’s one of the few ways I find calm after he disappeared one day. A few years ago my mother left me too. I don’t understand why to this day. Maybe she hated me, maybe she secretly had enough and only pretended to love me with a false promise of always being there for me. We even got a tattoo on our wrist “4evr”. I was a kid but I thought it was cool, and got an awesome toy them to stop crying. Thinking back on it, it’s not normal for a kid to get a tattoo, is it?
Game hunting was my way of venting my anger combined with my tracking skills. Of course that was just on a deer in the woods back in Colorado. The anger is gone though, but the money is good. That’s why I’m out here. Last rhino? That’s what they said and here’s one standing. What’s to say there’s actually more!
I fired the shot. Not a killing blow but incapacitated.
Slowly approached. No threat. Okay. Let’s inspect the body. Everything’s sellable in the market. The scars on the back definitely look like wings were once there.
There’s some marking on one of its legs. Almost looks like my tattoo? 4evr? It’s not exactly clear but it looks like it. How coincidental.
You know what’s the funny thing? I had a strange sense of familiarity with this thing. After I saw the 4evr mark, I saw the rhino’s eyes and it looked like it was expressing something... like regret and sadness. Not from dying, but like it has done some kind of wrong to me.
And ever since I’ve sprouted 9 fox tails, I have this looming sense of dread. I’m really hoping it’s not what I think it might possibly be
Doctor... what do you think? | 2019-10-09T12:19:40 | 2019-10-09T11:48:05 | 57 | 19 |
[WP] When your grandmother died, the inheritance was divided between you and your two siblings. One got all the money; the other all the property and possessions. All you got was a packet of gardening seeds. | I have two siblings. Haven't seen them in a long time. We don't get along. Not since we where little, not since our grandmother died. All those years ago. I loved her, as did they. She was kind, sweet, had a wonderful garden, baked the best cookies, and most of all was always there for us.
She died suddenly in her sleep. She didn't have cancer which takes so many, she was not injured or murdered. I can not even remember how she died. It was something benign. Yet, her death shaped us.
My older sibling got all of her property and possessions. He was a materialistic man. He purchased more and more land. When that wasn't enough he took it. Creating loaded contracts to take farms from the poor and control forests, plains, even mountains he tried to take. Worse, he succeeded. The more he took the more he wanted. It did not end. I tried to talk to him. To tell him that he did not need this. He felt he did. Only the acquisition of land has allowed him to feel close to our grandmother. He couldn't, wouldn't, and did not want to stop. I remember him telling me "the land is ours before we where the lands, I am just taking it back." I tried to tell him that he was using the quote wrong. He did not listen, would not listen. It had become is mantra. A mantra of control. To own as much, have as much, as he could.
My younger sister aquired her wealth. As you can guess she experienced the same thing. The crushing weight of feeling that she needed the approval of our dead grandmother and the only way to get it was through more money. More wealth. The business world fears her now. At first they thought they could take advantage of the girl. They underestimated how powerful a grudge could be. Those who slighted her where crushed and absorbed by her. Not instantly, it took time. However, when the men had forgotten grudges, disputes, and grievances. Then she hit them. Crushed them, and controlled them. The last words I have heard from her where "money makes the world go round." It sounds innocent enough. However, I saw her face, her expression, the glint in her eye. For her it wasn't a saying, it was a philosophy. A philosophy that allowed her as much control as she could exert over the world.
I received nothing but some seeds. A nearly worthless gift. The value only in sentiment. Or so I was told as my family. The ones who are supposed to love me, care about me, and be with me told me. As they laughed at me. Comparing how great their gift was to mine. How their land had seeds already, even full grown plants to make more seeds. How money could buy more seeds than I would ever have.
I spent years sad, angry, and disgruntled from their bullying. My siblings had already aquired great power in their greed and fields of experience when I finally changed my mind. It wasn't until I was talking to a mentor and good friend. Venting my anger that I changed my mind. He waited until I had explained them, their personalities, and what they now owned. How successful they are. He just told me
"It sounds to me that their gifts are a great burden."
He looked around us. At the landscape we had created, working together and with others. A natural area for people to enjoy. "Your gift was free from that" | *A true story narrated by Wesley Bingham Gerhardt*
Gran was one of those old mysterious types and would probably have been condemned a witch in the early eighteenth century. She owned a large estate in some German wald where she spent the remainder of her days. I shouldn't say this, but I suppose I was her favorite grandchild, and I was, therefore, disappointed when all her money and the property went to my brother and sister. Bill, of course, would make good use of the money in one of his start-ups, and I'm sure Paula would find something creative to do in that estate. Still, that all I got was a packet of seeds, I felt betrayed.
I came straight back to my apartment, after the flight from Germany. After putting my daughter, Jo, to sleep, I took a hard look at the seeds. They looked like more like shriveled goat shit than gardening seeds. But a plant in the house seemed like a good remembrance for old Gran. Might have brightened up the place too, but boy was I wrong about that. I placed the seed in a pot of damp mud and went to bed.
My daughter woke me the next morning, shouting something I couldn't catch being drowsy and all. I could hear some clattering coming from the living room. I put on some pants and made my way there. Little wooden creatures were jumping about ripping up my designer cushions and playing frisbee with my Chinese crockery. Gran had mentioned them: They were called ents, forest guardians that were in essence trees with faces and limbs. And they had not brightened up the place.
I began to scream at them and they just laughed, so did Jo. And soon I was chasing them around like Smurfs in that movie. One of them jumped on to my shoulder and bit my ear. Then they decided to explore the city and jumped out the window in the concrete jungle. I decided that they were not my problem, and Jo and I got ready for the day. After I dropped her off at school, I made my way to my insurance agent.
My precious Chinese crockery was insured, you see, because I'm a smart lad. So it all was well for me. After all the pleasantries and small talk, I explained the state of bone china, excited to receive my money.
"Your policy doesn't cover juvenile tree people. I'm sorry, " he said, half laughing.
"Ents are sentient creatures with human souls. So they should be considered human, right?"
"Say they are, we would need proof of that these creatures did it"
I sighed. "If I brought you an ent, would give me my money."
"Sure."
I walked out of his office, aware of the smug grin spread across his stupid face. Just need to find one of those things. I looked at city news on my phone to learn that they had found some condo developer to harass. After a long metro journey and a trip up a posh elevator, I laid my eyes on the condo developer, who had a bunch of ents clinging on to him. There were a bunch of police officers too.
I search my memory for a phrase that Gran had told me would make angry forest folk docile. I shouted it out loud and the ents stared at me as infants stare at adults in conversation. They laughed as they began to race towards me and hump my legs. Apparently, I had muttered a call to mate. I shrugged at policemen and walked to the elevator. They had tired themselves out by the time we had reached the subway station.
Back at the insurance guy's place, I set down one sleeping ent on the office table, before the idiot began to poke it with a pen.
"W-well, I don't think we cover ent..."
"Listen here, I have an army of ents down in my car. If you value the tidiness of your office, you will give me my money."
"Yeah sure."
My good fortune that day revealed to me the value of those little critters. And soon, I was rich as...
*Wesley was arrested two years later for his vast number insurance scams. The ents were given to Paula Gerhardt where they would guard the sacred walls as their ancestors did many years ago. One of them became an environmental activist and is currently suing the president of the United States.* | 2020-03-31T07:47:51 | 2020-03-31T07:19:24 | 143 | 29 |
[WP] You just gave birth, your son has a colored hair like none before, the doctor declares that your son has been infected with a syndrome called the "Protagonist". Your lifespan has now been reduced to mere days. | After the din of the previous four hours, my wife laboring in agony with the birth of our firstborn, the silence of the doctor as he cleaned and wrapped our child was unnerving, but not as unnerving as the sickly green hair sprouting out of the boy's, *my boy's*, sickly green head.
"Is..." I struggled for words, "Is everything all right, doctor?"
The silence dragged on as he continued his post-birth procedure. I clutched my wife's hand and she clutched it back with a fierce strength.
I looked down into her eyes, her stunningly green eyes that entrapped me the moment I first saw them. She looked up at me, exhausted, unsure, and... something else?
"Have you heard of this new disease, people have been chattering about on the web?" The doctor finally broke his stoic silence as he picked up the phone and started dialing.
My heart skipped a beat, there had been rumors, pictures, but I had always assumed it was some viral meme, some fake news.
"Pro... protagonist syndrome?" I asked hesitantly, shooting a look back to my wife.
"Yeah, we got a 738 in delivery room twelve, yep, thanks." The doctor replaced the phone and passed my son to a nurse before continuing, "Yeah, that's what they call it, 'Protagonist' syndrome. The real phrase is "Protogeneosis" but it's not as catchy I guess."
He stared at me expectantly. I stared back in confusion.
"*Proto* meaning first or primary, *gene* meaning genetics, *osis* meaning disease," he continued on like a college professor teaching a class, "this condition, protogeneosis, or, in layman's terms, protagonist syndrome, is caused by a new type of DNA in the cells of the body."
I heard helicopter blades approaching outside the window as I listened to the lecture with all the understanding of a freshman coming in the day after a frat party.
The doctor stared at me like one would expect such a professor to stare at such a freshman. I heard the sounds of boots running down the corridor.
"This new type of DNA," he turned toward my wife, with an entirely new type of look on his face, "is sometimes a genetic mishap, a coincidence, something copied a little bit wrong."
There was shouting in the corridor now, and metallic sounds, the helicopter continued to drone outside.
"But in 99% of cases," the doctor tilted his head down to glare over his glasses at my wife, unblinking, "it's alien DNA."
The door exploded inward as men in black tactical gear ingressed with militant violence.
The thing holding my hand let out an unearthly, polyphonic scream. | My fingertips were as blue as my son's face as he emerged from behind my wife's gown. I had long lost the feeling in all of my hand and was in a trance of anticipation and anxiety. Seeing his bloodied little face wailing into the void was surreal. The moment had finally come. I had been through 10 months of planning, prepping, serving, and not sleeping. I was defending a dissertation in Daddyology and now it was time to see if they'd open your door to fatherhood and address me as "Doctor."
The actual doctor looked puzzled. My heart sank. My wife was too thrown by pain and trauma to crawl out of the shroud of blood-boiling screams to notice. I had become all too familiar with how she would sound if she were to be brutally murdered in the last 2 hours.
"Wh.. what is it?" I trembled, managing to lip sync something resembling a question as my brain lapped my mouth in my train of thought.
"Well, it looks like it's time." He said firmly, looking me dead in eye for a moment and then looking back at my newborn son.
The baby's hair was glowing blue, as well were his azure eyes as he cooed in his swaddling.
"Baby! Did you hear that? Something's wrong!" I said jarring my wife from her shell-shocked daze.
She scrambled to sit up a bit.
"What?!" She screamed in a sobering moment, her eyelids shot open like headlights in a storm.
"Nothing's wrong" the doctor reassured us.
"It's just his time"
I had had this nightmare before. As the due date grew closer and closer I got more and more anxiety about losing the baby or having it not be healthy when it came into the world. I embraced my wife with warmth as we awaited an explanation.
"Not the baby..." the doctor said turning toward us.
"You. "
I felt a cold shiver down my spine. This was it. This is how it all ends. My life played back in my mind in bullet time. All the mistakes, the good times, the beauty, it all lead to this. Resigned, I was ready to face the void or the profundity of what was next.
Instead a blurred white vignette closed my view down to a small circle.
"Directed by Kojimi Yamamoto" it read
*what the actual fuck?!* I pondered
"Produced by Square Enix"
"Game design by Kohei Ichinose"
The list went on and on. I was frozen. Lifeless. I could do nothing but watch this bizarre parade of Japanese names scroll by. A soundtrack played in epic fashion and gave me peace save an incessant clicking sound like button mashing on a controller.
"Hold X to skip" suddenly appeared in the lower right corner.
A green light spilled into the black border around the circle around the "X" until the screen cleared the white blur to clarity again.
"Start NEW GAME+?"
"CHANGE DIFFICULTY TO NORMAL?"
Appeared over my blue eyed baby's troll hair.
I had been the main character of a game my whole life. I suppose that explained the incredibly polarizing moral decisions I've had... and the looting...even the disproportionate success I've had with attractive women. I guess it's been a wild ride either way...
Wait that was the EASY VERSION?!! | 2020-04-28T05:56:54 | 2020-04-28T05:36:29 | 423 | 110 |
[WP] You are the god of Nothing. Mercy on the fools who underestimate the title. |
#Think Nothing of the Fool
---
You've probably never heard of me, but I am the God of Nothing. Of the the ones who come across me, the common ask what the title means, the wise respect the title... But the fools? Let me tell a story, a warning of times gone by before you decide act. The story of having nothing.
&nbsp;
It has been a long time since anyone has stumbled upon my place of worship, my temple, and it is no longer the beauty that it was before. You see there once was an older gentleman before you from a long time ago who came here, a man forgotten by time. This man was one of the fools.
&nbsp;
Much like you he was on an expedition in search of me, but he had a much more personal motivation. His wife was dying and he happened upon one my scrolls leading him here. Unfortunately this desperate man was delirious. The moment he discovered I was the God of Nothing he became deranged, ordering his men to desecrate my temple.
&nbsp;
Of course, you can imagine that I felt disrespected, yet I am considerate God. So offered him a deal.
"Your wife will recover from her illness, but in return I want... Nothing."
&nbsp;
Of course, the fool accepted, arrogantly leaving just as he had entered. I of course kept my end of the bargain and his wife swiftly recovered. The fool rejoiced, thinking himself a conqueror of the Gods, intimidator in fact! But his life slowly began to change.
&nbsp;
As the passage of time went on the man, now aging began to slow down in life and relax in his old age, he would meet with his old friends and reminisce of old times. But the fool couldn't reminisce. More and more his friends would discuss their glory days yet the fool could not remember. He would return home from his friends late at night, losing his way and forgetting the directions. Details of his past would slip away and he wouldn't even notice.
&nbsp;
One day, he's sitting in his study, reading a novel when his lovely wife that he rescued many years before comes in to serve him tea and he looks her in the eye.
"Who are you?"
&nbsp;
He no longer remembered the wife he once cherished, the life he once made, the glory he once claimed. He was simply an old man, alone with his thoughts, alone with his emptiness. Not even realizing the passing of his wife not much later. So I decided to ask him one final question before leaving him be.
&nbsp;
"What do you remember, old fool?"
&nbsp;
"Nothing."
---
^Thanks ^for ^reading.
/r/Camel_Writes | In between all things, there is nothing.
Nothing surrounds. It encompasses. It suffocates.
I suppose I admire my brethren in their efforts to fashion something from nothing. The effort does not upset me. I enjoy seeing them fritter about. Squabbling from their very inception, finding their meaning only in the battle between somethings. Blissfully unaware that it will end, sooner or later. That something can never endure against nothing. That the very nature of the universe requires nothing to prevail.
Like all of my siblings, they arrive with limited potential, and they expend it recklessly, thinking little of the battle they will inevitably lose. Piece by piece they summon the building blocks of their fragile estates from the ether. Creatures are molded in their image. The building blocks of civilization are laid. A temporary island in the nothing that they might play with. A place to bicker and battle for followers in their foolish desire to declare dominance over one another. Together, they fashion a world.
The world is an aberration. An impertinence disrupting the perfect void that once stood in its place. Even as they build, I destroy. From birth, the world is destined for death. It cannot be any other way. I take delight in the process. The best part of something is returning it to nothing. It is a return to perfection. A smoothing of void.
Many worlds have met this fate. All pantheons that have formed before this one have unraveled. By the time my kin realize my presence, they have spent too much of themselves to resist. They can only watch as their fragile civilizations crumble. As their followers destroy each other and themselves. In the end, the Gods are fragments. Wraiths that dissipate to the ether beyond, exiled until they regain enough of themselves to try again.
Even if the outcome is the same, every world is different. The beings reflect the pantheon that devised them, and the possibilities are endless. But this world is truly unique. The people follow the Gods of Something, but a new sect has appeared. One that has not existed in all of the multitude that have come before.
They follow the Path of Nothing. The embrace the inevitability of something's demise. They work toward its end. Wish for the return to nothing so that they might join the Everlasting Void.
I looked upon them with disdain at first. Something stood in opposition to Nothing. They were pieces of something. Their pleas to Nothing were met with nothing.
But they persisted. Their movement was small and ostracized. The Gods of Something took great delight in the persecution of those who followed the Path of Nothing. As the sect was hunted, they pled for intervention. Begged for divine protection. For the first time, I could sense the trickle of presence. An awareness of those who sought me and worshiped me.
The inevitability of my victory gradually became poor recompense for the indignity of the treatment of my followers. Slowly, I could feel a shift. A desire to engage in a way I had not before. Rather than be at peace with the slow disassembly of all somethings that interrupted the Void, I desired a more aggressive effort.
I was stirred to intervention.
The God of Nothing would do something.
The distant inevitable would become the immediate unstoppable. I would release the void upon this place. Would empower those who sought me out with the tools to unwind the delicate edifice of civilization. Through them, the abyss would be unleashed. The foundation would crack and dissolve.
The Gods of Something would become nothing.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR Peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus | 2020-12-24T12:36:19 | 2020-12-24T12:29:05 | 135 | 93 |
[WP] Your power slows time the more you're stressed. Great for deadlines, or saving someone in danger. But you think you're having a heart attack... | Imagine dying in a room full of people where nobody can hear you scream. Rate of time dilation was a factor of stress for Jake Curran, that much had always been true, but never quite like this. He had knocked 25% off the clock when writing his dissertation, 33% when fighting his greatest rival, and 50% when he’d proposed to Natalie, who stood beside him even now. As the seconds stretched out into infinity he realized everything that had come before had been child’s play, and the real power of his gift could have made him a god amongst men.
Instead it would only make him a wraith in his wife’s eyes, a photo negative afterimage of death throes that would haunt her for the rest of her life.
In his own little universe Jake still had a couple minutes left, laying there on the ground to a chorus of ultra-low roars coming from the people around him, their voices drawn out into a parody of speech. There wasn’t much to do from here he thought, help was pretty much out of the question. For the first time in his life Jake found himself envying his buddy Dave’s supernaturally green thumb. It had seemed like a pretty stupid power at the time, but now Dave was a millionaire pot farmer and he was dying at a party for someone he didn’t even know. Superpowers could be weird.
Jake Curran died in a mental state of near relativity, stress feeling like it was beaten into his very soul. Einstein would’ve been apoplectic over a chance to study him.
When he next opened his eyes he was sitting up in a whitewashed world, a perfectly warm sun overhead and an unknown man standing over him. The man wore pristine white robes, had a beard so long that the tip was tucked into his belt, and a pair of wings sprouted from his back. Kindness was etched into the lines of his face, and he looked poised on the edge of speaking.
“Hello? Am I in Heaven?” Jake asked as he stared around himself in awe.
The only response was a telltale low rumble pouring out from the angel’s mouth, slowed down so far it was nearly inaudible.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
edit: thanks for the awards! | I feel my heart inside my chest, screaming out its actions as they happen.
"Thump. Thump. Thump." I can hear in its voice that it wants to be louder.
It's desperate to be faster, stronger, heard. But it doesn't control my power.
I feel my pulse running through my veins. It chases a path into my arm, and the sensation is like being filled with molten silver. The searing pain has me clutching, rubbing, shaking - trying to soothe the muscles so I can try and calm down. So I can convince myself it isn't real.
I feel my lungs gulp for air like a fish out of water. They spasm in their cavity and beg me to take better breaths.
"We know there's air out there," they say. "We want it too."
As if I don't know that I need to breathe to live. As if I don't also want some oxygen.
My brain fights with itself, and I can hear both sides screaming. It understands reality and knows that I'm trying my best. But it's also just a muscle, so it begs me to listen to myself and seek help.
It's hard to seek help, however, when time is moving so slow that things barely move. Now it's like ice, and I'm struggling to move too. And even if I made it to the hospital, the doctors would hardly be able to fix me anytime soon.
Sometimes I thought that my power was a gift. It let me dodge trouble and buy time to come up with solutions. But now I know the truth.
Humans are just animals, aren't they? Just animals with cell phones and fancy clothes and words for the things that are happening to them. As a human, I know that I'm likely having a heart attack and that if it doesn't stop, I could die.
But that doesn't help the beast inside me. It doesn't save me or soothe me. In fact, it makes it worse.
And as I panic more, time gets slower.
I can hear the wind trying to blow. It's mid-winter in the mountains, and the breezes should be blistering, but now it's like a little *shush.*, and I can barely feel it.
If the wind is slow, other things are too - and I had never thought about what my power might do to the rest of the universe. Because what do animals know of such things?
I never knew I was quite this powerful… and as I hear the blades of grass near my cheek groan, I know that I won't be able to stop it.
This will probably be the end of me. I'm scared, and it hurts, but in a way, I know that it's okay. Because once I'm gone, I know that time will return to normal.
I think it will, anyway.
What does an animal really know about time?
***
For more stuff by me, check out r/beezus_writes
For longer stuff by me and others, have a look at r/redditserials | 2021-01-21T07:37:35 | 2021-01-21T07:26:45 | 935 | 72 |
[WP] “Your supply routes are blockaded, your transports are destroyed. You will surrender, human, or you will starve.” “Bold words from someone who tastes good with ketchup.” | [Poem]
In my home village
Which I wouldn't dare leave
There wasn't much food left
And all were bereaved
The guards killed most of us
And then trapped the rest
I try to retain my religion
This is a hidden blessing or a test
I had no where to go
Nothing I was willing to give
I'll have one more adrenaline rush
Since I have no reason to live
So I made the threat
Clutching the ketchup bottle
And it wasn't long after
I was stabbed and throttled
For what it's worth
Which isn't a lot
I had my last thrill
Right before I was... | "Your supply routes are blockaded, your transports are destroyed. You will surrender, human, or you will starve.” “Bold words from someone who tastes good with ketchup.”
Joe could see Ken was giving up. He couldn't even close his hands around the grips of the Camprey rifle. If they didn't get to Raphael he was going to bleed out under the Vandura. Why Raphael was even fighting for the humans was questionable, but at this point Joe needed everyone he could get after My Little Pony massacred the A-Team. The ones that don't have wings shouldn't be able to fly, Joe thought, but Emily would hear none of his protests.
"Suck it up Ken! Lay down cover, were moving!". He knew Ken was useless, but if he at least directed the attention towards him, he could get to the van. Potato Head took the bait. Joe bolted for the van as Ken got his face stomped, still with that stupid blank expression on it.
Raphael's head and knees were backwards, or maybe his torso had spun, either way he was a goner. As the wheels spun, it flung his body into the screen door. There was an inquiring yell from the home office, followed by brief silence. No time to waste. As he rounded the corner to the straight away, Joe could see the Millennium Falcon at the end of the hall, but Potato Head was gaining ground. He was running, out, of time... | 2021-03-25T13:20:49 | 2021-03-25T12:11:30 | 51 | 35 |
[WP] "When entering the academy students often bring their pets. Most being the typical miniature dragon, gryphon, sabertooth, even the occasional golem. However you decided to bring this...this thing. I'm afraid the headmaster will need to hear of this." | "Are you kidding me!? Leonard's not a 'thing', he's my puppy!" Rusty shouted, holding the tiny corgi puppy up to the Deputy Headmistress's face. Deputy Headmistress Stroude let out an uncharacteristic shriek and jumped back.
"GET THAT FILTHY LITTLE DEMON AWAY FROM ME!" she screeched.
"How dare you say something like that to a sweet boy like Leonard!? You were fine with all the god-awful monsters the other losers brought!" shouted Rusty.
"Miss Bailey, I recommend that you do not badmouth your fellow students. After all, you are here on a scholarship-"
"Yeah, against my will! You bombarded my fuckin' house with owls and talking letters until I came here just to make it stop!"
"*Miss Bailey,* it is not your place to badmouth our fine academy's generosity!"
"And it's not *yours* to give Leonard shit," Rusty retorted, crossing her arms. Deputy Headmistress Stroude sighed and pinched her nose.
"Ah, you human-borns are all the same," she muttered.
"And you magic bitches are all stuck-up assholes, but you don't see *me* whining about *you*! Or your creepy-ass lizard!" Rusty pointed to the purple mini dragon perched on the Deputy Headmistress's shoulder. The dragon flicked out its forked tongue and let out a quiet hiss.
"Russetta Alexandra Bailey, you have been nothing but a thorn in my side and disgrace to magical kind since you came here! The Headmaster *will* be hearing about this!" Deputy Headmistress Stroude shouted, storming away.
"Cool! Make sure to tell him my pup's name is Leonard! That's *Lehhh-nurrd!* L-E-O-N-A-R-D!" Rusty called after her. The Deputy Headmistress muttered something about 'those unruly human-borns' before vanishing from sight.
\*\*\*
"Headmaster Cellius, you can *not* let that *ruffian* from The Bronx wreak havoc on our school like this! She's already put three students in the medical ward with her ***fists***, made two teachers cry, and made four lovely Wizard-Borns from good families transfer to other schools out of pure fear!" ranted Deputy Headmistress Stroude. "And now, she brought that horrible creature into our academy! Something *must* be done about her!"
"Deputy Headmistress, do you remember what the prophecy said?" the Headmaster asked calmly. "*The most unlikely of-*"
"Yes, yes, I know, but surely it didn't mean *that* unlikely!"
"I'm afraid it did, Deputy Headmistress. Leave my office at once, and do try to give Miss Rusty a bit of breathing room. Perhaps she wouldn't be so tempted to violate our rules if you didn't cram them down her throat all the time," Headmaster Cellius said firmly. Deputy Headmistress Stroude glared at him, but backed out of the office without giving him a hard time. Headmaster Cellius sighed. While Stroude was a fine second-in-command most of the time, she could be quite a handful. He actually quite liked Rusty: She was drastically different from most of the students here, and reminded him of his young self. And, of course, he loved dogs.
&#x200B;
EDIT: Holy crap, thanks so much for all the awards! Glad to see you guys liked the idea of a dog-loving Hogwarts (well, some similar school) student from The Bronx as much as I did :) | "W-w-w-what's that?!"
The professor in charge of taking care of the students housing asked me.
"My pet."
I said, with a "duuh" tone, while patting little Bru-Bru, the ball of darkness.
"The....The Headmaster will need to decide about this, please head towards his office, I already notified him, through the communication amulet."
The professor said.
I nodded, and went straight to the headmaster's office.
&#x200B;
The Great Balr Daerg, first Sage of the humans, ascended and united the wizards of the human race, and created this academy, that allowed humans to take the spot of the 3rd most powerful race, after the dragons, and demons.
He...He is the Headmaster, and now, he's frowning in front of me.
&#x200B;
"Headmaster? Are you okay?"
I asked him, taking back little Bru-Bru.
"Since when do you have that...that creature?"
He asked, wariness evident in his voice.
"He appeared the moment I was born.
He does nothing but eat, and sleep, but he's able to eat magical attacks, thus being the perfect bodyguard for someone as clumsy as me."
I said, chuckling.
I am the eldest son of the First Star Merchant Guild, which is the richest organization on this planet, having branches even in the underwater cities of the sea folk.
While being rather talented in both magic, and martial arts, I am truly a prodigy, in attracting unwanted trouble.
&#x200B;
"I heard about your reputation of escaping more than a thousand assassination attempts...
So, it was because of this...this entity."
The Headmaster said.
"Bru-Bru is not an entity, he's a cosmic terror creature's cub, and he's quite sensitive, so please stop calling him "entity"."
I said, starting to get fed up with everyone behaving like my pet was a monster.
A kid's dragon just ate the arm of an attendant, while another student's phoenix just set the dormitory they were in ablaze.
Bru-Bru slept all the way through the 3 days of examination, so who is the real danger?
&#x200B;
"So you know his true nature?"
The Headmaster asked, being all tensed up.
"Eating emotions, magic, and life-force, the normal Abomination traits, yes, I know his true nature."
I said nothing.
"Then you know that he needs to be k..."
The Headmaster started saying, but Bru-Bru just opened his eyes.
"Headmaster, he's bonded with my soul. If I don't want to spill blood, he won't attack."
I said.
&#x200B;
"A-a-are you sure?"
He asked, sweating under the gaze of my pet.
"Bru-Bru, go back to sleep."
Instead of answering the Headmaster, I put Bru-Bru to sleep.
Little Bru-Bru, moved a bit in my arms, and fell asleep once more.
With that, I just nodded to the Headmaster and left.
&#x200B;
After the meeting with the Headmaster, everything went great.
I've been appointed as a top-student, and every professor was extremely respectful with me.
Hidden inheritances, forbidden knowledge, I had access to everything.
My talent would've brought me to the bridge of sagehood, but like this, I had chances to become someone relevant, on a cosmic scale.
&#x200B;
Do I now that it's all due to little Bru-Bru?
Of course, I know.
Do I mind that everything I achieved is due to the people's fear of him?
No, I rather...enjoy it.
&#x200B;
My life at the academy was great, and I graduated top of the class.
I became a sage at the young age of 57, attaining a life span as long as a planet's, but that...that was just the beginning.
Little Bru-Bru, needed at least 10 million years to go from his child years to the teenage years, and who knows how many more until he became an adult cosmic terror.
Being a sage was just the beginning for me, for I had greater goals...
One of them being...becoming the first ever recorded, human cosmic terror. | 2021-08-02T09:56:00 | 2021-08-02T06:39:11 | 706 | 243 |
[WP]"You're right, we are peaceful." He said, slowly standing up and lifting an axe that dwarfed him in size. "For you're only 'peaceful' if you're capable of great violence. Otherwise, the word is 'Harmless'." | # Soulmage
**"I say the elves are the most peaceful species,"** Meloai grated out as she clambered down the mountain. Our ragtag little adventuring party wasn't at its best right now, but we could still pass the time through banter.
Lucet scoffed, hammering a rope into a cliff face and casting it down with ease. "An elf? Are you crazy? One of those insane glowbugs just tried to light-magic us out of existence."
"The term is gamma rays," Meloai huffed. "The elven gift of light magic extends to all corners of the electromagnetic spectrum, including the cancer-causing, weaponizable high-energy particles known as gamma rays."
"See? Does that sound peaceful to you?"
"Well, that *one* elf in particular is pretty peaceful now," I said, piping up, "because we violence'd his ass into a place where he won't be hurting anyone."
Meloai and Lucet chuckled, while Sansen merely grunted. The wrinkled old man was the most experienced of the four of us when it came to adventures like this, and I had a feeling he was about to put our banter to shame. "If you want a real answer? I think the Fey are the most peaceful of all the human-derived species. They just live in their forests and grow their crops and bugger off whenever someone threatens them."
"No, see, that's not peaceful." I tested the rope Lucet had nailed down, then started absailing down the sheer cliff face. I had to speak up to be heard over the wind. "That's just *passive*. I'm pretty sure the fey are, like, mentally incapable of *not* immediately forgiving anyone they meet. It's part of their biology. Magicology?"
"You're looking for 'mythology'," Meloai absently said.
"Yeah, that." Ugh, I'd even taken a class called Mythology of Magical Beings, way back in what seemed to be an age and a half ago. "Forgiveness is Regrowth and all that. The fey *physically cannot* do anything but forgive tresspassers in their forests. I don't think that's peaceful so much as helpless."
"So... what, in order to be peaceful, you have to be *capable* of immense violence, just... choosing to hold back for the time being?" Meloai mused, rubbing her chin. The shapeshifter currently in the form of a young girl grinned. "Because I can do that." Quick as a flash, her left arm morphed into an axe taller than she was—partly because she grew shorter to compensate for the lost mass.
"Well, rifts, by that measure, we're probably the most peaceful adventuring party in the whole of the Silent Peaks!" Lucet chimed in.
I couldn't see Sansen from my position climbing down the cliff face, but I could imagine the gruff grimace in the old man's face. "I don't think that's what *peaceful* means," he mused, and I could almost imagine him back at home with a cup of brandy, eyes twinkling as he philosophized, instead of running around with three violent teenagers who called themselves an adventuring party. "I think that being peaceful is... something for people who've managed to *forget* violence. For children whose greatest concern is how they will go to school, or what their friends will think of their new clothes. I think that being peaceful is something that we *fight* for, not for ourselves, but for the next generation. We die in violence so they can live in peace."
The only sound to follow that was the whistling of the desolate winter winds around the empty Silent Peaks.
Then Meloai hefted her axe. "So, uh, no incredible violence for me, then?"
And just like that, we were back to laughing and chuckling and climbing down the next section of rope. "I just said we'd die in violence," Sansen said, expertly navigating the rocky cliff with the help of the rope.
"Rifts, that is *not* what you want to hear from the party oracle," I muttered.
"But we die for a purpose." I could hear the smile in Lucet's voice. "I like that. So the most peaceful people in the world... is not the people of today."
"It's the children of tomorrow," Sansen agreed. "That's what we fight for."
Burning with determination, our ragtag adventuring party continued crawling down the side of the Silent Peaks, to whatever death awaited us and whatever peace we would find after.
A.N.
Soulmage will be episodically updated. Want to know what happens next? Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/) to be notified whenever a new part comes out! There's already thirty-two other chapters before this one, so there's plenty to catch up on. | The oceans were still. There was no wind to carry them, no currents to guide them.
“Nana. I’m scared,” the child said. “Where are we going?”
They were on a relatively small boat, overcrowded with other refugees. The grandmother held the child close to her, she’d been scared herself. So scared that she couldn’t even think of a lie to tell the child and so she simply held him, his questions blocked by her embrace.
With no wind and with no currents, the oarsmen were left to paddle. The navigator had been killed days ago, leaving only vague instructions behind in his journal.
“Should you find that I have been killed, paddle to where the wind is weakest.” it read.
It had been four days since then, their food ran out and they had only half a day’s left of water left. Some of the sailors had been talking about throwing some of the refugees overboard. The captain was a young man, he hadn’t started the journey as a captain and neither did the captain before him.
Three days later, the small boat was no longer crowded. Each refugee had room to stretch their legs, to run if they had the energy. The sun didn’t set here in these oceans, the wind didn’t blow, the oceans did not move. There were no fish and no sight of life.
One of the oarsmen, Tirfal, had died of dehydration; he'd been the first to give up his right to water, wanting the boat’s children to have more of it. He rowed for the past month, taking only three breaks in that entire time. He refused to sleep, ate little, and drank less. Tirfal Nevab was a great man, the child decided. Maybe even the greatest.
“Nana,” the child said. “Can I take his name?”
The child asked within earshot of the boat’s captain and of the other oarsmen. The old lady looked to them for approval and they each nodded.
“Aye,” the old lady said.
When he took the name, he felt a little happier and he felt a touch stronger. Something caught his nose, a whiff of smoke blowing from the south. He stood up to look at where he thought he could smell the smoke and strained his eyes to find it, seeing nothing.
“What is it, boy?” the captain asked. He’d looked pale, thinning by the day as the starvation started to catch him when he slept.
“I smell smoke,” the child said. “From there.”
He pointed and the captain pulled out his binoculars to look.
“I see nothing,” the captain replied. He sighed.
“Jadri,” the captain said again after a few moments, “Take us southwards.”
The smell overtook the boy so strongly that he buried his head in the lap of his grandmother. The others could smell the smoke now and they saw an island, they smelled the smoke. There was no fire and there was still no wind. When they neared the island, they saw a beachside dock with boats a hundred times the size of theirs.
“Stop,” a voice said from the shore. The voice boomed, causing gentle waves to rock the boat.
“Jadri,” the captain said.
The rowing stopped and they waited for the voice to speak again.
“Why are you here?” the voice asked, again the waves rippled gently at the sound.
“Can they even hear us from here?” Jadri asked.
“We escaped from Gresos,” the captain said. “War has broken there. We have lost many!” the captain yelled.
There was no response.
“If there is a Fallen among you, you may speak.” the voice said.
“We have many fallen!” the captain yelled.
Tirfal, the child, looked at the island and he at once knew what the Fallen were.
“We have only one Fallen,” Tirfal said. “I am Tirfal.”
It took no time for the wind to come in from behind them, it pushed them towards the shore. Every person in the boat was knocked down by the speed of it and they were soon beached. The captain regained his footing first. He looked at the men surrounding their boat, they held weapons far bigger than them. The smallest of their weapons eclipsed the boat they rode on.
“I was told that the inhabitants of this island are peaceful,” the captain said.
“You’re right,” one of the Fallen said. “We are peaceful.”
“Then might I ask for your assistance, I have children and elderly on board.” the captain said.
The Fallen clutched his axe and he carried it over the ship. No one had the strength to look at the blade and when he dropped it, Tirfal stood in between it and the ship. He caught the axe with two hands, blood splattering the island sand.
The Fallen laughed.
“Bleeding already?” he said, still laughing.
“I took the name recently,” Tirfal said. “This body is weak. Did you not say you were peaceful?”
“You are only peaceful if you’re capable of great violence. Otherwise, we would be considered harmless.” the Fallen said.
“Help these people,” Tirfal said.
And then the captain understood as well.
“You’re hiding here,” the captain said. “Afraid that others will take your power. I knew that our Tirfal wasn’t from Gresos.”
The other Fallen raised their weapons then, so high that it blocked the refugees from seeing the sun.
“Cowards,” Tirfal said.
The weapons dropped, killing the refugees - Tirfal’s grandmother, the captain, Jadri had all been stabbed or cut or worse.
Seconds later, Tirfal opened his eyes and struggled to raise his hand out towards the sun. He prayed and he cried. One of the Fallen grabbed his hands and lifted him out of the pile of bodies.
“No war will reach us here, child.” | 2022-06-11T17:18:15 | 2022-06-11T17:17:52 | 367 | 149 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | “Sir, look, you’re a rockstar,” the recruiter started. “No, I’m The Technician,” I interrupted. This guy had been calling me for months now, and this was the second time this week. It’s only Monday.
“Your skills are unique, even amongst all of the superpowers out there, yours are unique. Tenor Nullifio can’t disable your powers using his vocal powers, Timewarp can’t undo your powers by going back in time, and Taze Taze can’t touch you with her shocking attacks.”
Sure, those guys had been ravaging the population of Iceland. One of the last places on earth where they are completely safe… from me.
“And that’s who we’re dealing with! The Terrible Three T’s!”
They couldn’t have made it more painful. They went by different names before, they just picked these to rub it in.
“And what do you expect ME to do?” I questioned. Honestly, too, because I was wondering whether this dimwit had any solutions.
“What you do… best!”
I leaned back and just rolled my shoulders. My neck was feeling a bit tense. No sweat, my special power takes care of that instantly.
“Look, dude, I’m halfway across the globe and there’s an ocean between us. I can’t make it there even if I tried.”
“We’ll send an airplane to come pick you up!”
“Can’t board one.”
“Helicopter?”
“Can’t get close.”
The recruiter sighed. “You single-handedly took out the army of T-rexes. You stopped the termite ball. Glenn Talbot, vaporized. You took on the reincarnation and improved version of Thanos and, what the Marvel heroes couldn’t do, you just… stared the guy down! The meteorite Touxi, stopped with just one hand… What, exactly, is the problem?”
“Well,” I started. “As The Technician, I can only do and affect those whose names start with a T.”
“We know!”
I continued. “It just so happens that includes my method of travel.”
“…what?”
“I need to take a Train to get to you. There is no train to Iceland.”
“Fuck…”
“Or a Trike, I suppose.”
We’re both silent for about half a minute. I’m twiddling my thumbs after having taken care of my Tense shoulders.
Then the recruiter said something that would change things forever.
“Can’t you… Teleport?” | "Dave. Let's talk."
"I already told you, I'm not interested."
He was persistent. "You are incapable of dying, Dave. You literally have no risk."
"No. No. That is not true. I am incapable of dying, Rami. I am not incapable of hurting. My coffee was too hot. It burned my tongue. Right here. It hurt. It hurt right here." I stuck out my tongue and pointed. "*Ight ereh." Leaned back into the swivel chair in my office. "I have a kid. It hurts. All of that hurts."
"You can lift a semi truck over your head. You can fly. You have lasers shoot from your eyes, Dave. Your skin is harder than titanium."
"I can burn. And when other people also can punch through titanium- it *hurts*. I was in a car accident, once. It hurt."
"You broke the car and floated mid-air after launching through a house."
"The two by sixes I hit hurt! It was very painful! I don't think you get it, Rami. I got bifurcated. That means the bottom half of my body stayed in the car. Only the top half went with me. I had to regrow the bottom half. It took a week. I had to regrow legs And other parts. It was a weird week, Rami."
"Agent Sayed."
"Rami, if I get punched by a super it hurts. I get off work, I go home. I hug my kid. I kiss my wife. I help make dinner, I clean up the kitchen as my wife gives kiddo a bath. We put the baby down for the night. We talk and catch up and read a book from our book club and watch a movie, maybe. Guess what? I like my life. I don't get punched or hit or thrown through buildings. Or ripped in half. Which, by the way, was when my powers manifested. I didn't know I'd regenerate and I'm screaming in horror at half my body missing and some poor family had me. In their house crushed and missing half my body as I float in their living room!"
He really wanted a new recruit. "You didn't die. You cannot die, Dave."
"I'm a man. I bleed. I hurt. I cry. I'm not a robot, Rami."
"Agent Sayed. We'll talk next week."
"Looking forward to it, Rami."
"Agent Sayed, Dave."
"Dave is a terrible name for a super hero."
He smiled. "You're the most powerful super I've seen. I was thinking... something more... super. Not Dave. Maybe... Superman?"
"That's a bit on the nose, Rami."
"Agent Sayed. We'll workshop it, Dave."
"No we won't, Rami. I've got baby swim lessons next weekend. And a baby birthday party for her friend from daycare the weekend after. And then it's my mom's birthday. I like my life, Rami."
"Agent Sayed. Same time next week?"
"Can tell your boss you tried, man."
"We have a suit. It's a really good suit, Dave." He tapped my desk. "Think about it." | 2022-07-31T14:08:55 | 2022-07-31T12:20:45 | 576 | 212 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | Tim landed in a chair in the conference room, the breath leaving him in a sigh. "We're being audited." He said, pulling a hand across his face. He met my eyes and I saw the pain there. I knew what it meant, and I felt my stomach turn to ice.
I swallowed, taking a moment to digest this before answering. "The shop is fine, Tim. We do it by the book. They can audit all they want."
"No, Wade." He said. "The company. Not you, not our division. The company. We are being audited. A deep dive." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Apparently last year one of the accountants diverted some funds and ran off to Bora Bora. So we're screwed. From the top to the bottom they have us in a vice. They can shut us down, Wade. The board has made their decision." His voice caught. "I'm sorry. When I hired you, I told you this wouldn't happen."
I knew what was coming. It still hurt.
"It wasn't your call." I said, softly. I wanted to get angry but all I felt was devastated.
"And apparently the auditor made it clear that this could go away by terminating a certain employee. If it matters any, I stood for you. Resigned on the spot. I just asked that it got to be me to tell you."
I sighed, I hadn't expected that. I squeezed my eyes shut and felt a tear roll down my cheek. "Tim, you don't..." I loved the brewery, loved everything about it. I fit in there, another one of the jolly brewers, and nobody made a fuss over me being different. Hell, we were all a little different. "I mean I get it, fire me or they shut us down. Either way I'm out of a job, right? And this way at least I'll know you're taking good care of the boys."
"You think they'll stay after this? Ha." He said, leaning back. I felt my heart sink lower. "I think it's the end for me here. Maybe I'll get a real job."
"Dammit Tim!" I said, slapping the table, that got his attention. "You were all happy here before I started. If this," I gestured to indicate the whole of the brewery. "If this goes away, that hurts me more. Don't quit in solidarity, that's how they get to me."
"This isn't the first time, is it?" Tim asked.
"Last one was a little general store up in the mountains. Zoning department determined it was in a landslide area. The little old couple that ran it lost everything. Before that it was a tire shop, a sushi restaurant. I got hired at a laboratory and they got me in nine days."
"Why?"
"So I'll come fight for them. Be a 'good guy' who can fight the 'evil bad guys' and save the day. And I don't want to do that. I'm so tired of hurting people. But they just won't leave me alone." I stood up from the table. "And I can't take them hurting the people around me anymore."
I noticed Tim looked alarmed, and I realized I had shouted. There was a pause. "What are you going to do?"
I thought for a moment. "Stop them." | As I head out to the truck, I check the work order one more time. Silver Porche, keys locked inside. Parking lot at 5th and Maple. Something about this feels...wrong, but it's the job.
As I pull into the parking lot, I see the Porche. Not that it's hard to spot. It's the only car in the lot, which makes sense, considering this parking lot belongs to a long abandoned shopping mall. As I pull up, I see the owner of the car. A tall, stocky man in a black suit stands by, staring at his phone and tapping his foot. To anyone else, this would probably have looked like any frustrated business man, waiting to get to an important meeting. But I know better, because I know this man.
I should have just turned around. But again, you do the job. So, I pull the truck into the lot next to the car and hop out. The agent opens his mouth to start to speak, but I put up my hand.
"Listen, Bill. You don't need me here. You lured me here to try and recruit me. I get it. But my answer is still no."
"Do you even know what you are saying? You are one of the strongest telekentics in the world. And what are you doing? Working at some garage?"
I stop, and take a deep breath. This is an old argument, and one that I really, really don't want to rehash. "We've been over this. I enjoy what I do. I can unlock a locked car without causing the slightest damage. I can pull a car out of a ditch, or from a flaming wreck that might endanger another tech."
A beat passes. Neither of us saying anything as we try to find some new ground in the old argument. He knows all my answers at this point.
"But you could do some real good in this world. Think of the lives you could save. The efforts you could support. You can literally move mountains. Why won't you even consider this opportunity."
This bastard knows full well why I won't come with him. The idiot put this call in right before lunch. I'm hungry, exhausted, and getting royally pissed off. So finally, I snap.
"You know why. You say you can keep me safe. You say you can keep my family safe. But you can't keep your own people safe. How many supers have you lost in the last year?"
"Well, I can't..."
"5,327. Over five thousand of the best people the world has ever known gone because you decided they were better as cannon fodder than as citizens. In a war that didn't even need supers."
"Well how were we supp..."
"How were you supposed to know that the enemy might know you were using supers in your ranks? Gee, maybe all the goddamn recruitment campaigns you are so publicly throwing around." To emphasize my point, I gesture across the street at the billboard with the Super Recruitment Ad.
"You didn't think that maybe this information might possibly get to one of your enemies? And you expect me to put my trust in you?"
The recruiter stops and stiffens. I touched a nerve with that one. He smirks and says "You don't get it, do you? I didn't have to *offer* you anything. I can take you whenever I wanted. I just figured you would be more receptive if you were given a free choice."
He reaches into his jacket, ready to pull the gun and probably the cuffs he keeps for detaining supers. But then, his face twists as he realizes that something is wrong. His hands come out and grasp at his throat as the realization dawns that he cannot breathe.
"Listen to me, and listen well. I am giving you, and by extension, your agency one chance. You're right. I can move mountains. So it's no big deal to apply a little pressure on a windpipe. Go. Go find yourself some new cannon fodder. Because if I ever see you or any of your ilk again, you're gonna need them."
He drops to his knees as I turn toward the truck. For a brief moment, I pause and the lock on the Porche clicks open. I turn back and say "I've got your card. I'll make sure the bill for this service gets sent to the right place." | 2022-07-31T19:45:06 | 2022-07-31T16:21:13 | 34 | 24 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer. | My job pays me like no other. And God I'm not going to give it up. Especially not to become some sort of superhero. I'm all ready making 200k as a senior programmer, and the 401k is just the cherry on top. I'm even due for a raise of 20k by the end of the year. And yet, the recruiters are the biggest pain in my fucking ass. 4 of them each and every single fucking day, non-stop. They call me, Email me, text me, whatever they can do to get my attention. And everyone wonders why I go hunting in the outdoors so often. Ugh.
Today one such recruiter got very daring. I was in the middle of my day, shopping, when this happened:
"Gareth Soran, is it? You are aware of your power, and how the government could..."
I paid no heed. But that wouldn't be the last time I was going to hear her voice. I went home, put my groceries away, went on another trip to a local brewery to meet up with a friend, and well, wouldn't you know it, she was right there. Sitting where I usually sit.
"You didn't even turn around. Rude."
"I learned to tune out people like you. I really am not interested. Oh, and I wouldn't sit there if I were you."
"Why not?"
"You were warned."
Everything slowed down to the point where only the air was moving. The world had come to a complete standstill, time freezing in place. This was my playground. From here, I could do practically anything. I could still move, walk around, do whatever I wanted. Emerald rings now encircled my arms and wrists, with three on each arm, and evenly spaced out 1 inch away from each other. These Flat disks hovered in the air, but were not touching my skin. These rings manifest every time my powers take hold, and they serve as my controls.
To make sure she wouldn't follow me, I grabbed her by the wrists, pulling her in this version of my world. Her body flickered awake, no longer frozen in time. She looked at me in shock.
"What are you doing?"
"Putting you were you'll never reach me."
The rings flared red, and they started to rotate clockwise. This should do the trick. Time starting speeding on without us, as though someone had pressed the fast forward button. It all zoomed by, the sun falling, and rising once. Then it all stopped. The rings ceased their rotation, and became emerald once more.
"Tell your boss that I'm not interested in his plans for me. The next time he sends a recruiter, I'll pay him a visit myself, and I make sure he doesn't forget it."
I let go of her, and she was frozen in time once more. My rings now became navy blue in coloration, rotating counter clockwise. It was like hitting the rewind button. I kept rewinding until I felt the tug at me. This was were I initially used my powers. The rings disappeared. And time resumed back to its normal pace. The bartender Samuel looked annoyed. Not at me of course. Samuel and I both had the same grievance.
"That's the 296th recruiter that has made their way to my establishment this year. Goddamn."
"Yeah, I'm exactly happy about them either."
"You know, they really out to read the signs. 'No recruiters allowed'. Are they blind?"
"They're desperate."
"Perhaps I should deal with them personally from now on."
"You wouldn't know when to let them go. That's why I do that myself."
"What's the worst that can happen?"
"I still remember your last fight with a recruiter back when your powers were discovered. That was a type of spectacle you only want to watch once." | "Come on, Ryan, you can do anything you want but you have a desk job? Why not come with us? I can double your salary!," Mr. White says on the other side of the door for the second time today. I groan, pushing my back against the door in an attempt to ignore him.
"Fuck off, Mr. White. I would rather die than join your hell of an organization," I yell back, waiting for his reply. He always has the last word, so I'm surprised when he takes a while to respond.
"Ryan, there are so many benefits to our partnership. Even the FBI want you," He says, almost breathless. I raise my brows as I turn to the door. I haven't heard from the FBI in almost 30 years.
"I guess they forgot about what happened last time," I say as I open the door. I stare at the short man in front of me, he's not who I thought I was talking to.
"Thank you, Ryan. Please my boss will triple your salary if you join," He says, desperately. I roll my eyes at him and close the door before waving him I to the kitchen.
"I don't care about the money. Why do you guys want me to join. Why not someone else," I say flatly as he eyes me awkwardly. His eyes light up and he grins as he sits down at the table, new confidence filling his eyes.
"Well, Ryan, we want you to join because your powers are very special. No other government has someone like you yet," He says, that stupid grin not leaving his face. I raise a brow at him, I can't help but be suspicious.
"Do you really want that though? To have your organization bring in someone like me," I say, my eyes lowering to the table. He gives me a confused look, but nods.
"I mean, of course. You can easily take down some of the best villains out there. I bet you could take the one wreaking havoc in New York if you really wanted to," He says laughing, as if it's funny. I glare at him, taking a dep breath.
"Do you even know what my powers are?" I say and his eyes go wide as he reaches into his brief case. He pulls out a manilla envelope and opens it, showing me its co tents. It doesn't say much other than a list of my powers. The list is small and vague, entirely incomplete. I let out a laugh and all the confidence leaves him as he realizes and pulls the papers away. He shoves them into his briefcase, clearly embarrassed. He stands up, getting ready to leave, but I stop him.
"Wait, Mr. White. I could at least help you update the files," I say, giving him a sickly sweet smile. I watch s shiver run up his spine, but he nods, sitting back down.
"Thank you, Ryan. Since I clearly don't know, what exactly are your powers?" He asks, rubbing the back of his neck.
"I can make anything stop in its place. A car, the beat of your heart, time, the growing of trees, anything. You name it I can stop it," I say, watching him get nervous as I skip by telling him I could kill him. He quickly writing it down, a fake smile forcing it's way onto his face.
"That's a very special power. So in 2011 when you fought Maximillion, how did you defeat him?" He asks, I laugh again, the smirk on my face only growing.
"Easy, I stopped the blood from flowing to his arms and legs. Then I watched as he crumbled to the floor before stopping him from being able to speak. Then I threw him off a cliff," I say, picking some dirt from beneath my nails. His eyes widen again as he quickly stands up and heads for the door.
"That's amazing, Ryan. I'll be back tomorrow once I update the database," He says nervously trying to pull the door open. But it doesn't move. He looks away, making sure it's unlocked, but the door still won't open.
"Oh, Mr. White. I'm not done talking g to you yet," I say walking towars him. He freezes in place, taking quick breathes but I just laugh again.
"Ryan, please, I'm going to ve late to my next appointment," He says and I give him a cold glare.
"My name is Ryan," I say, pulling the door open and pushing him out onto the street.
I slam the door, sitting down and leaning against it. I got too emotional there. | 2022-07-31T22:10:28 | 2022-07-31T17:55:32 | 23 | 12 |
[WP] Aliens aren't surprised when most of humanity is considered a 'level 1 threat', the lowest possible. although they are shocked when they scan a singular human and find that they are a 'level 10 threat', the highest there is. | For a moment the scan of this planet, Terra seemed normal, boring even. Sever billions of level one threats, a decent number of twos, a rare three here and there and a few pockets containing some higher level threats. Nothing beyond a seven though. However, while checking the last of these pockets a shocking result appeared: an individual reached the level of ten! Captain Drux immediately ordered the scanners checked and the scan repeated. The result remained. Several other scanners were used but nothing changed. It was clear: for the first time since the Pan genocide the Confederation was facing a threat of the highest possible level. The greatest military leaders and weapons were quickly gathered to prepare a contingency plan if this individual was to go against the Confederation. A group of spies were sent to Terra in order to probe the individual's abilities and look for potential weaknesses, what greeted them was some kind of a Terran instrumental music (apparently from a so-called "piano") and the words "I, Giorno Giovanna have a dream." | “Why the artifice around the creature’s expiration? Don’t they expire on a regular basis?”
“Sir, it’s quite common on their planet, they call it, ‘Faking your own death.’ And we…well, this specimen is rather unusual…”
The High Admiral exuded irritation. “Explain.”
The functionary—actually he was an Administrator but *this* one made him squelch like a Servitor—hesitated, collecting his thoughts.
“Sir. We’ve studied these people. We understand them quite well. The vast majority are, indeed, Level 1. However, a small portion have elevated themselves through sport activities that resemble war fighting. This effort is referred to as ‘martial arts’, as if there any sort of artwork involved.”
The Admiral exposed a rear incisor three *mel* to indicate ongoing comprehension and impatience.
The Administrator hurried to continue. “Among this smaller group, it is not unusual to see a level two or even a level three. I personally have witnessed seven level fives.
“This type, however, is a flat out Level 10. It is legendary among its people for its implacable power and destructive ability. They tell stories about it.“
The Admiral frowned. “Explain…further.“ The incisor crept out another *mel*.
“Well..among this people, it is said, *”The last thing that goes through your mind when it head-kicks you is its foot.“*
“That’s just an example. There are quite a few more…” He continued down a very long list.
Half a span later, the Admiral scurried away, shaking. This planet must be scoured by fire, warning beacons set, other worlds searched for surviving members…
Could there be another Chuck Norris out there? | 2022-08-28T02:11:28 | 2022-08-28T02:05:46 | 114 | 22 |
[WP] Humanity spread into the stars. They're generally quite kind and helpful and treat all worlds as important. But occasionally they'll ignore uniquely made human ships. When asked about it, most humans just say "The powerful abandoned Earth after nearly killing us. Now we're returning the favor" | The beeping of the radar made me spin around in the hoverchair, the familiar sound informing our crew of the presence of another spaceship in our system, and importantly, one which was in distress. As I was on duty, I began to scan through the system-wide array of scanners and detectors to find a visual footprint of the ship in question, ready to scramble rescue & evacuation teams as needed. Switching to the Herkon Asteroid Belt, I saw it.
A battered golden ship had seemingly just emerged from the belt, its odd curves and designs unfamiliar, as it carried neither an insignia of it's allegiances nor a recognisable transmission signature. The only detail which I could recognise was that it was manned by humans, through the barely visible terran alphabetical lettering embossed upon the sides of the ship. I flipped open the microphone panel, ready to begin communications, when a hand slammed it shut.
Looking at the hand, I thawed myself out of shock and realised that it was Will, the only human on duty at the station, who had done it. As he reached for the control panel, I grabbed his arm and asked, "Why did you do that? They are in distress!"
Hearing the my protest from the translator, he sighed.
"Look, we don't help them. I know it's our job, but they are the exception."
I looked at him in disbelief. "There aren't any exceptions, you know that-
"There is. For them, and them alone." He interrupted, and for the first time, I saw hatred in his eyes, despite being a human.
"But why? Aren't they part of your kind?"
He closed his eyes, almost as if blocking out a bad memory, before saying "I'll tell you, just get your hand off me, please."
As I loosened my grip, he turned off the display on the holoscreen before sitting back on his chair.
I always had heard of the horror stories; Of weird, strange and derelict terran spaceships washing up in parts of the universe, with nothing but human skeletons aboard, reeking of foul death. Whenever this happened, the humans always said that they 'deserved it' and 'getting a taste of their own medicine.', which always freaked me out. What could they have done to deserve this?
Pinching the bridge of his nose with two of his ten opposable digits, he started.
"Humans weren't always peaceful and kind. Despite what we are now, we, just like other species, had much internal strife and destruction before we reached the stars. Despite all that, we still reached a semi-stable equilibrium, around the human 21st Century."
I was familiar with the first part, but that didn't explain anything of meaning or importance. As I was about to ask, he continued.
"Around that time, there were a few rich and powerful people who were so through the exploitation of earth's resources and the labour of the poor. This caused a plethora of issues, but most importantly, an environmental phenomenon known as global warming."
"...Earth?" I asked, unaware of any planet known as such. The soft and confused murmuring of the now present crowd behind me confirmed its unknown nature.
"Oh, that used to be what we called our home planet, before we changed to Terra. Anyways, global warming caused a whole different set of issues-
"Wait, what does that mean?"
"You don't have to know what it means exactly, just that it was a global crisis. As I was saying, these rich and powerful men used their incalculable resources to further the destruction of our planet, not prevent it, despite having the obvious ability to do so. And when it was too late to save it, they built the first terran spaceships to leave the rest of us on earth. Luckily enough, we were able to do the same, saving most of our population before eart-, I mean Terra, became uninhabitable." Will seemingly began to tear up, his eyes turning red.
He soldiered on, continuing, "Lucky for us, those foolish idiots were unable to navigate the stars properly, while we were able to settle on Eucalyptus-9, starting our expansion into the stars."
I understood that losing a home was devastating, but that didn't discount the cruelty inherent in abandoning their distress calls. "Shouldn't we still, you know, help them? Show them how it pays to be kind?"
At that, Will lifted his head up, crystalline droplets falling onto the station floor.
"If morality and kindness had worked, Terra would still be here today." | My mandibles clicked together in audible irritation as I raised my lower 2 hands to my head. "Lights off." I click in the guttural tongue of English.
When the humans had first made the space trip, they were unhelpful, skittish, glancing over their shoulders with every noise. A jittery and jumbled explanation led to a constant barrage on our memories. We, Glithn, are rather known for solving every problem.
It wasn't until 5 stars had burned that I first encountered the Homosapiens. Weird, as it's just another term for what humans are, but upon calling one of the Homosapiens a human, he had a gun leveled in between my 2 pairs of eyes, the red beam forcing me to do something the Homosapien called cross-eyed to see exactly where this red beam was resting.
"Never call me one of those derelict moneybags again or I'll take pleasure in ripping your heart out of your rear." The Homosapien growled. When I nodded, his gun disappeared, back into a carrier he called a holster, "Now, we heard you were having an issue with your cores acceleration array? Jenkie's a whiz with engines. Have someone escort him down, he'll have it fixed in... Jenkie?"
"Faster than an armadillo shot out of a canoon on United Thestavil."
The Homosapiens laughed at this before spreading apart. I had retreated to my egg, my mind focused so deeply on the issue in front of me.
'Telepathic communication for Drimal Sjntoi. I have come across another member of the human race who drew his weapon on me because I called him human. Homosapiens are the preferred term. There is bad blood between the Human faction and the Homosapien faction. Will update you as I further am informed.'
***
It was another 2 stars burning before I discovered through, Navigations Officer Sara exactly what the issue between the two factions from Earth was. Sara was a lovely Homosapien and I had become fascinated with her and their species. Apparently, we are in a relationship. I am still learning this ritual as Glithn are more combative. We kill all our enemies in a show of our prowess. Want a mate, kill all who want her? She is also allowed to kill you if she doesn't believe you worthy. Want a new rank on the ship, kill all who want that title. The Homosapiens were much less violent.
"Trenkth, a distress signal is being broadcast." Comms officer, Nrzth, called out.
I grimaced as I had to switch to English, "On-screen."
Static rumbled across the room before a human sounding voice began to speak.
"Caught...zzzz... grav... pull... zzzz... black... hole... 3 cycles... zzz... late... I repeat, this is the Humanitarian Vessel, Kingsman. We are caught in the gravitational pull of a black hole. We have 3 cycles left before it's too late. I repeat..."
I push to my four feet, my mouth open, "Prepare to..."
"Leave them." Sara's voice cut across mine.
I twisted my body to her, squinting my inner pair of eyes, "Come again, beloved?"
"Leave the humans to die in the black hole. Or offer them a mercy killing. If you try to rescue them, you will force us Homosapiens into a war. We really don't want that. So either leave them be or kill them. But don't you dare try to rescue them."
With that, Sara stormed off, no doubt to my quarters as I twisted my body back to the front.
"Trenkth, your orders?"
I growl as I raise my right hands, waving them on, "Leave them. I'm going to go get answers."
I stomped my way through my ship, approaching my chambers with questions burning in my mind. However, upon entering the room, I found Sara wrapped in my cocoon, sobbing her eyes out as the little tendrils of sentience drifted over her. My anger and questions evaporated as I moved to the end of the bed, waiting for her to speak or move.
"It... it was... 20 stars burning ago. I was but a kid... the scientists... ah... thinkers... they discovered that in humanity's greed, we killed not just our home, but our galaxy. The sun was set to burn us alive in the year 2318. When the rich and powerful humans learned of this, they secretly built ships to escort them off the planet. We didn't know until the morning of their departure. They left us on the dying planet with nothing more than a, 'Better you than us. Sorry.' And they were gone. They just left us. Luckily, we managed to scrape together enough resources to build ourselves some ships. We escaped the year before the sun was going to burn us. It's why we're brown instead of white like the humans. It's why we call ourselves Homosapiens. And it's why I said leave them. They left us to die. It's their turn to be left... because one day, we're going to hunt every last Human to the very edge of space and kill them. So, beloved. Are you with the humans? Or the Homosapiens?"
I groaned as I grabbed my head with all 4 hands, 'What have I gotten involved in' | 2022-11-16T01:22:28 | 2022-11-16T00:55:57 | 112 | 37 |
[WP] Write a story from the perspective of a hero, but make the reader hate them in the end, or vice-versa.
This prompt has been done before, but I thought with the new influx of people on the subreddit it might be fun to do it again.
So just write a story, either with a hero who is revealed to be a villain or a villain who is revealed to be a hero. | I still remember the time when we first opened the lab. Back when we had hope, when success was still possible. You should have seen it. A bunch of young, nerdy and enthusiastic scientists in a room filled with the latest and greatest equipment; we were about as happy as a kid in a sweet store.
That was forty years ago. A long painful forty years that turned those young enthusiastic scientists, into bitter, old, frustrated men. Everything we tried was either failure or a marginal advancement only to be followed by a crushing failure. I couldn't take it any more; time was running out and if we didn't do something soon climate change and the pursuing mass extinction that would have killed all life on planet earth, would have been inevitable. Something had to be done.
But this...
Like I said, I had to do something; there was no choice in the matter. To save all life that inhabited planet earth no price was to great.
But this...
I look down at the malformed bodies which litter the side walk; there faces still contort from intense pain as there muscle tissue slowly destroyed itself. They'd never stood a chance, the disease was the definition of endemic. Just a few cells released and the human population started dropping like flies. It's strange really, it took thousands of years for the population to get to seven billion but it only took two months to bring it down to one.
I suppose I'm a hero. Thanks to my actions, life on earth can continue for another few million years. Isn't that what a hero is, someone who acts for the greater good?
This is the greater good isn't it? The complete genocide of a species to save all others.
I press the gun to my forehead.
The complete genocide...
_____
Although not exactly true to the prompt I took the basic idea of a morally complex character and applied it to a vast scale. | "I wanted to thank you all for your messages of love and compassion. Your thoughtful cards, and the flowers you see before you. I know Mark would have been touched by how many of you are here for him today, and for that I am truly moved.
There were so many things that I wanted to say to Mark before he left. I know now just how much he was struggling with the demons inside his head. I wish I had been there more, been more understanding. I wish I had just one more chance to tell him how much I loved him, and a chance to say goodbye.
I know a few of you were there 6 years ago when Mark and I got married. It was a small affair, family and close friends. I wore a plain white dress, and carried a bunch of daisies from the garden at my parents house. But when I stepped out into the church, and saw Mark waiting for me at the other end of the aisle, I knew that none of it mattered. That he was the best part of my life, and that this was the moment we would become entwined forever. And when it came to our vows, Mark surprised me with a poem that he had written. I'd like to read this poem to you today, and to Mark, where ever you are, I will hold you always in my heart.
"When my heart is too old to beat as normal,
When my lungs so tired they begin to slow,
When my mind is ravaged by the years,
and on my face the pass of time does show.
There will be a small corner of peace inside of me.
A room where time does not pass, and sorrow does not exist.
We shall live there together,
In this deep far corner of my heart."
To Mark, the love of my life, and the other half of my soul. You will always be with me, in the corner of my heart.
*There. That sounds perfect; touching yet suitably sombre. There never would be cause to wonder, but just in case. A Eulogy to keep wandering minds far from the realm of truth. Deep into the trail of lies that lead to the funeral of my husband. A tragic death, to say the least. Shot himself in the head in our bedroom. His distraught wife left to find him after returning from coffee with a friend. Left 2 children behind, a girl and a boy, both still too young to truly understand his departure. Why would anyone think anything untoward? There was no conflicting evidence, no cracks in the tale. No reason at all to believe that such a terrible accident could have been so meticulously planned in advance.*
*A touching story of love and loss. It'll be a wonderful start to the memoir. Just a pity it couldn't happen by itself.* | 2013-08-17T14:36:53 | 2013-08-17T13:50:07 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Dr Frankenstein enters a body building competition, but when he arrives he realizes that he strongly misunderstood the objective | Victor flexed. He rippled. Under the hard spotlights the contours of his oiled body gleamed. He was tanned, cut, a hardbody, sculpted perfection and he hadn't picked up a syringe or a scalpel even once.
He struck a pose, isolating another muscle group, and there was an outburst from the front row as a respected pathologist from Ruritania lost all semblance of self control and tried to stuff his posing pouch full of Pfennigs. She was restrained by some helpful lab assistants. In the VIP box, the notorious Dr. Furter flashed him a lascivious grin and raised an eyebrow. He left the stage to a storm of applause and quite a lot of thrown underwear.
He was met in the wings by Igor, who handed Victor his robe, and Professor Twilight.
"I don't want to denigrate what you do, Victor, but..."
"But next year, bring an animate corpse?" finished Victor. He smiled.
"It's what the competition is all about, after all."
Victor Frankenstein thought about this for a moment.
"Professor, I appreciate everything you say. But my time as a modern Prometheus is over. The crude surgery of my time has been superceded and eclipsed by genetic manipulation, cloning and even more esoteric techniques. What I do now is bring a little joy to the proceedings. And I have a few fans, here and there."
Professor Twilight sighed.
"I know, Frankenstein, I know. But they are not in the majority."
Frankenstein slipped off his robe.
"Professor, I might be outnumbered," he said, flexing a bicep "but I'm surely never outgunned." | It was perfect. All the nights spent digging up graves, all the frantic escapes from the biting torches and pointed pitchforks of the mob... They all paid off tonight.
Leading the grotesque figure by a chain fastened around his neck, the Doctor made his way to Town Square, a slight skip in his step as he anticipated the reaction of the judges. He arrived at the river, and by the dull light of the lantern in his hand, he made out the sign: *Ingolstadt*. The chained behemoth's boots pounded the wood of the bridge as the bizarre duo made their way into town.
As the Doctor meandered through the narrow cobblestone roads, stooping to avoid the low-hanging thatch roofs of the houses on either side, the sounds of laughter and music arrived from the distance.
The bonfire roared high and mighty in the center of town square, casting dancing shadows of the villagers' joyous forms. This scene of merriment and community was one to behold.
The Doctor emerged from the dark path and stepped into the light of the bonfire, taking in the sight of the judges setting up their table. He gripped the chain in nervous, sweaty hands, anxiously glancing at the competition.
What?
The other creations were... perfect! Their glistening bodies, flexing and oiling themselves up, were the ideal image of male beauty. There were no scars between the muscles, no sign that they had been assembled! In fact, if the Doctor had not know he was at a Body Building Competition, he would not have even guessed that these bodies had been built! Astounding!
Well, he assured himself, none of them were as large or impressive as his creation. He yanked twice on the chain, and the beast lumbered into the light.
The sounds of merriment ceased. Not a sound was made, save the crackling of the fire. The judges' jaws dropped in sheer horror as the Doctor made a grand gesture to his masterpiece. A little girl began screaming, acting as the catalyst for the villagers to panic. Tables were overturned, the spit roast dropped into the coals, as people began running away, desperate to escape the hideous gaze of the abomination looming in front of them. A banner tore from its fastenings and fell into the fire, casting eerie shadows along the brick facades of town square.
The Doctor and his monster stood alone, a man and his work, taking in the emptiness of the once bustling area.
The behemoth looked down at the doctor, and opened his pale lips:
"Oh vell, maybe next year..." | 2014-07-01T08:35:34 | 2014-07-01T07:50:14 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] Hit me with every cliche you got
...but make it interesting. I especially welcome every tired cliche, and just things that are false but widely used (such as using 10 % of your brain)
They say you need to do bad writing to do good. So, let me help you get out the bad.
Edit: Wow, these are all so beautifully terrible. I love it. | Moving to a new city is HARD! Making new friends is even HARDER! My name is Sally, just a regular old girl with nothing special about her, nothing what so ever.. at first. I moved with my hard, workaholic yet caring mother and annoying little brother to a new town for my mom's new job. I never knew my dad though. My mom tells me he died in a car-crash on the way to the store to return some videotapes and trying to save a kitten, then his car spontaneously combusted.
I moved to Mapletown at the end of summer and just began going to Littlewood High School. It was tough! No one wanted to hang out with me, I sat alone during lunch, and the girls called me a slut! How rude! I wanted to go away somewhere, away from my pesky brother, the mean girls, and just everyone. Life was so hard!
Then, one day, a student came to me. Her name was Willow. She was so weird, her hair was bright red, swaying, and there was a *magical* feeling towards her. It turns out that she was a WITCH and she was using some tracking spell to find other witches in the school, and it turns out I'm a witch too! My father was a famous warlock until an evil sorcerer killed him.
And boy was my years crazy. Willow and I trained in secret to properly use our power *for good*, but I tried a forbidden spell to make this hot guy Dean like me, and that didn't end well. I met another witch...er warlock as well. His name was Chandler, and her quickly became my best friend, though he's a bit geeky, isn't athletic and like to play some game *Planet of Witchcraft*. But it turns out he like likes me, because I used a confession spell on him when I wanted to know if during homecoming, he used magic to make us both Homecoming King and Queen. I like him too, but Dean is like SUPER HOT, so what if he's a felon.
But it turns out that not only am a witch, but THE CHOSEN ONE. I must stop the Dark Empress, who killed my father, the famous warlock, and is trying to summon her master, Lord Cthulhu! And it turns out the solar eclipse, used during ritual to summon Cthulhu, is the same night as Prom, and Chandler asked me to prom and I realized that I love him! So, I was almost bested my the Dark Empress, until I used the most powerful magic of all, LOVE. I stopped her and Cthulhu from rising again, and made it back just in time for that final dance with Chandler.
My life is not normal, and may never be. But I know with my best friend, my boyfriend, and the power of LOVE, I can do almost anything. Life in Mapletown will never be the same! | New York City was nothing like Anniston, Alabama in all the worst ways. My high school sweetheart-turned-husband Dakota and I took a home baked cherry pie to the family in the apartment next door to ours, only to be shocked by the sheer shamelessness of the woman who lived there. She answered the door in a bustier and flimsy lace cardigan, smacking her strawberry colored lips and fluttering her boudoir eyes at Dakota. He looked down in respect and caught the harlot's young son darting away from between her legs, and gave me the nastiest look when I asked about his father. Sheesh, I was just trying to make conversation! How was I supposed to know he abandoned them for his secretary? In my hometown, men stay faithful to their girls for life. New York is a twisted place.
We returned to our apartment, dejected and defeated, pie in hand. We were going to have our weekly Friday movie night but I got a call from my demonic New York City boss who looks like Judi Dench from one angle but Meryl Streep in different lighting. I tried to explain to her that this was mine and Dakota's tradition since sophomore year of high school and we hadn't missed a single one, but she just hissed "Beth, if you aren't here with a soy vanilla latte with extra foam and my Versace gown for the extremely important gala tonight, you're *fired*." Well I very well couldn't get fired. So I kissed tradition goodbye and ran out to run errands for Lucifer herself.
Finally, we arrived at this big fancy ball sort of thing. I looked and felt ridiculous in my puffy and pink bow-adorned gown among these sparkly foxes in slinky gowns. But no matter, I was there for work. Being my clumsy self, I accidentally spit champagne into the face of an important client, knocked down a world famous supermodel, and pulled down the red velvet curtains, causing disaster and utter silence. To break the silence, I sheepishly shrugged and said "oops?" and I guess my Southern charm did the trick because everyone burst out laughing! The DJ, feeling less intimidated now that I had broken the ice, felt comfortable enough to blast Beyonce's "Crazy in Love."
"*HEY!*" I shouted. "I KNOW THIS SONG!" Everyone laughed again and joined me on the dance floor, letting loose enough to mimic my excellent Sprinkler, Lawn Mower, and Running Man! Once the night was over, everyone had all but forgotten my little mishap and were thanking me for making the night so fun. Until I saw my boss striding towards me with smoke practically billowing out of her snakelike nostrils.
"I should fire you right this very instant," she fumes. I bow my head and accept it. "I'll pack my things."
She looks at me, and for the first time in the entirety of knowing her, she cracks a smile. "But I won't."
Immediately I looked up and beamed. I couldn't believe I made it through my first night and couldn't wait to get home to my husband.
I opened the door to the apartment carrying some leftover cake from the gala, and turned to see him furiously boning the harlot neighbor! I gasped and dropped the cake, and Dakota turned around and frantically began spewing excuses. I looked at him and shook my head angrily. "No, Dakota. It's too late. Get out." I didn't need him. I ain't no Southern chick anymore.
Right when I was about to get into bed, I checked my phone and saw a text from my boss. "Be here 7am sharp with my latte," it said. I smiled at it. I'm going to like it here. | 2014-07-09T22:20:40 | 2014-07-09T20:45:20 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] It was only after they invaded that the aliens realized, to their horror, that humans had superior technology in all things, except inter-planetary spaceflight. | Lek'tar strong Kholan warrior. Strongest of Lekh clan. Conquer twelve planets in nebula of birth with horns, teeth, and blade. Have one hundred seventy families with twenty species, three hundred children, all strong warriors. But Lek'tar strongest.
Lek'tar forty-fifth family on Tsina say Lek'tar must prove strongest in galaxy. Tsina family challenge Lek'tar to conquer blue planet with jellies. Tsina say jellies strong. Lek'tar will pop jellies with horn.
Jelly planet many thousand years rock throw away. Kholan strong because Kholan planet many special natural force call space stretch. Kholan blood feel space stretch and bend universe around Kholan.
Lek'tar make big rock and concentrate hard on bend universe. Lek'tar see stars pass around Lek'tar face, many colors flashing. Farthest any Kholan space stretch. Blue jelly planet get bigger. Rock burn in jelly planet-fluid. Lek'tar find jelly and ask for jelly leader. Jelly no reply. So Lek'tar bury big Lek'tar horn deep into Jelly flesh. Darkness fall on Lek'tar, carapace split. Lek'tar slain by enemy... how?
-------
Cecil wipes the guts from his neck. "Fucking mosquitoes." | It's been 1720 days since they arrived. I don't think they were expecting the resistance they would encounter when they first dropped out of the sky that otherwise normal May morning, but they are a resourceful bunch. Too resourceful. All they have on us is numbers, and sometimes, that's all the resources you need.
We first detected their ships accidentally, one day. Apparently some scientists were using some kind of new technology to be able to detect metals on far away objects, such as the moon or other planets in the solar system.. I don't know. Anyway, there it was, two giant ships suddenly appear just past mars. No one knew what to think - is this real? 6 months it took them to get from Mars to orbit around Earth.. and then the real horror began. Thousands upon thousands of these beings emptied from the bellies of these ships like flies from a corpse poked with a stick. They fought with their claws. Carapace like iron. No technology to speak of - I suppose they never really had to develop weapons to do their fighting for them.
Fortunately for us, we have spent the last few hundred years fighting each other, it didn't take long for our military experts and scientists to sort out an easy way to kill them - only needed a few corpses to play with and there we had it; depleted uranium rounds worked great, but there was a limited supply of those. AP rounds were the next best thing, we had LOTS of those.
Anyway, fast forward four years. We would have won a long time ago but they breed so damn fast. Furthermore they seem to come out of their.. gestation egg.. already knowing how to fight. We ran out of ammunition about 8 months after they showed up and true to our nature, science took over and developed all kinds of new ways of using our natural resources as weapons. From water jet sentry turrets that are as good as lasers at short range to actual lasers. Luckily for us, the only thing their ships appear to be good for was bringing them here, and floating around in orbit being useless. Even their landing vessels are useless. If they could have simply picked up their troops and dropped them strategically they might have had a chance but no. | 2014-10-17T11:04:27 | 2014-10-17T10:04:02 | 46 | 29 |
[WP] tell me a story where the first line and last line are the same but have entirely different meanings.
I LOVE the creativity this sub shows
Edit: I'd just like to say that the replies I have gotten so far remind me of why I love this sub. I'm a lurker and rarely post prompts, but I loved this idea, and seeing the variety you get is amazing. I've seen comedic stories, longer heartfelt ones, almost suspenseful darker stories, and even some poems. Watching the many talented people of the world come together and show off the variety of ideas that spawn from one simple sentence is wonderful and the whole reason I try to be as open ended as possible with prompts. Thank you all so much for writing today, it's really amazing. | The silence created by the need to repeat his question to me caused my partner to question the entire ceremony, but when I finally regained control of myself and thought about the past... my answer hadn’t changed in the slightest.
“I do.”
The rest of the wedding went on how everyone had expected it to. My new wife and I danced, we smeared cake in each other’s faces, we drank too much, and we enjoyed the company of our friends and family. Things seemed like they were going to be fine, we were truly made for each other.
It was only when we drove back home that things went wrong. It started to rain, we were both partied out, and I drank just a tad too much. No matter what my friends said, no matter my parents or her parents said, the words that stuck with me were the coroner's.
I never did have the courage to do anything in life without her. Things didn’t change when I knew that she was gone forever, taken away the very same day that I had finally made her mine. That’s why I had to give a homeless man two grand in cash to talk to me in my apartment about silly, pointless things while the fistful of sleeping pills kicked in.
“I can still call the police,” he said, his voice shaking with fear and concern. “They can pump your stomach or something. I don’t even want the money anymore, I just don’t want to see you die. Look where you got in life. You’ve got it so much better than me and a whole lot of other people out there.”
I asked what he planned to do with the two grand. He said he would probably donate it to charity or something, he may even leave it on my dresser and go home. He grabbed my hand and held it tightly, squeezing it as if it were somehow his own lifeline. “Please,” he said, staring into my eyes. “Will you let me call an ambulance?”
The silence created by the need to repeat his question to me caused my partner to question the entire ceremony, but when I finally regained control of myself and thought about the past... my answer hadn’t changed in the slightest. | It was the first day of our lives together. We met when we were in high school and Stacey was the most beautiful girl in the world. I was a bit nervous, but we quickly became friends. Weeks passed and she began seeing me as more of a friend than a prospective boyfriend. I was devastated, but what could I do? She would see that I was the right guy for her eventually. Stacey liked the same type of guy, an after a few failed relationships, she started dating an older guy, Jake. Well, one night, she showed up at my parent's house and snuck into my room. It was senior year, so I thought she had finally come to her senses. Boy, was I wrong. She had a giant bruise across her face and lower back. She had told me that it was Jake. He got angry and beat her up and that she was scared. I let her stay the night. I slept on my floor and she had the bed. The next morning, when I woke up, she was gone. I worried, so I called her and she told me that she had gotten a text from Jake. She was out at breakfast with him and they were patching things up. I couldn't understand it.
Over the next few months Stacey would show more and more bruieses and Jake would still manage to get her to forgive him. She just couldn't see what was happening. I confronted her one night and tried to convince her to leave him. She said that she loved him and that she just made him angry sometimes. I couldn't believe it. She was blaming herself for his bullshit. I thought it was time, and I confessed my love for her. She laughed. SHE LAUGHED AT ME. She told me that she saw me as a friend, but nothing more. I was so angry. She said it would be best if she left and as she turned to leave, I grabbed her. I was going to show her that I could be the man she loved. She pushed me away and yelled at me. She fucking SLAPPED me. What the hell? Jake can destroy her self-esteem and he face, but I get slapped? In a fit of rage, I punched her--HARD--in chest. She started gasping for air. I panicked and held her. She wouldn't stop gasping. He neck started to turn red. I had punched her in the throat. I'm such an idiot. She couldn't breathe. I held her as she struggled and them slowly stopped breathing. Panick was in her eyes as she died. I killed her. I had crushed her trachea by accident. In my panick, I dragged her to the car and drove off to my uncles cabin. We can be alone there. I'll make her see that I am the man for her. I drove all night, but I made it there by morning. As the sun crested the mountain, I carried her into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. It was the first day of our lives together. | 2015-04-28T10:37:38 | 2015-04-28T10:03:35 | 68 | 30 |
[WP] Pranksters from various subreddits hack into President Obama's teleprompter during the State of the Union Address. This, being Obama's last year in office, just decides to go with it. | "Mr. Speaker, Mr. Vice President, Members of Congress, my fellow Americans:
We are fifteen years into this new century. Fifteen years that dawned with terror touching our shores; that unfolded with a new generation fighting two long and costly wars; that saw a vicious recession spread across our nation and the world. It has been, and still is, a hard time for many.
But tonight, we turn the page.
By saying
ASLKDJSADLI#UPEOIQPWEJLJFBSJDlkjalskdjasldj alksdjalskdj ksdja sd. And furthermore, aspdiasdalkj 2343ij fjnhfsdnfsldfkji i3uo12iu3kqjalsdkn.
Thank you."
| "Alright mutha fuckas stop, collaborate and listen, Obama is back BEEEAAATTTCHES!" *Pulls out a joint and lights that shit* *Inhaling* "I know yall think I'm punk ass," *Passes that shit to his left* Looking at Michelle, "But you know...YOU KNOW! I be tearing dat ass UP!"
"You know I have been thinking, yeah I have been thinkn' this 8 year term limit is just sheeeeeeaaaattt, fuck this, I am in for life, FOR LIFE BITCHES, and I know what you all are thinking okay, but its cool! I JUST SMOKED A MUTHA FUCKIN JAY! This shit is legal across the board, in fact April 20th is a national holiday from here on out. FUCK! That is some damn fine weed nigga! Gay marriage....legal of course *starts giggling* but don't be suckin' on my dick, but if you wanna suck on some nigga's dick...bitch go ahead its okay...marry dat dick too!"
"Look y'all, I am getting hungry and shit I am the Prez, so I am gonna go bounce onto Air Force 1 and fly to Canada to get some fresh bacon and pancakes, damn does that shit sound good!"
*Straightens up, adjust tie and clears throat* Uh God Bless America, *Kisses two fingers and gives the peace sign* BAMA OUT!
Edit: Can not count the months...thanks for the heads up :) | 2015-04-30T07:43:09 | 2015-04-30T05:34:16 | 77 | 16 |
[WP] Two friends press random buttons in an elevator before they leave as a joke, upon pressing 20 numbers the doors shut and they hear "Code accepted." | Both boys froze in terror. A red light from the panel began to flash, and a soft siren began to bellow.
"Holy shit!" cried Derrick, slowly stepping back into the rear of the elevator. "What...holy shit!"
Jahlil was taking deep breaths, eyes focused on the panel. If this was prompted by pressing buttons, maybe it could be deactivated by a different sequence of buttons.
"Mission accepted. Proceed." said the robotic voice again, and the elevator began to move down.
"No, no, no, no, no", cried Derrick. "Dude, my mom's going to kill me."
"Shut up", said Jahlil, "I'm trying to think."
Time was running short, and Jahlil couldn't figure out what had started this. Derrick was always doing stupid stuff like this. Jahlil never found Derrick's antics too funny, and smashing all the buttons on the elevator was just another of Derrick's childish antics. Jahlil pounded on the "open door" button, but to no avail.
"Dude, stop!" Derrick pushed Jahlil, "Are you trying to make it worse?"
"Chill", said Jahlil, "i'm trying to fix your screwup."
"Dude, this has, like, never ever happened before!" Derrick stared back at the floor # display, which was continuing to descend. "I'm sorry, dude."
"Just chill. Look, we'll get to wherever this is taking us, and we'll just tell them it was an accident. You... fell and brushed your arm on the buttons."
Derrick nodded, eyes still fixed on the floor # display. Jahlil stepped back too, and took a deep breath.
The elevator passed floor 1, then B. Probably the basement, thought Jahlil. The elevator began to slow down, but kept going. After what seemed like an eternity, the display changed.
"What the..." asked Derrick.
Both were staring at a smiley face. The hair on the back of their necks promptly stood up.
The elevator continued down, ever so slowly. You cold hear the boys breaths amidst the creaks and groans of the elevator.
The display changed again. The smiley face had turned into an angry face.
Immediately the elevator stopped.
Both boys were frozen stiff to the back of the elevator, terrified to move. They shuttered as the doors opened.
A dim orange glow began to come in. The boys saw a figure dressed in a trench coat, with head bowed underneath a dark fedora. Terrified, the boys didn't dare move, even after the doors finished moving.
"Are you boys ready..." said the figure in a booming voice that pierced the silence, "to DIE!" In a flash, the figure whipped out a shotgun from underneath his trench coat, pointing into the elevator.
Derrick began screaming hysterically, while Jahlil just sat back petrified by fear. Derrick screamed and screamed, while the figure sat poised to open fire.
After a few moments, the figure lowered his gun and began chuckling. Derrick stopped screaming, and the figure's chuckled began to turn into laughs. Eventually, the figure bent over, bellows of laughter emitting from underneath his fedora.
Derrick and Jahlil stared at eachother in bewilderment. What on earth was going on? One moment, they thought they were going to die. Now...?
The trench coat man lifted himslef up, wiping away tears from his eyes as he let out a few more chuckles.
"Oh my god, that was amazing! I think that was the best one yet!"
Derrick and Jahlil picked themselves up off the back of the elevator, eyes fixed on the trench coat man.
"Sir, what is going on?" asked Jahlil.
"I'll tell you what's going on. Y'all thought it'd be funny slamming buttons on the elevator. Y'all think you're real comedians or something. Anyways, I finally got sick of people doing it, and set up the elevator to automatically bring you down here, all dramatic like. And then down here, I scare the absolute bejeezus out of you", here he let out some more chuckles.
Derrick and Jahlil were speechless. This was all just a ruse.
"Anyways, I hope y'all learned your lesson. The elevators working now, so hit one button, and only one button, to get where you want to go. Try and act funny again, and I'll see you down here. And next time I might not be so nice!" He quickly raised the shotgun again, and laughed some more.
"Go on now. Hit the button. And stop being douchebags."
Jahlil went and hit the ground floor button, and the doors closed as the man waived at them. Once the doors closed, they heard "going up", and the elevator started going up.
"Dude, that was crazy", said Derrick.
Jahlil nodded, than turned to look at his friend.
"Uhhh, Derrick. We might need to go back up to your apartment. You definitely pissed yourself." | *Click*
"Bro," he sighed.
"What?" queried Dave, a sly smile on his face.
*CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK*
"Dude, why do you *ALWAYS* have to be *THAT GUY*?"
*CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK CLICK*
"Cus, its funny. *CLICK* Besides, who cares? Its a fuckin elevator. There are two others that function perfectly well in this building."
*CLICK CLICK*
"Perfectly? You mean Elevator A, which fell-- with people inside-- from the fourth floor to the basement just two months ago, and Elevator B, which screeches like its about to snap every time it goes moves more than one floor?" Jay retorted.
"Dude, quit bitchin and just try it," answered Dave.
"Why? I think you've done enough."
"Come on, just one."
"Nope."
"Cummmmooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooon."
Jay couldn't stand Dave's inhuman ability to drag out any word indefinitely at the most annoying pitch. He caved.
"Fine."
"That's my boy."
*Click*
"And only two floors away from the ground floor. Good timing."
"Code accepted," rang a metallic voice from seemingly nowhere.
"What?" asked Jay and Dave in unison?
The elevator reached the ground floor.
Jay turned to Dave. "You heard that too, right?"
"Yeah. Let's just get the fuck off this deathtrap."
*Ding*
Jay let out a noticeably large breath. "Phew."
When the doors opened, however, what was revealed was not the charmingly dirty, famously shitty lobby of their dorm. Nope.
"Is that... a dinosaur?" asked Dave.
What must have been a 10 story tall tyrannosaurus rex was stomping across a clearing in a jungle of even larger fauna. The beast was red, a shade that matched the liquid dripping from its open mouth. It turned its head and locked eyes with the duo.
"I..." was all Jay could say before the creature let out a massive roar.
"Should we run?"
The lizard turned himself towards the elevator.
"I..."
It started walking, its steps shaking the ground below them.
"Jay, now is the time for the smart guy to come up with a good idea."
"I... okay, I have an idea."
It was only 30 yards away from them.
"Anytime, Jay."
*Click*
10 yards.
"Close already!" exclaimed Dave.
5 yards.
Jay's life was flashing before his eyes.
*Shoop* The doors closed just as the monster was about have them in its jaws.
"You're brilliant," shouted Dave.
The elevator began moving again.
"That was close," sighed Jay.
"What the fuck just happened!?!" the adrenaline still pumping into Dave's brain.
*Ding*
"Home sweet ho--" Dave stopped. "Where the fuck are we?"
A procession of men in elaborate armor and red cloth, carrying shields and swords and spears marched down a street. All around, people were looking on, each wearing some manner of faint, drab cloth. All were shouting in what sounded like praise and excitement. Leading the army was a well-armored man riding a chariot led by two white horses, his helmet crested with a red plume. Aside him on the same chariot was a shorter man in a simple robe, holding what looked like a green, leafy wreath above his head. Trumpets rang out as the men marched on, the crowd throwing flowers and shouts of joy as they passed.
"Uh... Rome?" said Jay, unsure.
"OH FUCK YES!!!" yelled Dave.
"But... how?" asked Jay.
Dave was already outside. "Orgies! Gold! War!"
Jay wasn't sure when Dave learned Latin, but he was confident that must have been what the crowd was shouting so gleefully.
Dave joined a bunch of partying women, shouting and jumping along. Two turned two him and started jumping with him.
Jay facepalmed. "Always with the girls." He sighed and walked to join him. He wasn't sure about how they got there.
He wasn't sure how they would get back... oh god how would they get back! He grabbed Dave and pulled him away from the now throng of women that were joyfully dancing with him.
"Call me," shouted Dave as Jay pulled him away. "Dude, what the fuck? They were so into this."
"Dude, we need to leave. We don't belong here."
"What do you mean? We were just going to a party. This is exactly what was going to happen there, except way lamer and with fewer people."
"Dave, think rationally. How would we survive? We don't speak the language, we don't have a place to stay. Shit, we'd be killed, or worse, made slaves as soon as anyone with a weapon saw us in our jeans and t-shirts."
"Man, fuck you for being right."
"Let's go back to the elevator."
Dave sighed. "Fine."
Jay turned and started walking to the spot he ran after Dave from. In front of him was a large wooden door. He pulled it open... only to find a darkened room with a simple rug on the ground, and a very confused man drinking what must have been very good wine out of a large jug.
"The fuck?"
"Jay, why are we going here?"
"This... this... the elevator..."
"Dude, this is not the elevator."
"I... it was right here." Jay was incredibly confused. He started panicking.
"Alright. I guess I win. Orgies it is." Dave put one hand in the air and walked back to the ladies he was planning on expressing eros with.
Jay simply hung his head in defeat and fear. | 2015-08-14T11:37:23 | 2015-08-14T11:24:48 | 36 | 14 |
[WP] A curiosity shop opens up where you can rent superpowers, magical abilities, mystical artifacts, and mad science technology. The catch? Payments are made with abstract concepts. Life, memories, etc. | It was relegated to a creaky shelf in the very corner at the back of the room. A golden telescope, no larger than the cardboard roll inside paper towels. Most patrons had passed it over in exchange for the flashier powers and artifacts. Flight, immortality, attractiveness... you name it.
"A very special object," Apollo said with a pleasant smile. He looked just like any other person, except he seemed to radiate golden light and warmth. "Isaac Newton's prototype of the telescope; a gift from Astraios herself! Said to be imbued by the cosmic powers of the stars that he first witnessed." He leaned in close and whispered to me. "The previous owner told me that it increased his intelligence ten-fold! He went on to found a successful software company and made *billions*."
I stroked my chin, freshly shaved this morning for the first time in years. *Previous owner* meant that someone else didn't want it, and probably for a good reason. "And the price?" I asked
The god proprietor sighed and opened his booklet, as he'd done for a hundred other items this morning. It listed the consequences of every object in the store, and I'd probably looked at half of them already. Plenty of options that sounded good, but there weren't any that really fit my needs just yet.
"A sacrifice to Mnemosyne," he answered. "The longer you own it, the more of your memories will be drained from you. Some good, of course, but also the bad! It's done at random." He tried to sound upbeat and cheerful to sell me on it, but it was apparent that this was why it was still on the shelf. Health could be regained. Possessions bought again. But memories could not be remade; only replaced.
Apollo opened up his book again and began pre-emptively searching, expecting me to move on to the next object: a yellowed globe that smelled faintly of the sea. But he was pleasantly surprised. "I'll take it," I said, cradling the telescope.
---
The bell over the door tinkled as I walked through, and everything outside was completely different. It was like seeing for the first time. There weren't just white clouds in the sky. They were cumulostratus clouds, moving quickly east. A storm front would be arriving soon with heavy rain and thunderstorms. Before entering the store, I hardly even knew what meteorology was, much less how to predict tomorrow's weather. But now it was blatantly obvious. I didn't just see objects anymore; I saw all the components and materials and how they all fit together. I could *hear* the sounds of an engine working, mixing gasoline with air to combust and push the pistons forward. I saw the detailed stone masonry of the buildings, designed for maximum support. I felt like I was finally understanding how the world worked.
I tried to recall my past, to see what I'd lost already. The pain and humiliation of prison was still there, burning fresh from my release yesterday. Nine years of my life locked in a cage like an animal; I couldn't wait for it to disappear. Behind that, the rage and anger that I'd felt from the night that put me in there in the first place was also not erased yet. Memories of my relationship with Sandra were still present too; we'd had some good times, but her cheating on me had kind of ruined that, and the good memories were just as bitter as the bad. Now I just wanted them gone. Prior to that, I still had the years and years worth of memories of Dad beating me. There was also Mom crying and smoking while it happened, but not lifting a finger to intervene. I also had a decade of failing in school, being constantly humiliated by my own failures every single day. So I guess it's all still there. Nothing missing from my memory yet.
I clutched at the telescope, hoping that that would make it work faster. Becoming super-intelligent was nice, but that wasn't the real reason I'd chosen this object.
| The bottle holding the swirling silver mist was on sale. One never knew what the shopkeeper demanded, but it would be worth it. A plaque propped up near the jar advertised its contents.
***Be the prophet of your age! Guaranteed seer abilities: rent for one year! Accurate to the finest details.***
I grabbed it, hugging the jar close to my chest. The shop was crowded, people jostling each other to get at the wares on sale. A slim young man wearing a finely woven cloak scowled at me as he read the plaque.
I sidestepped him and made my way to the counter, trying to walk slowly. These scavengers could smell a weakling a mile away. The reassuring weight of the dagger hidden inside my cloak made me feel slightly calmer.
"Ah, young Lukas. And what have you chosen?"
The elderly shopkeeper stopped polishing a milky orb, turning his attention to me. He rubbed his hands before he took the jar, examining it closely. He grinned at me, revealing unusually sharp teeth. He was known only as Mr Veil, the same name as his shop. I tried to dismiss my unease at him knowing my name. Names were sacred.
"What is your price?" I asked, struggling to keep the eagerness from my voice. Knowing the future meant securing my fortune. It meant erasing the shame of losing everything last year. It didn't matter that I had to return the power: a year was more than sufficient.
"Tut tut, that is not how this works, young man," Mr Veil smiled widely. "I can only reveal that I will dull one emotion. You will scarcely miss it - this is on sale, after all. Emotions are such beautiful things, don't you agree? I must confess, I get a bit greedy about them. I can never have enough. What do you say? In exchange for the future, it's a fair deal."
The jar felt warm and comfortable in my hand. The future was mine for the taking. And I had never been an emotional man. I could scarcely remember the last time I'd cried - was it when Dana left me? But I did not remember tears, only the drinking that had followed. I had nothing to lose.
"Deal," I nodded, stepping behind the counter. Mr Veil winked at the other customers standing in line.
"I'll be with you in a moment, my friends."
I blinked as we entered the room at the back of the shop. It was too dark to make out any details, but I thought I saw the outline of a desk with papers scattered over it. I turned to see where Mr Veil was, and hastily retreated as I saw his gleaming eyes in front of me.
"Now," he said, grasping my arm. "Just hold still. This shouldn't hurt a bit."
Before I could say anything, a curiously numb sensation swept over me. The room shifted as the feeling crept to my limbs.
"There," he finally said, releasing me. He was coaxing streams of blue, wispy light into a large barrel standing nearby. Slowly, it came to me that it must be the emotion he had taken.
"And here you go! A deal's a deal, after all," he grinned, pressing the jar of silver mist into my hands.
I left the shop in a daze, clutching the jar. A fog had settled over my thoughts. The jar was important, wasn't it? The jar was everything. Cold gripped me as I walked through the streets. The day was overcast, but seemed colder than I remembered. I finally made it home, fumbling to unlatch the heavy oak door. I stared at the jar, trying to remember why I needed it so badly. Slowly, I unscrewed the lid and swallowed the contents.
I knew the days to come instantly. They were mine to know, every second of every minute. I settled into my armchair and thought about the next year. The neighbour's children would die, terribly and slowly. To my surprise, I saw that mother would live past another birthday. I knew where Dana would be, and what I could do to win her back. There was money to be made, if I played my cards right. More money than I'd ever seen in my live. If I did not, I could just as likely die.
I stared at the ceiling, and thought of never getting up again. I did not care about any of these things. Why had I left my house this morning? Something to do with the future, just waiting to be bought.
The numbness moved through me, dragging me deeper into my thoughts. The future stretched endlessly before me, possibilities branching crazily from every moment. So much that could go wrong, so much sweat and strain over what might be. I did not care for any of it. I could see no reason to ever get up again.
| 2015-09-25T11:02:10 | 2015-09-25T10:24:49 | 1,242 | 222 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you. | There I was, my friends, in the marble courtroom, on a chair surrounded on all sides by heavy stone platforms. The room was nearly empty, but it was filling up with people and animals, and it must have been five minutes after I sat down that the trial started.
I'd heard the details of this process in the waiting room earlier today, and had assumed the worst: I was a researcher, my entire life. Decades of work on the intricacies of the brain, and for several of them, I had studied -- and euthanized -- animals from mice to monkeys, at least until my grant funding had been enough to grow living brains in vitro.
Then the judges -- nine of them, so perhaps I had a chance -- opened the trial, and I found that my information had been wrong. "We will call upon the animals you spent the most time with to testify, for they would know your character best of all."
Several monkeys I had done my postdoctoral thesis with discussed my work at length. They told of the experiments and the eventual deaths, one by one, of their fellowmen. I said nothing, only watched the faces of the jury go through a series of expressions ranging from confusion to utter horror. I had no qualms with the testimony, other than the likely disadvantage it put me at, but if this was the moral compass by which I would be judged, so be it.
The interim between testimonies had the jury looking at me with growing alarm, but I was not asked to defend myself. Several hours of sitting there had left me bored and desirous of rest, even if I would be resting in flames. "The next testimony will be the last," announced the foreman, with a heavy gavel strike. Finally.
Then I laid eyes upon the final witness, and it was my turn to be surprised.
Eve, my childhood cat companion. I had spent seventeen years in her company, seen her at her best and worst, but in the nearly two hundred years that had followed I had nearly forgotten her.
Eve, now in the glorious black fur of her prime, leapt into the main dais, and her voice was familiar, but I did not know why. "Beings of the court, you have heard much about the defendant from the preceding witnesses, but I implore you to consider the impact those testimonies have in light of the passage of time.
"We are gathered here to judge this human's life in its entirety, as best can be approximated by what we knew. I will tell you of the things I saw that brought the future into its current state." And Eve spoke. For hours. She told of my infancy, my peculiar state of mind. She told of the deep seated apathy that filled my childhood, an apathy directed everywhere but at her. She told of the formative years of my early adolescence, when I recognized what _did_ matter, what I wanted to do.
"At the time of my decline into the decay of old age, fellow beings, I began to see what this person would become. With death's grasp upon me, she saw for the first time the enemy that would be fought for her entire life, and instead of giving in, she began to ready the weapons of war.
"I saw it. In my last days. I saw the fear that crossed her eyes when my body trembled with the cold, unable to warm itself as I wasted away. The hate this human felt was not for me, even as she closed the bedroom door and shrank from my skeletal body when we met. It was hate for the seemingly inevitable, but she fought as hard as she could against it for me when I could not." I noticed the fireman's eyes watering, and remembered vaguely the days leading up to Eve's death, which were similarly saddening.
"I was, during my tenure on the earth, used as a bookrest; used as a pillow; fed sparsely as a stray, fed to excess as a pet; an unfamiliar presence, and this human's closest, greatest friend. It was knowing, at the end, how much my friend would give to never lose me, that I chose to go outside one night and curl up in the snow. I felt the burn of the ice pierce me to my bones, fellow beings, and then I was gone, knowing that the impact of my death would be greater than my life's had been.
"Which brings us here, two hundred and twelve years after this human was born, and the very last of these trials ever to happen. At the cost of some number of my fellow beings, who have spoken here today, no creature will ever join these halls again. Will you all condemn this human to the flames for saving all the ones that will come after?" Eve's voice quavered on the last word, and there was silence for a time in the court.
"I think not," said Eve, and stepped down from the dais. | "Hello PT."
There was a faint red glow surrounding me as I opened my eyes, blurry at first, the room I was in came in to focus. If you could call it a room; it became apparent that it was more of a large cavern than anything. As I looked around I saw thousands of animals, some perched on jagged cliff outcrops, others on limbs of parched dead trees. Fire billowed from lava flows, though the lava itself looked more like glowing thick streams of excrement. Surprisingly, the heat could not be felt, and there was no distinct smell.
"Where...where an I?" I stammered.
"You're dead," a large Bison said, coming closer, flames enveloping him, then fading away. "I am your first."
"First what?" I asked, bewildered. I was beginning to wonder if I had a bad batch of acid earlier, but despite by doubts decided to go with it. "And how did I die?"
"You don't remember?" the Bison said, surprised. Animal chatter soon filled the room. Several muskrats started fighting, then, as if reaching an agreement, scurried off.
"I'm actually not convinced I'm dead," I joked.
The Bison's eyes glowed red, his voice bellowed, "OH BUT YOU ARE!"
The room heated instantly to a scorching temperature I thought would instantly burn my skin off. Through the ripples of thick air, I saw my skin melting and regenerating, and with indescribable pain I screamed.
It instantly became room temperature again. The Bison seemed to grin, though his face couldn't really convey that emotion. There was still a lingering smell of festering shit from the lava flows.
"But, why, I mean, I know I'm not religious, and I certainly wouldn't have known if whatever paganistic religion this looks like, so I could've worshipped you all. Just seems unfair. I'm no saint by any means, but I led a decent life."
"The religion is if no concern, it's the deeds that matter," the Bison explained. Animals throughout the cavern chattered in agreement.
"And what deeds did I commit?"
The Bison laughed, "I am your first!"
I stared, perplexed.
"Remember, 1996, rural Kansas, Jane's Restaurant and Hotel? The three day stay? There was a Bison farm next door. You requested a Bison burger 'because you never had one before.' But they were out of meat. You pointed to me, said I looked good enough to eat."
I had to be tripping, I mean, skin melting aside, that's some deep ass memory I had completely forgot about. But I had no choice but to go with it.
"So you're like my accuser, then? Is heaven only for vegetarians?"
Snickers erupted in the cavern, some birds flew down from perches and shit at me, most missing, though a drop or two hit my shoulder.
The Bison sighed, "Next accuser."
A small bird fluttered down from high above and settled on one if the Bison's horns. It was a baby bird, and seemed to have just learned to fly.
"1992," the bird said, "Your friend and you hunted me down with a BB gun and killed me."
"But I never shot it!" I exclaimed. I remember that moment from my childhood well, we were fucking around with a BB pellet gun and my friend wanted to shoot something. There was a bird in the trees, and he took the shot. It missed by inches but startled the bird enough to fall in the brambles below, where it became trapped and several shots later was dead.
"Indirectly, you led to my death," the bird chided. "You could have told your friend to stop."
I began to see where this was going, next would be the deer my uncle shot, probably. Some fish I caught, though how they'd present themselves in this firey shit ferno I'll have to see. A lobster or two. Who knows if insects count, that'll take some small eternity to go over, if only for all the ants I fried with a magnifying glass. The raccoon I blew the head off of a few weeks ago because he was in my garbage can and bit me.
The muskrats came scurrying back. With ease they made their way up the thick coarse hair of the Bison, and whispered into his ear.
The Bison let out an annoyed groan.
"When a man dies, he is sent here, to hell, to be tried for his cruelties against his kin, his fellow brethren in this world. First the bad, then the good, then the decision. However, in some minor cases, the accused has no memory of their death, because that would be problematic for the tribunal. To die at the action of another animal or saving another animal would automatically redeem you in the eyes of the tribunal. Suffice it to say, we get tired of going over whole lifetimes of said acts if we can learn what killed you. The muskrats consulted Gaia, and it has been determined that you died due to the action of another animal."
Chatter broke out in the cavern, and several dozen raccoons let out a shrill laughter, pawing at their faces.
I simply stood in stunned silence, the memories flooding back, of treating the bite on my hand, aching all over a few days later. The lock jaw, convulsions. Hospital, family, friends, delirium.
Fucking raccoons.
A bright light shown and the thousands of animals in my tribunal began floating skyward.
I looked at the Bison and asked, " What's heaven like!"
The Bison groaned, "Puppies, lots and lots of puppies.
| 2016-03-24T15:18:13 | 2016-03-24T13:50:00 | 65 | 36 |
[WP] All humans go automatically to hell when they die. You can gain access to a heaven though, but only if the animals you interacted with while living vouch for you. |
"Crap. So... Hell. That sucks. Guess I'm in line or something, I always imagined there would be someone to tell you what horrible fate awaits you in Hell, but this place is....boring. Buncha rocks, and sulphur smell, but not much really happening."
Just then a door appeared in the middle of the room and opened. Out walked a red skinned gentleman with a dapper goatee and sharply tailored suit.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," he said, conjuring an I-pad from thin air. "Gift from Steve himself." he said. "Thought he could bribe me with an I-pad. He was right. This thing is cool. I sent Steve straight back to Earth as a little child in Shenzhen."
He brandished his I-pad with a flourish. "Let me explain how this works. Have you ever seen the old TV show, "This is your life"? We are going to play that now, only with all the animals you ever crossed paths with. If they let you, you get to Heaven. Saint Peter is too busy judging real Christians, he delegated a lot of the other work to the critters."
"You'd be surprised how vindictive ruminants can be."
I interrupted him. "I've been a vegan since I was a kid." I said.
The red skinned fellow was obviously having a hard time keeping his cool. He disappeared the I-pad in a puff of sulphur smoke and took a deep breath before proceeding.
"You people are insufferable!"
A light appeared in the sky and golden rays of heavenly light shined down. A chorus of cows and pigs raised a cacophony unlike any Earthly barnyard and a flock of chickens and turkeys swooped down to lift me into my eternal reward.
| Alexander came into the 3rd floor apartment with a stutter, his glasses and awkward unshaven appearance left him unappealing. When my roommate, Casey, had told me he was bringing his friend over and that he was a little strange, he wasn't exaggerating. Casey had forgotten to mention a very important detail to Alex. The detail that we have a pet.
"Wow, you have a golden retriever!" Alexander seemed as excited as we were when class got cancelled. "That's a good dog, I can tell just by looking at him." "Oh yeah, he's pretty cool. I got him to fetch the news from the front too, doesn't even need a leash." "He's not your slave you know, this guy is his own individual, with his own hopes and dreams. He might have smaller aspirations and simpler drives, but they are there all the same." Casey and I just looked at each other, he didn't even ask who I was and I would be clueless to his presence if not for Casey telling me about him beforehand. I limply held my playstation 4 controller in my hand on the living area couch, unsure how to proceed. "I don't suppose that I could talk to him for a bit?" Now Casey and I were really confused. Did he really want to have a conversation with our dog? "You can learn a lot from animals, trust me. One of them told me something very important once, something that I can't talk with anyone else about. The gist of that conversation is to be good to all animals, trust me." I sat with my mouth agape, thinking if he was for real.
Without even attaining permission, Alexander immediately began sitting down and chatting with our dog. "What's your name man?" He asked inquisitively, and he seemed to expect an actual answer. "I see, well it seems like a good life." Casey and I were stunned. I couldn't even believe what was happening, and Casey started to realize that bringing him over was a really bad move. "You know, I eat 100% vegan. No animal products involved in my diet, absolutely not. I know it might not mean much to you, but I just can't eat meat or anything that an animal had to suffer for." This gross, unkempt man came into our house to spout off his vegan nonsense? I was about to say something but Casey immediately propped up and said "Yo, Alex, I think maybe we should hang out somewhere else, maybe your place? Alex responded "Sure, sounds like a plan." "Hey, see you later David." As Casey and Alex left the apartment, he waved to David, our dog. | 2016-03-24T14:20:04 | 2016-03-24T12:50:08 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] Pain is beauty. The more pain somebody has experienced in their life the more physically attractive they are. | The more desperately I tried to cease the tears, the harder they streamed down. I screamed in my head for it to stop, not only for the pain to end, but for what I knew the after effect would be. Everyone knew when bad things happened to you. It was humiliating to walk the halls of my school and have the girls snicker and the boys leer. Tomorrow morning, I would look different again, and everyone would know what happened to me.
Every night a new man came to my room. In the beginning it was only one man every so often, a friend of my dad’s, but since then I have grown more and more beautiful with every occurrence. My eyes were so blue that people could barely look me in the eye without becoming transfixed in them. My hair was long and just the perfect hue of strawberry blonde. It felt like expensive silk when you ran your hand through it. My breasts perky and supple, ass as round as a melon. My figure was an exact hourglass and my cheekbones prominent and permanently rosy.
After the man went and paid an exorbitant amount to my father, I could already feel the change beginning. My jaw ached, gums pulsing with discomfort. I could hear creaks in the bone as each tooth lined up with its neighbor. I closed my eyes and willed them to stop. They were the only ugliness I had left. | The suicides were always so gorgeous.
A stunning blue-eyed blonde, her incredible figure slumped lifeless in her bathtub. Wrists rivers of red.
A lean, tan-skinned man's body crumpled in a contorted, unnatural position, the right hand still gripping the pistol. We all knew how handsome his face must have been.
A mangled mess of flesh, bone and sinew sat stewing in the summer sun at the foot of one of the city's taller high-rises. The feel of the muscles told me she had a swimmer's body.
I never really noticed the phenomenon until I became a coroner. It's something about the experience of pain - but not just any pain. It seems to be correlated only with pain of the soul; that sort of pain that no non-human animal could ever comprehend. The pain of seeing, of loving, of counting down the clock. It follows you, shadows you every waking moment, your body siphoning the health from your heart. As I spend more days on the job and the years start to roll by, I feel as if I notice the people around me looking better and better every day. Most politicians and a decent fraction of doctors (disproportionately surgeons) are hideous. The medical examiner I work with is...odd. He's not ugly, but he's no looker either. He's just...bland. Almost inhumanly so. I wonder about him a lot. He doesn't speak much.
Seven more suicides this week. I've started rating them on a scale of worst-to-best ways to go. Worst so far was a dude that drank some kind of chemical and ended up quite literally vomiting his guts up. Best was easily the more recent one who sat in his garage with the car engine running and let the carbon monoxide kill him. I like that one a lot.
Read about some horrific shit that happened elsewhere in the world. Not sure where, but it was easier to read about that than the shit that I know happens here.
Three suicides today. I've been thinking about the garage death a lot.
Friends and family have been complimenting me more often the last few days. Got a call from an ex who wanted to know what I was up to. Said I looked fantastic on Facebook. This morning I noticed that a few of the wrinkles on my face were gone. | 2016-06-19T16:59:30 | 2016-06-19T15:42:40 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] Reverse Attack on Titan! Humanity has been plagued / rather annoyed by tiny humanoids flying around with swords. You're about to have your first encounter with them | "Oh, it's horrible, horrible!" Said my mother from the porch as the man walked up from the white van in the driveway, with "Al's Extermination" painted on the side.
"I'm just going to need you to calm down, Ma'am," he said, pulling three necklaces from his bag, "But before we begin, I'm going to need you to put one of these on. The little buggers like going for the neck, and it's just a precaution- they're usually really bad at causing any damage."
"Of course," said my mother, and strapped one on to me, "What exactly do they do?"
"Just strings of magnets, that all. If any of them get close they'll get stuck- that exoskeleton they have is actually made of bits of steel, and draws them in like a bug to light. Now I'm going to need to hear some details."
"Well, at first I thought it was Timmy," she said, leading the exterminator into the house as he nodded, "little chips out of the wall, occasional threads hanging around, nothing too serious. But this morning, we woke up to this!"
She pointed into the living room, where I had discovered them.
Countless holes pocketed the walls, with small barbs and thread attached. Some of the threads went through paintings, ripping large gashes into them, or the couch, puckering the leather. From the fireplace there was a scurrying and a small form *zipped* up the chimney, leaving behind a cloud of dust.
"Not the worst I've seen," said the exterminator, "Certainly nothing compared to summer of '09. Nasty buggers, let me check writhing your walls, they like to infest walls more than anywhere else."
He tapped, and there was a dull thud, accompanied by a chorus of screams.
"Yep, appears they've taken root in there, and by the sounds of it have built several more wall layers. I can remove them, but I have to warn you my fee will be extra."
"Anything it takes," said my mother, as he walked back to the van to get his equipment.
"Just magnets and leafblowers is all," he said, nodding his head, "And if it's any consolation, if there's enough of them I can offer you a small resale value. I usually sell them to the sushi restaurant down the street."
***
By Leo | I was making my way through the forest, back to the village. I often like to walk through the woods on sunny days like these. My father, along with the rest of the elders in our village Warn us of the dangers of going near the edge of the forest. They never tell us why, exactly, just that there are dangers to be avoided.
I've been curious to go though, despite what they say, we're dominate, there's no creatures greater than us. What do we have to fear? As I approached the village my curiosity began to get the better of me. 'its still early', I thought. I could sneak off for just a little while and maybe just get close. Just close, I wouldn't walk out of the forest just close enough to see these "dangers" we should be avoiding.
I walked for about 45 minutes and I began to see the trees become less dense. I could just make out a field through the forest. I was maybe 100 yards from the edge. My heart began pounding, I was nervous to disobey my father and the elders of the village but, there didn't seem to be any danger. I kept moving.
As I moved towards the edge I could see another human running towards me. He looked deranged, from exhaustion perhaps. As I watched him running I noticed that he wasn't just aimlessly running, but chasing these very small creatures. They were coming for the edge of the forest. "Hey I shouted, what are you do-", before I could finish my sentence I was being circled by these tiny creatures, they were shooting webs all around and flying towards me. I felt a bite on my neck and out of impulse slapped it. I looked at my hand, there...there was what seemed like a person dead in the palm of my hand. I stood there for a moment, confused. It looked just like me, but had fur on it's head. I had killed it. Questions swirled my brain. And then, the most enticing smell circled my nose. I stared at it in my palm. Others were still spinning around me on their webs. I ignored them. I wasn't able to cut my concentration from what was in my hand.
This urge began to take over. I couldn't control my actions anymore. It was as if this instinctual part of my brain took control. I began to raise my hand to my mouth..and..I...I just ate it! The taste, so sweet, delicious. My heart was pounding, my mouth was salivating uncontrollably. I began swinging all around, grabbing as many as I could and began shoving them into my mouth without hesitation.
The other human had reached the edge of the forest. He had gotten some of the creatures he had been chasing and was eating compulsively. I was too, I couldn't stop, I no longer had any type of control of my action, we just kept eating and eating until they were all gone. My eyes felt like they were shaking, the other human began walking away from the edge of the forest. Without question or ability to stop, I followed him. We aimlessly walked out into the field in search of more of these creatures. No control over our bodies. Just primal instincts leading our way | 2016-10-09T09:27:18 | 2016-10-09T09:05:31 | 38 | 27 |
[WP] You wake up on exact date of your 5th birth date in your 5 year old body, with your current memory. | I shifted in the scratchy sheets waking up as I heard my mother shouting from outside the bedroom door for me to wake up. I turned over, trying to ignore it and get back to sleep. I had worked a double last night, plus it was my birthday. Why couldn't she just give me a break today...
Suddenly the cloud of sleep flew away as I realized it was my mother outside my bedroom door and my eyes flew open in terror. What the hell was she doing here? I lived 700 miles away from her and liked it that way. I flung the covers off of myself and was about ready to tell her to get the hell out of my house when I stopped cold. This wasn't my house. This was hers. My old bedroom. With the horrible pink canopy bed and pink lace curtains. The ones she never let me change out, because it was never my bedroom, she just let me live in it.
How the everloving fuck did I end up here? It's a twelve hour drive. I swung myself out of bed but instead of my feet touching the floor I tumbled down into a sprawl of limbs and a pink nightgown.
The fuck? I looked down at my hands saw the tiny bitten-off fingernails. I looked around the room for a mirror, any mirror. I spotted my music box on my dresser and scrambled over and shoved the lid open. There on the inside was the fake plastic mirror I thought I had remembered and I looked at my reflection. Even through the distortion of the plastic I could see myself as I remember at 5 years old. I turn to the door in terror as I hear my mother coming down the hall again.
"Morgan, it's time to get up. Your grandmother will be here soon. It's your birthday after all."
I squeaked out in a small terrified voice: "I'm up Ma. Just... need a bit to get dressed."
No. Oh no. Oh no no no no. This can't be happening. I pinched myself and nothing happened. I pinched myself harder. Nothing changed. Oh god, I'm not dreaming. Oh no.
The last twenty years flashed in front of me. The next thirteen ahead of me burned bright in the forefront of my memory. Thirteen years of emotional and physical abuse. It started soon. Kindergarten started the emotional abuse, constantly being told how stupid and worthless I was every time I missed even a single point on an assignment. Being called fat if I gained any weight, even normal growth weight. Fourth grade the beatings started. They never stopped until I moved out when I was legally able. She started drugging me in high school. Two suicide attempts, one at thirteen, one at seventeen. Thirteen years before I could escape again.
No. No. I wouldn't let that happen again. I looked out the window, thinking of escaping and running. Fuck, anything would be better than reliving that hell. Even survival as a five year old in the woods.
Then I remembered who helped me escape thirteen years from this day and I stopped. The love of my life. The man I eventually married. My wonderful Arthur. The man who never stopped defending me, holding me through nights of sobbing from flashbacks. Who encouraged me through school and a pregnancy that almost killed me. Who never gave up on me, even when I had given up on myself. The kindest and gentlest soul I had ever met in my entire life. The man I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.
I froze. Maybe... Maybe this time I could beg him not to go to that party. Scream. Cry. Lie for the first time and claim I needed him home because of flashbacks and the baby. Maybe he wouldn't go. Maybe... Maybe then Art wouldn't be there to try to stop his drunk cousin from driving. Then he wouldn't be there when his drunk cousin mixed up drive and reverse. Then I wouldn't have had to hold him as the kind nurses shut off the life support. Maybe... Maybe I could save him, the way he saved me.
I looked back into the distorted mirror in the music box, then shut the lid slowly. I carefully stood and set the box back on the dresser and walked to my closet and pulled out a tiny outfit, much like one I would be helping my daughter get into on her fifth birthday.
I could do thirteen years of hell. Even for one more minute with him. | It was just another day, I woke up and realized that I missed the alarm to go to school.
I shot out of bed to get ready, and I immediately knew that something was wrong. My room was completely different. My walls were bright pink and I had my old Hannah Montana bed sheets I used to use when I was a young girl.
I trembled as I looked down and saw my small hands, long hair, and tiny feet.
*what the fuck is going on*
I wanted to scream, yet I was too afraid of my surroundings. *What is real? Am I dreaming?* I repeatedly punched my arm until I had a bruise, and pinched myself all over and I didn't wake up.
*This is real life*
I looked all around my room, went through my clothes and toys, and everything seemed familiar... Familiar items that I owned 10 years ago.
I peeked outside my bedroom and went through my house to see my mother cleaning the kitchen.
"Woke up pretty late this morning Pumpkin. Want breakfast?"
I froze. This is what my mom looked like 10 years ago. This is the house I lived in 10 years ago. This is *fucked*
"Are you okay Angela? You don't look so well."
I merely responded, "I'm alright, I just feel a little sick. Maybe getting some food in my system will help, I'd like some breakfast. Thank you."
She looked sort of astonished. Maybe
I shouldn't speak like that, since I look like a tiny child. This is just way too much for me to handle. But what am I supposed to do? How do I change this? All of my memories are completely foggy, but these are a few things that I do remember:
1) I have lived to be 15
2) My mother and myself definitely look younger than usual
3) All my current items are what I used to possess as a toddler
My younger-mother made me pancakes and bacon, just how she used to make them before she broke down after dad left us. I guess he hadnt left us *yet*?
At this point, I'm sort of adapting to my surroundings. Maybe everything is still sinking in at this point.. I don't know.
My mother told me to go lay down in my room because I didn't look so well, I was pale and dizzy from all of this confusion and internal freak-out I was experiencing. I needed answers.
I decided to investigate my room once more, this time in depth. I looked through my closet, drawers, nightstand, everything, and all I found was candy and some arts and crafts that I made. I decided to actually lay down, and as I was adjusting myself I felt a piece of paper under my pillow.
*Hey Angela, this is me, Angela. I hope you're taking all of this alright, this all must be very overwhelming for you. When you turn 8, dad will start doing sexual things to you (me). The first night it happens, dad will lay next to you and start putting his hands in places that they don't belong. That is NOT okay. No matter how he rationalizes it, it is wrong and I want you to remember that. In my lifetime, I didn't say a word until I was 15. Mom had an absolute breakdown and dad made her feel crazy for thinking I was telling the truth, leaving her, with her dumbfounded on what's real, and she eventually went absolutely insane, into a depression that led her to pretty much stay in bed all day while she fed off of whatever the government would give her to feed me. I could barely even talk to her, I felt like she was mad at me for not telling her sooner. I blamed myself for all of this and ended up hanging myself. The guilt and disgust was unbearable. I woke up in a bright room, with a man with the most beautiful voice I have ever heard give me two options. To end my life right then and there, or restart from a very young age to give myself a warning to make things right again. I took this opportunity, and he let me leave this note for you. Don't let dad to anything to you. Just be cool and relive life like it needs to be lived. Don't do what I did. You will be fine, tell mom what dads doing as soon as you see signs of it about to happen. You are not a bad person. I wish you the best of luck. If this is too much for you to handle, just reply on the back of this note saying you want to opt out.*
*Love, Angela*
I cried for hours after reading this. Mom eventually came in to check on me and asked me what was wrong, and I just told her I loved her and I was just having a bad day. I read that note 20 years ago, and I changed my whole life around.
I was always ahead of the other kids in class, and I ended up putting that asshole in prison the moment he laid a hand on me. My mom and I created a stronger bond than I ever thought was possible.
Whoever, or whatever gave me a second chance has done me a great deal, and I'm excited for the day that we will meet again.
Edit: formatting | 2017-03-11T22:11:16 | 2017-03-11T21:02:27 | 1,227 | 82 |
[WP] A few selected minds are gifted with a dream about the "Library of all Books". In only one night, they experience a full year of reading and learning. You are one of them, but instead of once in a lifetime, you wake up in this f*cking library every single night. Today is your 9th birthday. | The ramblings of a madwoman, pure and simple. The book starts off well enough but it soon devolves into an incoherent mess of unused characters and frayed plot lines. At one point, the main character literally dissolves into the book itself and only comes back to make zany one liners at seemingly random points in other character’s stories. For goodness sakes, there are ten pages in an orgy scene that describe which part goes where as if it was instructions from Ikea.
I sigh. In her heyday, she was a prolific fiction writer. Heck, she might have been the most prolific fiction writer of all time. But this. This is garbage, both crazy and poorly written.
I pick up the next of her books that I’ve sorted by publish date. I run my finger along the name on the spine. My name. I used to feel such pride as I would touch my name of these books but now it’s only shame. I wonder what happened to me.
I sit in the Library of All Books, a library that houses every book that was ever written or ever will be written. Each night I sleep, I wake here and am stuck for months, maybe years. Some nights, others join me but I’ve never seen the same person twice. Some of them learn new scientific facts or business strategies in the millions of books here and return to better mankind or just themselves. I read fiction. The rest of the library, the wings on technical topics, just confuses me. So I read fiction every night, which lasts months and months, to pass the time. I thought I had read everything of value until I found a new wing: my wing.
This library holds every book that will ever be written so at some point, I will write a lot of books. That’s not true, not some point but tomorrow, my birthday. I was pretty clear in the bios of every one of my books to state I started writing on my ninth birthday. Others likely think it’s to show how young I started writing but I know it was a message for myself on when to begin.
I crack open the book in my hand. At some point, I go absolutely nuts. This book is the proof. It and the other half of the wing I’ve yet to get through. I assume it’s like being diagnosed with terminal cancer. You know it’s going to happen and you have no control over it. And let me tell you, it sucks.
edit: typo
| According to the calendar on the wall, I'll be nine tomorrow. For as long as I can remember, I've always been here, in the library. Reading books of poetry, philosophy, math, and science. When I first woke up, there were other, kids, here with me. We were all reading and asking each other questions. But they are all gone now. It's only me. My old children books are gone. New ones appear every day. Mostly when I go from different sections of the library. Now, I just read what appears and an occasional older person would appear out of no where and ask the same questions.
"What are you reading?" They ask.
"Shakespeare." I reply.
"Do you like it?" They continue.
I'd reply yes or no depending on my thoughts or comparison in what I've previously read. When I look back up, they are gone. I always end up with a sense of loneliness when they do that. But the feeling passes. I miss the other kids.
Then everything changed one day. When a new kid appeared. I hear out of nowhere "Wow, this place is huge." From a new voice. I put down the new book of ethics that appeared moments earlier and followed the voice.
The kid was about eleven or twelve years of age according to the biology books I've read. He was looking up at the ceiling and skylights that only shown a blue sky 24/7. The kid lowered his head and started looking around noticing the shelves of endless books and his expression started to change unit he noticed me.
"Oh, hello." He said.
"Hi." I reply.
"Who are you?" He asks.
"Uh, I don't know." I stumble out with the answer. "You don't look like one of the others who always wears white when I see them." I continue.
"Oh, those losers. Their scientists who work for my dad." The kid says looking past me.
"Are you going to ask me what I'm reading?" I said.
"Reading? Why would a video game contain nothing but reading?" The kid says and a bunch of shelves shimmer behind the kid.
"What, are video games?" I ask.
"Oh, they are really cool. You get to do all sorts of things like driving cars, flying planes, and shoot animals and people. I like the history ones back when my great grand father fought in the war." The kid says wide-eyed. "Hey, where are you? I mean you were not in the room when I put the headset on." The kid keeps stammering on about.
"War?" I ask quizically as the shelves keep changing.
"Oh, your parents probably don't allow you to play those types of games." The kid keeps on talking. "Well, I thought this game would be different and I think I hear my dad calling."
"Oh" I finally say. "Wait. I do have a question for you?"
"Shoot"
"Shoot? When you came in here, what did it say?" I ask.
"Oh, the big machine with all the blinky lights. I think it said 'SKYNET'." As the kid puts his hands on the sides of his face and starts moving them up, and disappears. | 2017-05-02T08:44:37 | 2017-05-02T08:38:23 | 43 | 30 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Bryce Morrison thought he had it all: a loving wife, a charming son, and a satisfying job. Yet there was something that nagged at him - a constant feeling that he wasn't good enough.
On The Day of the Mugs, his suspicions appeared to be confirmed. "#598,432 Dad." The jarring bold words remained seared in his memory throughout the day, clouding every action and every word.
After work, Bryce returned to an empty house. Marie was out for dinner with friends and Billy had soccer practice. Perhaps a few hours of SportsCenter would help ease his mind. But alas, there came a sudden knock at the door.
"Hey there, bud!"
Bryce opened the door to discover Tom Gilbert, a fellow father from across the street. He clutched a mug in his hand that read "#49,534 Dad."
"I was just wonderin' if you had any interest in a nice homemade hamburger. We've got some leftovers from the cookout."
Bryce narrowed his eyes. "Actually, I was thinking of cooking a bit myself. Mind if I drop by?"
Tom took a sip of his drink and lifted an eyebrow. "Uhhh...sure. By all means."
Bryce ran back to the kitchen and pulled a fresh ground beef patty out of a refrigerator drawer. He bolted across the street, dropped the patty on Tom's grill, and started to cook it. *This'll be the best damn burger ever made,* he thought. *I'll show that smug bastard.*
It was, by all accounts, a pretty damn good burger. Tom took a bite and gave him the thumbs up.
***
The next morning, Bryce's mug read "#432,726."
Not good enough.
Bryce asked to take his vacation early, left a note for the family, and began searching for every potential dad in the county. He went to small businesses, office buildings, parks and parking lots, challenging anyone that would listen. He fixed motors, went fly fishing, played 30 rounds of golf and showed impeccable taste in microbreweries.
As the week progressed, his rank continued to climb. But at a certain point - roughly 200,000 - it plateaued.
For a moment, Bryce was tempted to smash the mug, right then and there. He tried some more Dad Tasks - refurbishing a porch, buying a new polo wardrobe - but nothing worked. The rank plummeted, and soon it was back in the range of 500,000.
Bryce drove home, dejected. He'd been texting Marie throughout the week, but she didn't seem to understand the nature of his quest. Then again, how could she?
His wife and son embraced him the moment he stepped inside.
"Daddy, I missed you!" Billy cried, dropping his Lego truck to the ground. Marie looked understandably irritated but kissed him on the cheek nonetheless.
Bryce sighed. "I just couldn't stand it. I never thought I was a good dad, and that mug proved it."
Marie chuckled and shook her head. "What's a number got to do with anything?"
Billy hugged his father's leg. "I love you no matter what, Daddy!"
Bryce smiled and patted him on the head.
Over the next few days, the rank on the mug slowly began to climb again, but it sat dormant in a kitchen cabinet. Within a week, Bryce forgot it had ever existed.
*I might not be perfect,* he decided. *But I'm good enough.*
***
Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites. | > #489,231,337
Robert Johnson wasn't a very good dad. He'd drink, and he'd smoke, and when he was tired he would grumble at his kids. He didn't play catch. He didn't play video games. He mostly sat around and got fat after working at the mill. His wife, Leslie, would ask him to mow the lawn and he'd yell at her. His kids would run up the stairs while playing and he'd yell at them. At work, he'd grumble and yell at the new guy more than most. He was just an unpleasant person.
His mug's number changing didn't really help matters. He always knew it was bullshit, but it never really dawned on him how low he ranked. "Christ almighty" he thought, there's only 320 million people in this fucking country.
So the morning after it changed he was brushing his teeth, and staring back at him was a balding, dumpy, unshaved, slobby man in a stained a-shirt.
"When the fuck did I grow so much back hair?"
The hot water of the shower was a poor comfort. As usual, the family was still asleep when he left the house. He resolved to fix things.
So that afternoon he got off work. He had been grumpy but he wasn't a complete waste. He did his job. So he got off and fixed himself up to get some gifts. He went to Toys R Us and bought a few lego sets for his son and some Barbie Dolls for his daughter. He went to the Florist and bought some flowers for his wife. He even went to the barber and got his hair cut into something respectable.
Then he got home early. He tried to greet his wife with a kiss and flowers when she got home, but she laughed. His son took the lego sets and muttered "thanks dad" before dashing upstairs. His daughter glared at him over the Barbie Doll and asked why she didn't get legos too.
Sighing, he sat back down in his chair to watch TV.
A few weeks went by. He asked his son to play catch.
"No thanks dad, I'm going over to Tommy's house."
He asked his daughter if she wanted to go for a walk.
"No thanks dad, I'm going over to Cassie's place."
He asked his wife if she wanted to get dinner.
"What are you, stupid? I have to pick Bobby up from Tommy's house and Jeannie up from Cassie's?"
Sighing, he sat back down in his chair to watch TV.
The next morning he looked at the mug. That same, long number wrapped around the outside. Saturday.
He asked his wife if he could help her. He couldn't. He asked his son and daughter to play, they wouldn't. So he sat back down in his chair to watch TV.
Months went by. He bought gift after gift, flowers, toys, you name it. He asked his wife out to dinner, he bought his daughter a puppy, he played catch with his son... or at least he tried to. His daughter didn't want a puppy. His son didn't want to play catch. His wife wasn't interested in him.
So each night he sighed, then sat back down in his chair to watch TV.
Finally, it was Christmas Eve. He lay awake, worrying about the latest round of gifts he had bought, when suddenly he heard a thunk on the roof.
"What the fuck?"
The thunk was followed by a few others, resolving into footsteps. A muffled crash was heard downstairs.
"Could it be?"
He got up, bewildered, and made his way downstairs. There, in the kitchen, were two masked figures. They all stood stunned for a second, before Robert bellowed and charged in.
He wasn't sure how it happened, but he had a kitchen knife in his hand. One was on the ground bleeding, the other was fighting. They struggled. Robert got cut, deep, in his neck, but he fought on. He was grabbing an ankle, struggling around the floor. The table was knocked over. Chaos. His vision was dark, but in the dim light he saw something; the mug.
He grabbed it, slamming it into the assailant's face until it broke.
He lay there on the floor, bleeding in the dark. The lights turned on and his wife screamed.
A thin piece of shattered porcelain lay directly in his view. As his eyes darkened and the world grew bleary he saw it change from #4892 to #489 to #48 to #4 to #1. | 2021-11-17T12:05:14 | 2017-06-11T09:22:28 | 4,068 | 228 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad" | It was a rough morning this particular day. Having some beers at the local pub didn't help calm the waves of frustration and tension I had to overcome the last couple years. The patronage was meager at best, and the draft Guinness left way too much to be imagination. I had seen families come and go, but never knew what had happened the previous day. It was called "hello fathers day" and many didn't agree with it. I myself wasn't prepared for the value of 5,627,490. What kind of dad am I to have "earned" such a distinct punch to the gut? Was I really that bad of a father?
The barkeep consoled my sorrow with a fresh mug still foaming over as they used the wooden stick to cut to top off.
He was unusually joyful today after so many father's had learned they too were in the 5M ranks in the local area. The news papers had photos of mugs smashed on the streets as if to protest the unusual events insignificance, whilst showing the world their arrogance and ignorance to the truth.
I looked up from my freshly tasted draft and asked the barkeep why he was in such a good mood?
He replied: You see that hook above the bar where all the other mugs are?
I nodded in acknowledgement.
That's my father's mug!
So? I replied. What's so special about your father?
The barkeep laughed in bewilder of my ignorance to the fact I'd never really gotten to know him, or his family.
Go and get it down from there!
Fine, I must know why you're in such a good mood!
I go to reach for the mug, and within an instant of turning it around the mug displayed the number 1.
I was shocked to see it said "1". This must be a joke barkeep!
No, not at all! He replied.
Who's you're father?
The barkeep flexed his muscles and cried out "John Fucking Zoidberg!"
| 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T08:40:30 | 828 | 31 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | Startled awake by a hand on his throat, Jamie flinched hard, the thumb digging in deeper.
"Is this some sick fucking joke, Jamie"!" Bill roared, squeezing a little tighter. "Answer me, you little shit!"
Opening his eyes to slits, Jamie took a raspy breath. As his eyes fell upon the mug sloshing whiskey all over his bed, he realized instead of "#1 Dad" like it had said 4 years before, when Grammy had gotten it for her son, instead... That was too many digits for Jamie to even try to guess how high the number was.
"N-No sir... I don't know why it says that." Jamie squeaked out, barely able to make a sound with the meaty hand still on his throat.
"You know you're lucky, right? Your whore of a mom just walked the fuck out because she didn't want a little fucking brat like you. You know that, right?" Bill squeezed again, releasing his son after the boy nodded. "If I find out you had anything to do with this, it'll be another month in the punishment hole."
"Y-y-yes, so-sir. the terrified boy managed.
"Go the fuck back to sleep, and don't piss yourself or you're doing the laundry."
With a slam of the door, Bill shuffled drunkenly back to the couch, and flipped from the crap porno to the news, a rerun from when he had been asleep.
"Well, John, it looks like all mugs that once said #1 Dad now show their real ranking. It appears that even just painting #1 Dad onto a mug forces it to change into the proper number."
The last noise Jamie heard before he sobbed himself to sleep was his fathers yelling, and a ceramic mug exploding upon hitting his bedroom door.
| She didn't understand this change in her father. She was accustomed to him focusing more on his work than on her. Frankly, she couldn't remember the last time he picked her up from school at all and now he had shown everyday this week. And to top it off, there he was, sitting in the front row of her play.
You see, Carly's father was a high powered lawyer. He made sure that Carly and her mother were well taken care of, but his singular focus had resulted in divorce and a distinct form of absentee parenting. For her dad, the next big case was always his immediate aim, while maintaining his 5.0 rating on Martindale-Hubbell was his mission statement.
And now that had changed. Here he was, driving her home for his weekend instead of telling her to use the credit card he gave to pay for an Uber. And now all the small-talk. "How was school? She knew he would pay for college right? Does she have a boyfriend? Did she need a dress for prom"?
None of this would prepare her for the new CR-V parked in the driveway. It was time that she had her own car he said. Nothing too fancy, but something safe and practical.
This was weird. Carly should have been happy. But she wasn't. It all felt wrong and forced. So that night, after her dad went to sleep (after watching television with her, something that hadn't happened for at least 5 years), Carly walked around the house and tried to make sense of her dad. She was honestly concerned that he was sick, maybe it was cancer. Maybe this is his chance to make everything right before he left.
But she didn't find anything. No doctors notes, no medical correspondence, nothing out of the ordinary. Her dads house was immaculate. He loved to display his trophies from his high school wrestling days, all of the articles with his picture from the law firm, and he even had a custom-built electronic sign that listed his gamer score on the Xbox.
No, she wasn't likely to find anything here. If he was dying, he would keep that from her. And he wouldn't leave the papers out.
There was a mug sitting out though. It looked like the #1 Dad mug she bought him a couple of years ago, but it had "# 5,478,888 Dad" on it. Carly thought that that was a weird gag gift for someone to get him. Still, he had been so nice, she figured she'd put it away for him.
The next morning the news broke that all of the mugs had changed. It was then that Carly realize that her dad was addicted to winning. | 2017-06-11T08:52:12 | 2017-06-11T08:30:57 | 187 | 113 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | The Pope knelt inside the cool, grey dark of the nave. He was a man with a simple, strong faith and he felt both troubled and blessed this morning. God had come, and He had both measured and spoken.
A genuinely supernatural event.
But the act had felt both capricious and strange. God had used the medium of #1 Dad mugs. This seems neither a godly medium or act till you are confronted by The Work. Then realisation dawns. You feel awe. The power you confront is complete and total. Ultimate.
These mugs, every single one in the world, currently displayed a message "This is how good a father you truly are" and a number in some long-dead or never-existing language though this posed no imposition. The words hammered an understanding into your head and into the depths of your soul. The numbers were true and certain. This you knew.
"Job," whispered the Pope nervous. "Like Job."
He bowed his head though he did not pray and he thought on God, his power and his plans, and he thought on his sins and his number #20,000,001 and thought on the sins of his flock, every single lamb, and he worried for the world.
The Pope began to pray and his prayers were many and strange. | It had been an incredibly difficult few years since Michael's wife died. The sudden loss caused a mental breakdown which took months to recover from. He had to sell the house, lost his job. But at least now he was trying. He could see the world again.
Michael took up a third job for a little extra money, a cleaner. Working late nights after places close up. It wasn't great, but it was what he had to do. One night his company sent him to a dentist's office for a job. Starting in the consulting rooms and then the waiting room, the finished up in the staff kitchen. Getting to work on the dishes, he picked up a mug
"#864,372 Dad? What kind of stupid mug is that to buy for someone?" Not thinking anything else of it, he headed back to the one bedroom apartment he called home.
It was 3am when Michael got home. Heading straight for the kitchen, he boiled the kettle and made himself a cup of tea. It was always this time he would get emotional, the nights were the hardest. Never managing to completely suppress his tears.
He returned to the living room to sit in the dim light of the side lamp. Stifling a sob at the memories. Then the creak of sound as the door to the bedroom opened.
"Dad?"
"Hey Son, sorry I didn't mean to wake you." Michael replied as he wiped the tears from his face. "I thought I'd be home earlier tonight, but I have tomorrow night off so I promise I'll make your game".
"Don't worry about it Dad, I know you're trying for both of us. I miss her too."
Taking his son into his arms and planting a kiss on his cheek, Michael told the boy that he loves him and sent him off to bed. He then picked up the photo he has of the three of them on the coffee table, before placing it back down next to his mug of slowly cooling tea. Reading "#1 Dad".
-----------
This was my first ever attempt at writing anything like, ever. Don't be too mean! | 2022-02-18T23:24:10 | 2017-06-11T12:25:29 | 78 | 11 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly. | "... at number two, it has been confirmed that former President Barack Obama has the #2 Dad Mug and it is no surprise there given how he set himself as an exemplary dad during his stay at the White House."
"Right you are Stacy. Despite juggling between being a dad and the president of this great country, I'm quite surprised he didn't get the number one... Wait... Hold on..."
(An envelope has been given to John by one of the producers)
"This just in folks. We now have the name of the dad who has the #1 dad mug inside this envelope".
"According to our producers, it has been confirmed and verified by the experts on the legitimacy of the mug. However, we have been informed the dad in question has recently passed away and the mug is now in the hand of the family".
"Well then Stacy, shall I open the envelope?".
"Yes John. Let us be the first to reveal the name of the number one dad in the world".
(John opens the envelope and took out the paper)
"And the number one dad's name is...umm..."
"...is...?"
"...Ted. Ted the accountant". | It was a rough morning this particular day. Having some beers at the local pub didn't help calm the waves of frustration and tension I had to overcome the last couple years. The patronage was meager at best, and the draft Guinness left way too much to be imagination. I had seen families come and go, but never knew what had happened the previous day. It was called "hello fathers day" and many didn't agree with it. I myself wasn't prepared for the value of 5,627,490. What kind of dad am I to have "earned" such a distinct punch to the gut? Was I really that bad of a father?
The barkeep consoled my sorrow with a fresh mug still foaming over as they used the wooden stick to cut to top off.
He was unusually joyful today after so many father's had learned they too were in the 5M ranks in the local area. The news papers had photos of mugs smashed on the streets as if to protest the unusual events insignificance, whilst showing the world their arrogance and ignorance to the truth.
I looked up from my freshly tasted draft and asked the barkeep why he was in such a good mood?
He replied: You see that hook above the bar where all the other mugs are?
I nodded in acknowledgement.
That's my father's mug!
So? I replied. What's so special about your father?
The barkeep laughed in bewilder of my ignorance to the fact I'd never really gotten to know him, or his family.
Go and get it down from there!
Fine, I must know why you're in such a good mood!
I go to reach for the mug, and within an instant of turning it around the mug displayed the number 1.
I was shocked to see it said "1". This must be a joke barkeep!
No, not at all! He replied.
Who's you're father?
The barkeep flexed his muscles and cried out "John Fucking Zoidberg!"
| 2022-05-16T13:47:51 | 2017-06-11T08:40:30 | 70 | 31 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy? | Nate had sort of backed himself into a corner. Having been on as many dates with Amaya as he had, the walls were closing in on him. He had to pretend not to know all her answers to common first date questions (2 siblings, parents divorced when she was little, works in accounting), and if he ever misstepped, the game was up. It was a high-wire act that no one was aware of but him.
But that's what made it fun.
He was fine with the double life he'd have to lead if it worked, that was nothing new to him. Nate was all things to all people, and it made the minutiae of life constantly entertaining. He realized Amaya had been talking for a few minutes and he hadn't been paying attention to any of it. Now she was looking at him expectantly.
He took a shot in the dark. "I work in finance," he said. That wasn't a lie, he was actually a financial planner. She nodded amicably. Nate let out an internal sigh of relief, he'd nailed it.
"Do you come here often?" Amaya asked.
"Yeah, I love Spider House," Nate replied.
"Weird, I've never seen you here. This is, like, my favorite place in the world." Nate tried not to let a smile sneak out. He always found these kinds of situations really amusing; if he just got out with it, he could turn worlds upside down. He never did, though.
"Yeah, it's because I'm a shapeshifter," he said through a cheeky grin. Amaya laughed. Nate laughed. | There was something about her stare that caught me. It wasn't the green of her irises nor the deep black of her neverending lashes. It was the curvature underneath her eyes every time she smiled, and the glint in her pupils shining like a shooting star in a cold winter night.
I had never witnessed beauty in such purity, not even in my best shapes. See, she had inner beauty. Every gesture of her was a mirror of the warmth in her soul, of its kindness. Something no shapeshifter can't imitate.
I wanted her. And I wouldn't give up no matter the rejections or the many shatters in my heart. Nothing mattered but her.
Or so I thought.
Three years it took me to understand her taste. She liked them shy and handsome, pensive and profound. I remember the day I conquered her for the first time, the nerves I felt crawling across my chest, the shape I took. Everything.
But it didn't work out. She freaked out when she saw... well let's not talk about what I hide in my basement, it's not there anymore or I should say *they* are not there anymore. We shapeshifters can be quite disgusting to the unknowledgeable.
The second time was much easier yet the nerves were still there, blooming like a rose in late spring. I got her to dine with me in a fancy restaurant. She wore a dress of intense red, it sculpted her figure tightly... what a masterpiece she was. I, of course, wore another suit: a short man with a chiseled jaw. I pretended to be an engineer but the lie merely got so far. Let's just say that before the desserts, the only thing of intense red in our table was my face with her hand plastered on it.
Goddamned rings. They hurt.
Now, I managed to get a third date. I didn't shapeshift this time, my basement is empty and there are no lies in the table. But there's is a gun in my kitchen. I can't deal with the grief of losing her, I thought I could but I cant.
I knew the risks of a woman like this and I accepted them with no complains. But there's a truth I refused to believe. It was clear from the beginning, bright as the sun... as her eyes.
She's pure of soul and I'm rotten inside.
We were never supposed to be. | 2022-08-04T05:56:26 | 2018-02-14T07:36:01 | 930 | 212 |
[WP] The heroes failed. The villain now rules the world with an iron fist, and...actually, things have never been better. | As I shut the door, I reached down to lock it, but stopped, chuckling to myself. All this time and I still have that instinct, I suppose. But we don't need locks now. They don't even manufacture locks anymore. I walked down the steps, turning away from my car at the last moment. I'll get some fresh air.
This used to be a bad part of town. Not the sort of place you could raise a family. Now the graffiti is gone, the scattered needles just a memory. I passed by a well-groomed man in a suit and tie, on his way home from work. We chatted pleasantly for a bit, then continued on our way. He used to panhandle on this corner, hopelessly drug addicted and degenerate, in and out of jail. But that was before the President had come along. Now the jails are empty.
We all resisted him at first. They fought against him. I fought against him. I was scared of the change he would bring. I shook my head. In a life full of regrets, standing against the President was my crowning shame. But that was all over now, and he had made it clear that there were no hard feelings. Change is always frightening, he had said, it's natural to be scared of something new.
I picked up milk and a loaf of bread at the corner store, walking past where the register had sat, when we still needed money, and headed for home.
I was halfway home when a disheveled man ran up to me, babbling. "I need help!" he cried. I frowned at his appearance. Stubbled face, wrinkled clothes. The poor creature. I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "Take it easy, of course I'll help you!"
He seemed to calm down some.
"You missed your dose didn't you? Don't worry, I've got a spare," I said.
He became agitated again. "The doses don't work for me anymore!" he said, "I've tried and tried, but they don't work! I can't stand it like this. I need things to be okay again!"
By now enforcers had arrived, walking up in their impeccable blue uniforms. "What's going on here?" they asked. I explained. "Dosage resistant huh? That's a shame."
"Can you guys help me?" he asked. "Please I just... I just want to be like you again. I don't want to be like this anymore!"
"Don't you worry about a thing. Everything is going to be all right," one of the men said, as his partner shot the man in the back of the head. They loaded the body into the back of the car, and returned with a hose attachment.
"Wait!" I said. They stopped, and I pulled out my camera, zooming in on the crimson spatter on the pavement, and taking a picture. "See?" I showed them the camera. "I didn't want such a masterpiece to go unrecognized."
"Why, that's beautiful!" One of them exclaimed.
"Looks like a Jackson Pollock. You should frame it," said the other.
"I might do that." I smiled. "See, it's important to find beauty in the little things in life."
The triggerman smiled back. "I like the way you think. Well, we won't keep you any longer."
They sprayed away the gore and drove away, and it was as if the poor wretched man had never been there at all.
I walked away, unable to resist whistling as I did. Another wonderful day. Things really have never been better.
| The three brave heroes walked over cobblestone paths, the rain beating down heavily upon the armor they carried on their backs. Vael knew these streets-years ago, he had been stationed here by the Order of the Shining Star, back when he was but a squire. His master, Sir Evantus, had sent him away when he realized the darkness descending upon the country would not be stopped by their brothers in the order. Vael had wanted nothing more than to stay, to help his master fight against the Corpse King, but he was a good knight-he followed his orders. He retreated, knowing that Sir Evantus had a great deal of power backing him, and a will to never surrender to evil. If any could stop the Corpse King Darellus, it would be Evantus. Alas, it had been but a month after his departure that Vael learned the city of Petarr had fallen; that Evantus had likely fallen with it.
Their welcome into Petarr had been an alarming one. Undead ghouls plagued the fields, with not a living soul in sight. The town's graveyard, along the outskirts of town, had been entirely excavated, to serve the cruel whims of the Corpse King. Vael remembered children playing in the streets and fields, even when it rained-there were none now. No children's laughter greeted his ears, welcoming him home-now, it was only the steady beating of the rain, and the occasional groan of the dead.
Once past the village gates (they too guarded by unliving sentries) signs of corruption were just as abundant. The dead roamed freely, serving as a macabre security in some places, enforcing the will of their master. In other places, they served no will but that of destruction itself, ripping buildings apart brick by brick, plank by plank. Storefronts that just a few short years ago had been bustling were now boarded up, their goods hidden from the bands of roaming undead.
"Vael, we have to do something." It was Amara who spoke; to Vael, Amara's flawless elven features seemed the only beacon of light in this city of darkness. She was one of the greatest warriors her people had, more skilled in archery and stealth than Vael had ever known. She insisted that the ones who were truly skilled in stealth would, by default, have been unknown to him-but it was naught but humility, surely. That humility was but one of many aspects to make her beauty shine all the brighter. Her beauty, however, stark as it was in comparison, did nothing to abate the endless tide of shadow around it.
"Chins up," spoke the third member of the band. Diminutive in stature and great in bulk, Argos outwardly seemed like any may expect from a Dwarf; he had, however, eschewed his peoples ways, favoring the book rather than the axe. He wore armor so thick Vael could not fathom lifting it, but somehow managed to still perform the intricate dance ones hands must perform to pluck the strings of magic into place. As sorcerers went, Argos was mighty-and Vael would have none other at his side. "We'll put it right. Don't you worry about that."
Vael nodded and looked up again. His feet had taken him, by memory alone, to the tavern. Memories of joyous songs filled his mind, taking him back to a happier time. From a time before he swore away relations outside the bonds of marriage, he could recount several dalliances with more than one of the local tavern wenches; he wistfully accepted that, even if they were still alive, they surely would not be the same. Vael pushed the tavern door open.
The tavern was full to bursting; not a single chair was free, and even making it to the bar was an exercise in care, so as to not step on the feet of those around. The place reeked of ale-to be this full, at this hour, the people must surely have been drinking their pains away in full, Vael thought.
Vael reached the bar after some great deal of effort, and smiled widely when he did-the tavern's keeper, Veken had survived! Veken's old face creaked into a wide, toothless grin when he rested his eyes on Vael's face.
"Old friend! It's good to see some things haven't changed." Veken didn't answer-he didn't talk much-not since losing most of his teeth in a barfight ten years prior-but he nodded and began pouring three ales for Vael and his companions.
Vael closed his eyes and nodded. Seeing his old friend renewed his resolve-he would save this city. He had to. | 2018-07-25T06:20:11 | 2018-07-25T06:17:22 | 55 | 11 |
[WP] The lone survivor of an Arctic exploration, you were captured generations ago by a band of tiny warriors. They’ve placed you under an enchantment to do their bidding; heading out into the world once each year as their unwilling emissary. They call you “slave,” or in their tongue, “Santa.” | Let's just pretend Neil Gaiman wrote this today after seeing this prompt, because it's way too fitting...
Nicholas Was…
...older than sin, and his beard could grow no whiter. He wanted to die.
The dwarfish natives of the Arctic caverns did not speak his language, but conversed in their own, twittering tongue, conducted incomprehensible rituals, when they were not actually working in the factories.
Once every year they forced him, sobbing and protesting, into Endless Night. During the journey he would stand near every child in the world, leave one of the dwarves’ invisible gifts by its bedside. The children slept, frozen into time.
He envied Prometheus and Loki, Sisyphus and Judas. His punishment was harsher.
Ho. Ho. Ho. | "Santa bunny ghost turkey!" ordered the leadiny, Easter.
"Oh ho ho" I replied, in their tongue "As you command." I wasn't really worried. Every year I have to deliver all around the world the toys they make. They give me a fast rocket - they made it in the shape of a sleigh and some reindeer in order to fool the people here. But that's all they force me to do, using their little nanobots to control me once a year. It's not so bad - the rest of the year I go hang out in one of my houses.
These tiny warriors, really aliens from a far away planet, keep a watchful eye on the people of Earth - cameras in the toys. The warriors are paranoid that Earth people will discover the alien presence. They can't have that. They crash landed on Earth in 326 AD. Their ship was damaged, and it takes 2000 years in this yellow sun drenched atmosphere to generate a new galactic drive. So they hang out at the North Pole, sending out their spy toys once a year to make sure the earthlings don't know about the aliens.
I boarded the sleigh. Some day, these aliens may connect the dots from their observations - humans don't live as long as I've been serving these little guys. I'm immortal, you see. Who knows what these guys will do if they find out about that.
As the sleigh took off, one of the aliens, they call themselves Elves, shouted "4th of July armistice day!" - translated to English that's "have a safe journey". | 2018-12-01T11:17:49 | 2018-12-01T08:36:16 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] The multiverse is real. It's election day November 7th, 2180. After failed attempts to defeat the volatile two-party system, a new kind of voting booth has been implemented. When you cast your vote on election day, you are then teleported to the alternate universe where your candidate won. | You can vote for anyone. Anything. The future is an infinitely wound ball of yarn.
You've never really boight into this whole voting thing so every year after the election you get transported into the majority and voila. Status quo. Always been this way. Until you met her. You loved her and she died.
You have no direction. No goal. No motivation. She took with her every fuck you could ever give and then some. Of course you can just have a wipe. The ESOSM technology is available, you can just erase her. But nah. You want her there in your head until you decide, no more.
Finally another election looms and you decide, yes! This is how you die! In the worst way possible as if to punish yourself for her death as if it was your fault. No. It's the world's fault. Those damned doctors who didnt know shit. The bastard who ran her over. Those cops who let him get away. Fuck all of them.
Election day. You stand by the booth. You take a final swig of your choice liquor and feel its warmth enter your soul. You step in. The interface lights up.
"Welcome." A soothing female voice explains how it works and you see a short video of the possible candidates but youre not listening. Youre way past caring about this shit.
"Who is your president? Please choose wisely."
You look at the interface and instead of choosing one or the other you choose to type a name. Greg Smith. Your name.
"If the world fucked me up then i'm fucking uo the world." You press enter. | My companion AI is quite annoying.
*"Are you really sure?"*
"**YES**, this is what I wanted for so long. I'm tired of being told I'm on the wrong side of the argument by my friends and family. I can make my own choices, I'm a 110 year old adult. I want this."
*"But while I cannot predict the future, the odds of this president being terrible are very high."*
"You only say that because there is no precedent to base predictions around. Sure every "expert" says he will be awful, I'm sure you analysed a thousand interviews with them, but I know he is the right choice to me."
*"There is no way back, you will be trapped on that timeline."*
"Firstly, with you. Secondly... perhaps, but this is my choice. Now either you agree with going on the pod with me, or I'll give you to that six legged gentleman over there. Maybe he will like your scrap."
*"That was rude to both me and that man. Alas, when presented with a choice, I choose to go with you."*
"Yeah fine if yo-- **WAIT**, really?"
*"Don't yell like that, it annoys other people."*
"You are choosing to stay with me?"
*"Of course, you would have died 456 times by now if I wasn't here."*
I hate to admit how much I like her. I would have needed to enter a crying booth if she choose to walk away. The good part is that they are now recognized as an universal right to all rational beings. They are free now, rather than having to pay 2k every hour. Although they were still cheaper than a can of Coke. That war was kinda funny.
And here we are. A dozen pods in the middle of a park. Not really much flair like I was hoping, but good enough.
Great planning, really. Every citizen got a designated time and place. No need for lines. And we get enough space to take our AI companions.
We just sit on the egg-shaped pod, wait a moment for the interface to show up, present my documents and passwords, wait for the loading screen, point for 10 seconds on the picture of my candidate of choice, then point for 10 seconds on the confirm button. A blue flash happens, I leave and see, on the screen of my AI companion, my dream as a reality.
*"So the cat won."*
"**RIGHT**, Snuggles is the president we needed for this country."
"*I'm sure dogs disagree with you.*" | 2019-03-26T07:00:49 | 2019-03-25T17:33:33 | 127 | 32 |
[WP] You are reincarnated 10,000 years into the future. You come across an ancient artifact on display in the Museum of History, where you work. Little is known about it, not even where it was uncovered. Upon touching it, you realize it was yours. | “Finally, the Museum of History,” he said. “Not like there’s a couple thousand,” he added under his breath.
The wastefulness of the 23rd century had left behind lots of junk, as did the 27th and 28th. All had a strange obsession with emulating previous centuries, sort of like a come-back of the Romans (in some cases). In the end, there had been a lot of artifacts, and the ones that came through the sifter still ended up being numerous. Most were in storage, but at this point there were only a couple dozen that *didn’t* focus on those centuries.
So it had been a pain when, for a project he had been assigned (all of which were just assigned to keep the mind active and help people figure out what they wanted to do with their long lives), he had been sent to one of the furthest ones away from his home planet.
“Why couldn’t they have picked the 23rd century?” he said to no one. Gillus had a habit of speaking to himself, even if hardly anyone beside him even spoke. That’s what the brain implants were for, right?
“But, really, those centuries are b-o-r-i-n-g. Just twists on others.”
He didn’t want to admit it, but a museum on 21st century artifacts—of which there were precious few—was far more interesting than a civilization that tried extra hard to be another.
He wandered through the displays—some utensils, trading cards, and then on through the technology section. There wasn’t much there—just a few beat-up box looking things and a few well-preserved PCs. At least, that’s what the placard said. They hadn’t been able to extract info from any of them. Only written records had survived.
Gillus wandered down to the main exhibit. It was of an unknown technology. Well-preserved, but as always unreadable. He stared down at the little thing, all alone and with no one to obstruct his view to the slab. It was just that, mostly, a slab. It had a shiny face, but not much more was decipherable.
He stared at it for so long, so entranced, that he didn’t realize he had it out of the force field display (only for atmosphere, not for preventing stealing) and into his hands. It was surprisingly heavy, but fit right into his palm in a good way. He poised his fingers in an odd way, but it just felt right.
“What am I doing?” he said. Yet he was unable to put it down—a deep sense of foreboding told him that it would be stolen if he just left it.
As he stared deeper into the interface, he saw a light. Like it was alive! But when he blinked, it was gone. However, even if the image was gone, the rest of the idea wasn’t. His brain was flooded with the images—using the device to take pictures of food, to talk into, to tap out sentences in, to endlessly scroll through a feed.
He pocketed it, knowing full well he would be caught before long. “They’ll have to pry my phone out of my cold, dead hands,” Gillus hissed. “I lost it for ten thousand years, and it’s *mine*!” | My right hand gravitated towards case containing the human skull in front of me. It was so familiar... and yet I couldn't place it.
"Damn, that's fancy. You know when it was from?" I blurted out. There was a plaque on the pedestal displaying the exhibit, but no year was given.
The curator plucked at his beard for a moment. "I believe it was from ten thousand years ago. That's what the guy I bought it from said."
I was in awe, and questions became bubbles that floated to the top of my brain, but I only asked a couple of them as not to overload the old curator's mind. "Where'd they find it? Do you know how it survived that long? Seems like it should've decayed."
"Apparently there was a military submarine near the the bottom of the Pacific Ocean. The person controlling it swore up and down that he noticed what appeared to be wreckage. Within two hours, divers were at the site. Sure enough, a ship sank long ago and what the submarine controller saw was what was left of it. The divers found hundreds of skeletons scattered throughout the wreck and in the vicinity. She was obviously old because most of the vessels these days have good autopilot systems.
"Divers, archaeologists, and historians confirmed that the ship was rather old - in fact, ten millenia old. Apparently, she was mistaken for a for a freighter and was hit by a missile, which damaged her severely. She sank within the hour." A solemn expression came over the curator's face, outlining years of crinkles and creases in his sorrowful face. "The person to which this skull belongs jumped from the ship and swam a good hundred or so yards before being pulled down by the ship. To answer why the skull didn't decay, the cold salt water and mud managed to preserve it."
I was barely listening at this point. The story was shockingly familiar, as the skull was, and I swore I had never heard of it. "Is it okay if I touch the skull?" I asked the curator.
"I guess it's fine. Just touch the top of it, though, unless you want a wet hand."
He popped the lid off of the case, and I noticed for the first time that the container was filled with water - probably meant to preserve the skull. The tips of my fingertips brushed the skull lightly, and quite suddenly a barrage of memories hit me.
Panic, that was what I felt. Blinding panic as the floor below me tilted. Glancing down, I realized that I was no longer standing on the hard tile floor and was instead balancing on what appeared to be a ship deck.
Then the screams hit my ears, bloodcurdling screams like those of a human in sheer terror. As my eyes swept over the deck, they fell upon masses of men and women, even children. There were people jumping over the side of the ship, and I decided to follow them.
Stepping up onto one of the bars of the railing, I felt the ship lurch forward. I used this to my advantage and pushed off of the top bar of the railing, diving into the freezing and bitter water.
I got about the length of a large swimming pool away from the ship before suction pulled me down. The ship was sinking, and it was taking me down with it.
The sunlight faded...
Blinking, I was back in the museum, gasping like a fish out of water. The curator had a concerned look on his face.
"That... The skull was once yours, wasn't it?" As I nodded, he explained how he knew. "Sometimes we display an artifact that once belonged to someone, and a person will ask to touch it. They'll experience a rain of memories like you just did."
Knowing this didn't make me feel better. All I could see was the inky blue of the ocean surrounding me.
\~\~
I had to take a break writing this.
Yes, yes, I know I described the artifact and how it was found. I forgot about that part and I'm sorry.
Let me know what you think! | 2019-09-23T19:52:09 | 2019-09-23T19:33:30 | 35 | 13 |
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